Badmovies.org Forum

Just seemed like a thread we could use. If you've written anything of late, be it a song, a screenplay, a poem, a story, or an epic novel, post a link, post the writing here, or just tell of your writing ideas or compositional progress. Dispense with modesty, let loose and brag on yourself if you want!

Ok, this might not quite count as recent but it is the last story I wrote. Did it one evening when I was at RAF Cosford and have only shown it to two other people in the sixteen years since. If you have some knowledge of the Cthulhu mythos it will help understanding it.

Under a gibbious moon something ancient and unspeakable stirred.
For uncounted aeons it had lain, dead but not dead. Waiting to
rise again. Mighty Cthulhu, disturbed from his rest arose, driving
himself up. Through the deep ocean he rose leaving R'yleh beneath
his noisome bulk. His unclean presence polluting the night air as
he surfaced and raised himself in the eldrich night.

Squamous and loathsome, he sped ever southward, to the place his
mind recalled only as the home of his immortal enemies, the Elder
race. Over ocean waves, and then frozen ice he flew on his mere
presence spreading madness and death on the few lonely ships and
outposts he flew over.

Over uncharted miles he passed uncaring and unheeding of the
nightmares and chaos he spread until he saw it. The last city of
the Elder Things.

He stopped at the mighty gates and roared a mighty challange.
One timid teenage Elder Thing pushed by his friends to the door,
cautiously opened it and stared at the prophet and high priest of
the Old Ones, maloderous slime dripping from his noisome body and
quiving in fear piped "What is it?"

In his ageless voice Cthulhu roared "I know your parents are away
for the weekend and you kids are having a party, but some of us have
to work the stars are right shift and need to get some sleep so turn
the damn stereo down so I can sleep!"

His message delivered grumpy Cthulhu rose once more into the air.
Loathsome and endless the creature older than mankind flew back
across the numberless leagues to R'yleh and his eternal rest.

Seems my diary for 2017 will be the longest volume I've written since 2005.

Well, let's see - all but the noobs in here know that I'm a writer, but -

I've completed five novels since 2012, of which four are in print and the last will be released on May 1, 2018.
I am currently working on number 6, however, I have had a very hard time finishing it.  It's going to wind up being the first book that took me over a year to complete.
I write a weekly (more or less) blog in which I publish short fiction, observations on life, faith, and family, and occasionally just funny stuff I come up with.
And I write posts here almost daily, because I am addicted to this place!

One to three movie reviews a week at 366weirdmovies.com, a pace I plan to keep up through the next year.

does rewriting/editing count? i'm doing that with my cookbook. it's something i wrote up years ago and got 25 printed as gifts for the autistic young adults who were in my free university  cooking class, the rest went to my nieces and young coworkers.
   my oldest niece found her copy, showed it to her boss,she wants to see it polished up,so maybe it'll get published, who know?
 i'm adding new stuff and trying( with very little success) to make it less detailed .... the original HAD to be super detailed, but in simple words ,,it's hard to explain.

I write reviews of movies, music, and whatever else tickles my fancy on my HubPage blog:

https://hubpages.com/@fatfreddyscat

In October, in one nine-hour burst of fevered energy, I abruptly wrote a first-person 100-page memoir from the perspective of someone I used to know who died a long time ago, and that experience reminded me of how I used to read about when Joyce Carol Oates wrote The Poisoned Kiss half a century ago, she did so feeling "taken over" by the presence of a strange Portuguese writer she named Fernandes, and when I read Oates so often in my teens I used to wonder what that might have felt like for her.

I wonder no more.

I am a diffidently clumsy writer who often makes corrections and changes, but honestly writing that came out like it was a final draft, barely an alteration to be made. Strange.

The experience of writing from someone else's perspective was extremely odd for several reasons, though this week the one person I've so far let read it said it was the best thing I ever wrote.

Just....gosh.

Now I'm psyching myself up to let two and maybe even three people read it, though one might then print it out just to try to beat me to death with it.

I'm proud of this, tell you the truth.

I got a chapter and a half written on my new book over the weekend!

Tried writing something for the Lost Media Wiki a few weeks ago. They said it was too short and deleted it.



Not really sure if there's much else anyone could add. I could've outlined the contest rules and prizes a bit better, and I was planning to do so, but other than that everything's lost. That's kinda the point...  :question: :bluesad:

I am really not in the mood to do anything, it feels like I lost some motivation to do content writing.

My book THEOPHILUS: A TALE OF ANCIENT ROME got a new five star review on Amazon today!

A few days ago I gave that hundred-page first-person "memoir" I mentioned to the sister of the person about whom I wrote it, held my breath in trepidation as to what she might say, and yesterday afternoon she ended up asking if I'd meet her because she wanted to talk about it. We ended up talking seven hours.

With some encouragement from someone I've been doing a bit of story writing. I won't mention their name in case no one likes it, but if they do send extra karma ER's way. It's a story that has been floating around my head for around 17 years now. I've been putting it down into paper (well, Microsoft Word). The names of some of the characters have been altered a bit, so some people from around here get various cameos and indeed starring roles. Or at least their names do. I've not based the characters themselves on anyone, just stolen their names.

Anyway, here is the introduction and I hope you like it, or at least don't hate it.

Knowledge Burns.
By Alex Corbett.

Prologue: The End.

   I can see my breath on the cold night air. It comes in ragged gasps now. The hole in my side hurts abominably, and I know it won’t be much longer now. I grab a nearby headstone to support me as I fall to my knees on the wet grass. I no longer have the strength to stand and can only lie here hidden for a while in the moonlight shadows. I can’t seem to run or even walk anymore, my body just doesn’t have the strength to obey me. Slumped down, I can hear their voices getting closer and closer. When they find me, they’ll finish what they started and it will all be over.

Everything.

   The right hand side of my chest is somehow both burning hot and freezing cold. A sticky wetness runs down it, staining the tattered remnants of my suit and the grass beneath me. Icy tendrils of mist float on the moonlight. I try to stand, to go back and get Evie, but my legs won’t move. I have to somehow kill them all, get back to the temple… back to Evie. I would need her now, more than I ever had.

   I look down at the body that until recently was a living breathing human being, although I am barely able to comprehend him as such now. It is some small comfort to know that the man who tricked me and led me to this lies dead before me, and to know the pain he endured as he died.

   I think again of Evie. Somehow I must get to her. My head swims with pain as a new wave of nausea envelopes me. There seems to be some cosmic irony in this happening in a graveyard. A cold, moonlit cemetery with none to witness my fate, but the ones who bring it.

   It was Lewis… it all began with Lewis. That night at The Society.

I like it . . . a lot!!

Chapter Two: Investigation.

   Lewis arranged to meet me at eight o’clock outside The Society the very next night where I was to accompany him. As usual, the old gypsy was there and I waved her off impatiently as she once more tried to sell me her dubious wares. She returned several times and was proving quite vexing until very much to my relief Lewis arrived.

We were to travel near the docks, and investigate a warehouse that Lewis had learned our so called Dr Octavius had been seen entering frequently. Such an area was a blight on the city, well known for its population of Doxies and Footpads. No respectable gentleman would be caught there, preferring the services of the Toffers available elsewhere for the monied who indulged such appetites. I had expected to take a Hansom, but Lewis told me such arriving in that part of the city by cab would attract most unwelcome attention. It took quite some time before we reached the docklands. Drunken stevedores staggered around, easy pickings for the fallen women who would rob them of every penny as soon as they passed out drunk no doubt. The unlucky ones would find themselves with a case of the French Gout to boot. Unfriendly faces watched us as we strolled through the city, but Lewis seemed to take no notice. He walked as if he knew the way intimately but our top hats and fine suits marked us as strangers to this part of the city.

   Gradually I became aware of footsteps behind us as we walked. No matter where we turned they seemed to stay behind us. A light rain started to fall, drops splattering on the cobblestone streets. I tried to subtly attract Lewis’s attention but either he was so intent in where we were going he was oblivious to all else, or he was ignoring me. Although the street we were walking along was broad and well lit, many dark alley ways branched off between each grey, blocky warehouse. The sky was invisible behind the heavy clouds that continued to rain seemingly without end.

   Finally we turned a sharp corner, Lewis slightly ahead of me. As I turned the corner, he grabbed me and pressed me against the wall, shushing me with one hand, which then reached into his pocket, and turned to face the way we’d just came from. Presently a ill-favoured looking chap hurried round the corner. He was heavyset and wearing the course, black jackets favoured by longshoremen. He had in one hand a wooden billy club. Evidently he had thought to take us from behind with it. His course features showed first surprise at seeing us standing there and then into an evil grin. With his close set piggy eyes and widely gapped teeth the man looked like some hired thug out of a cheap penny dreadful. He spoke, his voice heavy with the rough accent common to the lower classes “Well gent’s. Looks like you be a bit lost. ‘Ow’s about you just hand old ‘Enry here over all your readies and I’ll give you an escort back out o’ these ‘ere docklands?”

   As he spoke he tapped his club in the palm of his other hand. I made to dig out my wallet, but Lewis put his arm out to stop me as he drew something out of his other pocket. I could not see what he was holding, but the man’s face went pale, and he dropped his club from suddenly nerveless fingers before fleeing back around the corner. What strange unholy icon had Lewis showed him to frighten the thug so? In answer to my unasked question Lewis said in a low voice “Webley 38, a souvenir of my army days old boy. Comes in handy now and again.”
   That a man like Lewis would carry a gun surprised me. I had always imagined him being able to deal with any threat no matter how dire with more… obtuse methods. Still the knowledge that he had such a thing was somewhat reassuring given our recent encounter.

   “We are nearly there. I thought it best to make sure we weren’t followed any further. I doubt he was in the employ of Octavius but best to make sure. I’d been trying to lose him for a while and yes, before you ask I was aware of you trying to warn me we were being followed. I didn’t want to let him know that I knew however.”

   Feeling slightly foolish at assuming Lewis would not have picked up on him as well, I fell back instep beside him as we walked on. “We must retrace our steps a little. I’m afraid I took us on a more circuitous route trying to lose that mugger.”

   Rain was starting to drizzle inside my coat and I pulled the collar up. As stylish as they are, top hats did not seem to be the most practical thing in the world, neither for sneaking around unsavoury areas unnoticed or keeping the rain off one’s head. Rather than sticking to the more open streets Lewis took to the narrow alleyways with an assured stride that made me think he knew these backstreets better than any gentleman ought to.

   Finally we arrived at our destination. A large red brick building that looked to me eyes to be indistinguishable from the many others in this part of the city. We approached from what appeared to be the rear of it, where a solid looking door with a heavy padlock stood. I was amazed that Lewis had been able to lead us here so unerringly. Carefully looking around to check no one else was around, he silently slipped through the rain to the door and removing a dark package from an inside pocket, he removed what I gathered to be a lock pick set and went to work on the padlock. I stood, surprised again at this unexpected talent. My belief that I understood who Lewis was seemed to shaken more and more with each passing moment. Seeing my expression Lewis muttered “One does not simply call on the powers of magic and risk one’s soul without good reason. If you can find an easier way to accomplish something, then you should do it. An unwary magician is one who attracts all manner of unholy attention to himself.”

   Slightly abashed I kept quiet while he concentrated on unlocking the door, hoping no wandering constable would come by and find us apparently engaged in nefarious activities. My cloak was getting thoroughly soaked by the rain, and a trickle from the brim of my hat was making its way down my back most unpleasantly.

   Finally after some minutes that felt like hours there were three little clicks barely audible over the rain and I heard a triumphant “Yes!” from Lewis, he deftly removed the lock and, I noticed drew his revolver once more and he slowly opened the door. The squeaking noise it made I felt sure must have alerted anyone who cared to be listening, and my heart started to race, but no one appeared and I heard no alarms being sounded. Almost merging with the shadows, he slipped inside silently motioning me to follow him into the darkness. I swallowed my fear and stepped forward. Inside the first thing that stuck me was the smell. Damp. I could hear voices coming from somewhere within, although distantly and muffled. They sounded rhythmic and repetitive, but I could not make out the language never mind the words.

   From another pocket Lewis withdrew an electric torch. Its narrow beam was enough for us to see we were in some sort of back office. He illuminated a window that looked out over the warehouse floor which again I panicked at the thought that we were advertising our presence, but no one was keeping lookout as far as we could tell. Lewis moved across the office, picking a few random pieces of paper up off desks, but apparently seeing nothing of interest he discarded them. He looked out the office window into the interior of the building, and with a sharp intake of breath said “Trevor, come and see this!”

   Inside the warehouse floor another building had been constructed. Hidden from the world outside. It was squat and square. Extremely plain and as far as I could tell made from wood. I could see no markings to give any clue to its purpose but somehow foreboding radiated from it. Or was that just my nerves? They felt taut. I had never committed any crime before, never mind breaking into somewhere and I couldn’t help would other crimes I might be an accomplice to before the night was over?

   Lewis opened the door to the leading further inside the building, and whispered me to close the door we had entered from. I did so, but wedged a fistful of papers in place to stop the door closing fully should we need to make a fast exit. Lewis walked quietly and quickly over the warehouse floor, flitting from shadowy pillar to pillar effortlessly. I did my best to follow in his footsteps. I kept glancing around, but could see little of the dark recesses of the building. We made a full circuit of the wooden construct and found only one door. As we walked around I could tell the voices we had heard earlier were coming from inside. It was clearer now, some sort of chanting although I still couldn’t recognise either the words or even where in the world the language came from. Given the surprises I had already received tonight, I half expected Lewis to pull a can of oil out of his jacket and burn the edifice down around whoever was inside. Instead we returned to the one opening we had discovered. It was a plain and ordinary looking wooden door. Lewis gripped the handle and very slowly and very carefully turned it, then pushed it inwards, a soft light emanating from inside. We peered inside to make sure no one was on the other side of the door then I walked inside to the next part of the mystery.

   We entered a small room, best described as a cloakroom. Another door led from it further inside, and fortunately was closed. Sea green robes with hoods that covered the wearers face hung from pegs on the walls. The walls themselves did not look wooden from the inside, clad in dark red velvet with brass lanterns lighting the room. Lewis grabbed a robe, and seeing his plan I did likewise, took my hat off and donned one of the robes. The material felt expensive, although I could not identify the material. Smooth to the touch but somehow greasy. The voices seemed to come from the next room and I didn’t need an oracle to tell me what we were going to do next. Lewis cracked the door open and the voices flooded through. The words sounded strange. Nonsensical but yet not made up. I couldn’t see what was through the door, but he seemed confident enough to slowly open the door and slip through. Still nervous, but eager to see what lay beyond I followed.

   The next room was much larger. Indeed it must have occupied most of the wooden building. I could see many figures standing wearing the same type of robes as we had just donned. They all stood facing away from us towards an elaborate stage where a figure stood before an altar. The crowd was watching him and chanting the nonsensical words I had been hearing since we entered the warehouse. The room itself seemed larger than could have possibly been contained inside the construction we had seen from the inside. I put this down to some trick of the design and decorations to make it seem larger than it really was. Red silks covered the wall, and pale golden effigies of all manner of mystical beings unknown to me seemed to protrude on every available surface. The golden metal itself I thought must be some alloy I had not seen before for its unusual colour. The whole thing reminded me very much that disreputable and mysterious part of the city known colloquially as ‘China Town’, although the wingless dragons they favoured would be tame things indeed beside these monsters! The figure on the stage, whom I guessed must not only be a man, but indeed surely that cad Octavius himself. His robe was of the same kind of material and design of those worn by everyone else (and indeed at this point ourselves), but instead of having the hood up he wore some sort of mask. It appeared to be made of the same kind of gold as the statues and gargoyles around the room and designed in a fashion similar to the ancient Greek masks worn in theatrical productions, but with a fringe of tentacles around it’s outside edge. Octavius must be a wealthy man indeed to have financed the whole thing, from the hire of the warehouse, to building this… theatre… temple perhaps?

   My ruminations on the nature of the place were however interrupted quite abruptly. At final shout from the man on the stage all the cultists immediately dropped to the ground and starting writhing there in a most abominable and suggestive fashion. Lewis of course had followed suit with nary a seconds delay. Certainly not one long enough for anyone else to notice. I however was caught somewhat by surprise and stood there. The person on stage spotted me standing there, the lone person on his feet in a sea of supine individuals and cried out “INTRUDER!”

   Lewis moved his head around and on seeing me still standing squeaked in a not entirely manly voice “Oh bugger!” but nevertheless without pausing for a second he leapt to his feet as the others were starting to get up in a confused manner, pulled out his pistol and fired off several shots in the air. He grabbed my arm and propelled me towards the door while my mouth was still open in shock and wondering what to do. He pushed me through the antechamber and out into the wider warehouse before I even began to gather my wits and yelled “RUN YOU FOOL!”

   I needed no further encouragement and took to my heels, thinking as I did so how glad I was that I had left the door wedged open for an easy escape. I ran into the back office and barrelled into the door, sprawling over into the cobblestone road outside while behind me I could hear Lewis firing another couple of shots. Wither he was aiming at any pursuers or again firing into the air I could not tell. I picked myself up, tearing off the stolen robe as I did so and started running, Lewis close on my heels.

   Although I heard sounds of pursuit and the shouts of the searchers rang out through the night it did not take much to lose them in the maze of the cities underbelly. Despite the lack of a chase, my heart was hammering in my chest and I was out of breath. “Too… much sitting… around drinking brandy and… smoking cigars” panted Lewis, as out of breath as I was and still wearing the strange garment.
   “Oh damnation!” I swore.
   “What’s wrong man, have they found us?”
   “No, I left my hat and cloak back in that infernal box.”
   For some reason this struck the pair of us as hilariously funny and the pair of us were in peals of laughter as we walked back to more wholesome parts.

OK, I am intrigued!  Keep writing.

Well done, Alex! Keep it up.

Aaand at last the final chapter. And I don't mean that in a Friday the 13th or Saw kind of final way.

Chapter Six: Revelation.

Lewis handed me a pair of gloves and told me to wear them rather than risking touching anything down there with my bare hands and bade me watch out for sewer rats. He climbed down a later and I heard a small splash as he reached the bottom. Urgh, a noisome stench was already making its way into my nostrils and I did not relish the idea of travelling through such a place. Nevertheless my course was set, where ever it might take me. I tied a handkerchief around my mouth and nose in the hope the lavender water it was washed in would mitigate the worst of the smell.

Cautiously I climbed down the hand grips into the tunnels below. “Welcome to London beneath Trevor. A chap can get to anywhere in the city from here. Why I’d wager if you took a mind to it one could even rob the Bank of England blind from down here and not be discovered for weeks. Bless Queen Victoria for having these built.”

Somehow I did not feel quite as grateful to our previous monarch for these man made caves as my companion was.
He headed off in what to me could well have been a random direction. I resolved to keep close to him as I had no wish to get lost in this underground maze and since he had the only electric torch, without Lewis I would have nothing to light my way.

“Be glad old boy that the rain while constant has been fairly light, or we’d been wading through this lot waist deep.” Once more it seemed as if Lewis was able to read my thoughts.

Lewis seemed just as at ease here as he was when we explored the warehouse district, or indeed as he had on any night at The Society. I began to wonder if there were any circumstances that he would find himself uncomfortable.

For seemingly endless miles we trekked while just a few feet above us life continued much as it had for hundreds of years. I felt somewhat claustrophobic though and could not but help to wonder what would become of us should the sewers suffer an unfortunate collapse. Hearing the occasional squeak that I attributed to rats, although I never saw even a single one did not help me feel any better. Indeed my head seemed to swim in a similar fashion to the one time I had overindulged in the fruits of the vine. When I awoke the next day the axis the world span on apparently had settled on me for the room would not stop spinning and I was endlessly sick all day.

I am shaken out of my memories and am forced back to the present. More cultist’s have arrived, enough to carry me back from this sailors graveyard, back to the temple. Six of them stand around me and wordlessly they lift me up onto their shoulders. I am still losing blood and have no strength left to resist. They are oddly gentle with me, caring almost. My third and final trip to their hall of worship to all that is unclean. Soon I’ll be seeing my old friends and family once again. That thought is quite bitter and catches in my ruined throat. My breath comes is wheezes and gasps. I wonder if my splintered ribs have pierced my lungs? Every breath is like drinking liquid fire. They will pay for this, all of them. I promise myself that I will take revenge on every one of them, and I’ll make it hurt too. What had happened back in the graveyard was merely the first of many.

Somehow though my mind seemed determined to retrace the steps that brought me here, as if it could see where it had all went wrong and could somehow change that one moment and alter how it all turned out. My mind reaches back to that time, not even an hour ago before it all changed…

Lewis stopped at the base of an exit from the sewer. He looked up and turned his torch off biding me to be quiet and make no noise. In the darkness I could hear him moving. I assumed he was climbing up the handholds to peek through the grills of the manhole cover to check if the coast was clear. I then heard the grinding of metal on stone and a whispered hiss of “It’s all clear. Come on up.”

He shone the light down so I could see what I was doing. Of course I made the mistake of looking straight up at the beam and had lights dancing in my eyes for the next few minutes. On exiting the manhole I realised we had come up right inside the very warehouse he had been looking for. By God, the man’s sense of direction was incredible. We’d covered half the city underground and came up exactly where he meant to be. The wooden structure was still there just as I remembered. We carefully crept over to the door, my fingers running over the comforting feel of the cold gun in my jacket pocket. There were no sounds of chanting coming from inside this time. It sounded as if just as planned we had found a time when none of its worshippers would be present. As we reached the door, the entire room was suddenly plunged into bright, bright light. I put my hand up to shade my eyes, still with an after image from the lantern. On the second story of the warehouse was a balcony over the offices and a walkway around the edge of the main floor. Cultists, hundreds of them! They lined the balcony and walkway looking down at us. The figure in the elaborate mask was standing in the middle of the balcony and addressed us in a strangely reverential tone. “Welcome sir, you had no need to come skulking in like some thief in the night. You would have been welcomed with open arms. After all, without you we could not possibly complete tonight’s ceremony. If only I had been told you were going to be here there would have been no need for me to prepare my little surprise that was designed to bring you to us.”

Other than recognising the voice as being Octavius’s I was somewhat taken aback by this turn of events but Lewis, his mind operating like lightning said quickly “They must have guards outside! Quick in the door and we’ll hold them off. Use the gun man!”

From out of the shadows, behind pillars and the sides of the temple more cultists appeared, slowly walking towards them. I shrieked, pulled out the gun and fired it at the mass of people slowly walking towards us. The first bullet took someone in the head. I could not see the wound from the front, but the back of his head exploded, splattering those around him with blood, then his body collapsed on the ground. I stood open mouthed for a second in shock at my actions but the crowd continued to close in on us. I shrieked again and emptied the remaining five bullets into them. At this range I could hardly miss and although more bodies fell, it did not stop them coming. Lewis grabbed me by my coat and pulled me into the antechamber with him, slamming the door shut. He took the gun from my trembling hand, reloaded it and gave me it back. “Good man Trevor. We are not done yet. We’ll hold them off in here. Kill enough of them and they are bound to break, or if not there is bound to be some secret way of escaping from this place!”

He started piling the benches from around the room behind the door. “Not much of a barricade, but it will slow them down. Thumps against the door told us they were trying to break it down. I pointed the gun at the door and fired blindly. I must have hit someone, they were too tightly packed not to, but I never heard any cries of pain. Unfortunately in our panic and surprise we had overlooked one vitally important thing.
There were two doors to this room.

The inner door opened and more cultist began to flood in. My gun was empty, but I grabbed the barrel to use it as a club, only to find the barrel painfully hot to the touch and dropped it. Lewis whipped out his sword cane and took the first through the door in the throat, then slashed another across the face, his hood parting to reveal a blood stained face, blood pouring from a gash running from his eyebrow to his chin, then his sword cane was knocked out his hand and he resorted to his fists. I managed to knock a couple down. They seemed determined to take us alive and conscious, and the press of numbers was pushing us back. More and more got into the room. I was knocked to the floor and the weight of several others held me down as helpless. Lewis lasted a few moments longer until he at last was also pinned down.

We were prisoners of Octavius and I suddenly was very glad that I had wrote that good bye letter to Evie.

We were manhandled into the main room and dragged up on stage. A cold shock spread through me as I realised the letter I had written to Evie would now never even be read by her. I now knew why she hadn’t turned up for our date at the jazz club. She lay on top of the altar, her hands and feet bound securely to it and a gag stuffed in her mouth. Undoubtedly this was what that fiend had meant went he spoke of a surprise to bring us here. Both myself and Lewis renewed our struggling on seeing her but even if we won our freedom we’d simply have been overwhelmed again. The whole time since Octavius has spoken not one of the cultists had made any noise, no threats or cries of pain. Strong men held our arms securely and seeing as it was of no use to wear myself out any further I calmed down, looking for a better chance to escape. We were bodily dragged until we stood before the altar. Poor Evie stared up at me, her eyes filled with tears and panic begging me to rescue her.

The crowd of cultists around us parted creating a clear path back to the doorway, and Octavius walked into the room, slowly clapping. “Well, well, this has went so much better than I expected. If I had sat and planned all this out, I couldn’t have made it happen any easier. I must thank you, if it hadn’t been for your interference two decades of planning might have went awry. So much could have went wrong, but you kept it on track quite masterfully.”
Lewis spat “What do you plan on doing with us you blackguard?”

Octavius raised an eyebrow “With you? Why nothing. But then you were never important to my plan. It was dearest Trevor we needed. And you brought him right to us. I must say it was a remarkable stroke of fortune that you chose him to accompany you into that interview. I needed to see him to be sure he was the right one and everything had went as planned. We had our people watching him. His whole life and longer in fact. Twas not you I was staring at that night at your infantile Society, but the man behind you!”

“But… but…” For the first time Lewis seemed speechless and lost. “You almost killed him twice.”

He turned his intense stare on me and sighed “Yes, I am afraid I must apologise for that. Overzealous minions I am afraid. I can assure you my lord, that the men responsible have been appropriately punished. Did you think that the men were looking for you Lewis? That I would employ men who would be confused by two men switching cloaks?”

As he said the last he whipped one of the red silk drapes back, revealing three bodies hanging from hooks built into the ceiling. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped in shock. Each of them had been skinned from head to toe. “It was not hard to bribe the police into letting them go. I promise you they suffered as few men before them ever had before they died and did not die until every inch of their flesh had been flayed from their quivering bodies. I have kept the skins as a reminder to the others not to get quite so… ah hah enthusiastic when carrying out my orders. I would have punished the men who attacked your house similarly, but you already dealt with them… my lord.”

“STOP CALLING ME YOUR LORD”, I screamed.

“But you are… my lord. You are the one promised to usher in the end of the world and promote us all to new immortal forms. It is why we have done all this. Perhaps though I am not the one to tell this story.”

He glanced down at Evie. Surely she wasn’t part of this.

“Since you have already had one touching reunion, perhaps we should have some more. Everyone, remove your hoods.”

I was not sure that my heart could take another shock, as the cultists took their hoods down. I gasped as I recognised many of them. My bank manager, some of my private tutors… people whose faces I recognised but couldn’t put a name to, even Powell, the senior who had dropped his monocle not four nights ago was here. The last two to unmask were the biggest shock of all. There stood my mother and father!

My father climbed up onto the stage, an strangely kind look on his face. “You see son, you were conceived in a special ritual one Walpurgisnicht and you were dedicated at that moment to those who wait in the times between moments. It was always intended that your body would be the gate that our master would re-enter the world through. And of course in gratitude, we will all be richly rewarded.”

“Father!” I gasped. Even given my current predicament no man likes to hear his parents tell him of how he came to be.

“For what is about to happen son, I am sorry. I cannot imagine it will be a pleasant experience, but know that me and your mother have always loved you and will be here for you always afterwards.” His hand brushed my ruffled and messy pair in a very affectionate gesture. My mind whirled with shock and terror. I could barely comprehend what was happening. My entire existence was some sort of sham? And what was Evie’s part in this? Seeing me staring at her, Octavius spoke again “Do not worry about that one. She was just something to keep you in the country. We were worried you might decide to continue your studies overseas. She served her purpose admirably in keeping you close, but had no knowledge of us. I think you shot her father outside, curiously enough. I don’t see him in here now.”

At this Evie let out a stifled sob and quivered trying fruitlessly to break free of her bonds.

“Now as much as I enjoy a good chat, we have a god to summon and you have a universe to consume, alas we do not have all night.”

He started chanting in more of the unknown language we had heard on our previous visit, each line repeated by the massed throng around us. As he started speaking it felt as if red hot wires were suddenly burning through my brain. My body arched violently as I was shook with uncontrollable spasms. The words sounded maddening and I begged them to stop, I wanted the sweet release of death like nothing else I had ever wanted before, but the words continued unceasingly, echoing strangely in my head. I started to understand the words in my head and screamed even more as I came to understand their meaning and the horrible fate that awaited me. My throat was raw with the screams, which increased in pitch as my body was struck with increasingly violent jerks. Reason left me then and I howled with raw pain and emotion unable to articulate words any longer. My right side where my ribs were cracked, suddenly burst open, showering blood and gore over the crowd. They raised their hands in adulation as my life sprayed out of my body. I could see the broken ends of my ribs protruding from my body and oh my sweet God, the pain! Why couldn’t I just die. I could see the horrified expression on Lewis’s face which must have matched mine as from the hole in my side a gnarled lumped… something that was a cross between an arm and a crabs claw poked it was out into the unholy air. My howls and screams became a horrid gurgle. I somehow registered that Evie had passed out and would be spared seeing whatever happened to me next. My spasms had become so powerful that the men could no longer hold me and I threw them through the air like so much confetti. I could not form the thoughts required to use this to escape, or even control my body enough. I felt myself growing taller, everyone around me shrinking. The cultists were all staring at me in awe, becoming their god made flesh. My vision faded as my eyes rotted in their sockets and fell as so much dust, but I had other ways now of perceiving the world around me now. I could see the thoughts and desires of all those around me. All their petty hopes and dreams. Pathetic mortals. The arrogance of the such in thinking they could summon me and command me to end the world for them as if such things would ever run on a mortal schedule. I saw Evie and saw that she had actually truly loved me and it was not marrying for me for money, or because she had been manipulated. She was an innocent pawn in their scheme. Then of course I looked at Lewis. Not just at him, not even into his mind, but deeper in a way no human could ever comprehend.

And I understood.

Absolutely everything. All the secrets of the universe were finally mine. And I knew that Lewis was as big as fraud as anyone in The Society. He just made it look good. All the frauds he had exposed were exactly that. He had never knew anything of the deeper truths or experienced anything beyond charlatans. It was ironic that he had spent so much time exposing others who were exactly the same as him.

What had unfolded in front of his eyes had been too much for his mind and it had snapped. With a shriek and the strength of a madman he broke free of the men holding him, whose attention was on me as my body broke and reformed. Those on the floor were prostrate on their knees, chanting my praises, or like Lewis had not been strong enough to withstand my presence and were dribbling and drooling on the floor. Lewis fled gibbering to the exit and I lumbered after him, not caring when I stood on the head of one of my worshippers, splattering it open like an overripe grapefruit. My other foot crushed the chest of another, unfortunate enough to be lying where I stood. I could feel their life force leaving their body and greedily I absorbed it. I could no longer quite fit through the door so I smashed it down and followed Lewis outside. He fled away from my new wondrous form into the night still shouting unintelligibly. I crashed through the wall following him trying to call out his name mockingly, but my throat was changing too and the words sounded like the grating together of pebbles in my ears. He ran into the gates of a seaman’s graveyard, falling on the ground as he rebounded off them, leapt back up and scrabbled over them. I followed, tearing the wrought iron gates from their hinges with a single swipe of my arm. I was closing in on him with every step until somewhere in the middle of the necropolis’s I caught up with him. My new arm grasped him and lifted him up turning him around to see me as my face split in twain and my new glorious visage was presented to him. Still he gibbered and screamed incoherently, beating at me futilely with his fists. In a moment I decided what was appropriate. He had after all, always told me that knowledge unearned burned. It would be a last kindness to show him just how true that was. I touched his head with one finger and poured all my knowledge into his head. The secrets that lay beyond science, the blasphemous far corners of the universe where all laws of nature and physics were but playthings to the monstrous beings that dwelt there… my kin.

I like to think in those last few seconds as his eyeballs melted and his flesh burned he understood and was grateful for my gift. Still as his body burst into flames and I dropped him on the ground I took his soul as it fled his body. Perhaps some time I will stop torturing it enough throughout the eternities long enough to ask him? My body continued to be wracked by change. Now it shrank and the strength fled me. I had exhausted my power for the moment, although with time they would grow and this would be as nothing to me. I could feel that my body needed time and space to finish altering itself into a suitable vessel.

You know the next part of the story. How the cultist found me and were carrying me back reverentially to the temple. That would be a suitable place for me to enter a cocoon and finish becoming.

Before then of course, I would kill them all for their arrogance. One does not simply summon a god to do ones bidding and they would pay for it. As a small mercy it would be fast, but in those moments they would know pain greater than even I had sustained. Then after I had killed them as I said earlier I would need Evie more than ever. After all, changing into a new form is an exhausting experience and her body and soul would sustain me through it as I consumed her.

What woman could do more for her man?

Now, do I start posting up my next story yet or not? On the one hand I think it is funny, on the other hand it could be a bit controversial. Hmm, decisions, decisions.

You know I for one shrink away from controversies.

If it helps any I did write it using a pseudonym.

Ok, just for you ER, here is the first page.

GODSMACKDOWN!
By John Paul Pope.

It was going to be a good night. I could feel the electricity in the air, and not just because we had at least two gods of lightning in here.

In fact they were half of the opening match.

Jesus (special finisher chair shot, being a carpenter he made those chairs himself too, real expert craftsman. Technically using a chair was illegal, but the crowd loved it so we always let it slide) was sitting in the corner, taping up his hands. Those holes in the palms had to be a b***h in the ring. Still the man had been the hard-core champion for nearly two thousand years. Gotta give a scrawny man like him who could take that sort of punishment loads o’ kudos. Still he'd bulked up a lot since The Ultimate Warrior got here and signed up as his workout partner. Tonight was his big shot at getting the title back. Mohammad (finishing move, the Jiheadbutt) had been doing his heel shtick for months now, working the crowd up into a fever pitch against him and tonight was the big night, headline match. JC Vs Mohammad – Hard-core Hell In The Cell!

Thor and Zeus (both used the same what was basically the same finisher, The Fist Of Thor or Zeus depending on who was doing the punching) passed me by on the way to the ring, high fiving each other. Sparks of electricity danced between their hands. Say what you like about the old timers being old fashioned and not having modern flashy moves, but I respect the classics. I wished them luck. Odin (finisher Hanging On The Tree Of Knowledge – submission hold), was going to be the outside ring manager for the pair. They were up against Osiris (finisher, Planting The Harvest, a neat twist of a pile driver) and Anubis (finisher Scales Of Judgement, a custom backbreaker). Osiris had never quite been the same after a handicap match against his son Set and I think he lost his balls after it. I was never a close a follower of theirs. Found their animal heads a bit off putting and it limited their chances for promo slots and interviews, but still it was a great gimmick.

Jesus is a second generation wrestler. His dad (finisher The 10 Plagues, a series of submission holds. In fact the last time I’d saw him pull all ten was on the Egyptians and they didn’t submit until the last one. Talk about tough!) was big in the ring. In fact they used to be part of a three man tag team called the Holy Trinity, JC, God and the Holy Ghost. You didn’t see much of the Ghost around now though. Then again, he is invisible so I guess you wouldn’t. For the longest time I was amazed at how much like God, the actor Charlton Heston had looked like. Of course everyone has to change gimmick every so often to keep the fans interested and these days a different actor looked just like him. Think Morgan Freeman, only with muscles.
 
Ooh, showtime. The Celestial Choir started their singing “Ooooh oooh oooh oooh wooow wooow, THUNDER!” doing a damn fine imitation of AC/DC and ‘The Gods Of Thunder’ walked out. I could hear the pyrotechnics kicking in and the incredible pop from the crowd. Of course when you have the power of the heavens at your command you can supply your own pyro’s and damn impressive they were too. I liked to stay backstage for their intro though. More than once half the audience had been fried accidently with all the lightning flying around. They’d learned a lot from that guy from The Legion Of Doom when he’d gotten up here about being showmen. Of course their natural talent helped. There was a bit of confusion though when their opponents went to come out and Gangnam Style was played instead of their usual theme song, Walk Like An Egyptian. Still the guys were game and did their best to dance along comically, slightly at odds with their team name (AnNILEation!).

I love working with pro’s. Nothing sets them back, they just take things like this in their stride. Decided it was time to head ring side. I waved to Lucifer waiting to go out and do his referee thing. Poor guy gets a bad rap from all the fans just because God had a beef with him about some decisions he’s called in the past. I mean I’ve watched the tapes and only one third of his decisions went against the guy, the other two third were solidly in his camp. I guess some guys just really hold a grudge. Still, he is a pro and he knows it’s all just show biz. What a trooper. He said it looks like tonight is going to break records and I had to agree, this was going to be a truly special edition of GODSMACKDOWN!

! No longer available (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l482T0yNkeo#)

Page 2.

Lucifer walked down to the ring, ignoring the chorus of boos from the crowd. He knows he isn’t the attraction here and he doesn’t try to milk it. Like I said, the old guys are really classy. As he enters the ring all four wrestlers eye him up. He issues his instructions and I ring the bell.

Zeus starts off with Anubis. The Greek has the advantage in sheer muscle and shows it, dominating the match from the start. He does some big power moves and the crowd loves it. The old ones are great to open a show with, always gets the audience up on their feet, even if they are a bit past it. The match turns after Zeus tags in Thor though. Loki was hiding beneath the ring, comes out and trips up his brother. Thor gets trapped in AnNILEation’s corner and the pair start double teaming him. Both do their finishers on him and he staggers around the ring then collapses to the mat. The crowd are on their feet roaring for him to get up. Osiris goes up to the top rope for a diving head-butt, and at the last second Thor rolls out the way and manages to tag Zeus. Zeus runs in and clears house. They grab Osiris and he gets a Fist Of Zeus AND a Fist Of Thor at the same time and it’s all over. Lucifer does the one two three count and raises The Gods Of Thunder’s hands in victory.

I gotta tell you, I wouldn’t want to be double fisted by those guys.

Next up, it’s Baron Samadhi (for his big move he spits a mouthful of Zombie Juice on his opponent to make them slaves to his will. It’s a bit ick if you ask me but it’s another fan favourite and he is always apologising to his opponents afterwards. Not that they know about it though once they are in that zombified state). He dances to the ring accompanied by his Loa Girls. The medium weights are not my favourite. The cruiser weights, well they have speed and incredible agility. The moves those guys can pull… I gotta tell ya, wow. The heavy weights, well they got all the big power moves and that is great to watch too, but the guys in the middle, well they’ve not got either. They do have to work that little bit harder to win the crowd over and that is there strength. Persistence.

Anyway, the Baron is dancing all over the ring with his snake. It used to belong to Jake Roberts, until Andre the Giant sat on the bag. Now he works our side of the fence and I tell you, that snake, Damien is another true pro.

The Baron goes all quiet as the house lights are turned out. Every soul in the place is in hushed silence and anticipation for a few seconds, then FLASH! BANG! Buddha (finishing move The Big Buddha Belly Bop) is standing there on the runway. Not the most successful in the ring, but a real crowd pleaser. He floats, sitting in the lotus position down to the ring, waving serenely at the crowd with a great big smile on his face all the down to ring side, then floats up and over the ring. He stands like a sumo wrestler, then wiggles his belly and does a truffle shuffle! No wonder they love him. The Baron starts before the bell rings, and runs in for a drop kick taking the big man high on the chest. He is staggered and is hit by a second and third drop kick pushing him back into his own corner. Baron Samadhi moves to the opposite corner, looking to splash on Buddha, but he moves out and the Baron smashes hard into the ring post. He recovers quickly though, sending Buddha to the ropes with an Irish Whip and then clotheslines him to drop him to the floor. A series of elbow drops kept him there.

Samadhi goes for the kill with a figure four and the big guy is in trouble now. The fans are on their feet screaming for blood, while Buddha drags himself painfully over the mat, his outstretched arm grasping for the rope. Lucifer is down on the mat beside him asking him if he wants to tap out... and he makes it. Samadhi is forced to release the hold, but he stamps on the back of Buddha’s knee as he gets up. The crowd hisses and boos, and Samadhi milks it for all its worth. That’s the good thing about all these guys divine powers, their injuries only last as long as the story line requires then bam, they just heal themselves up right away.
Buddha is trying to avoid putting too much weight on his injured leg, pulling himself up with the ropes. Samadhi smelled blood in the water and was looking to end it now. He comes running in for a high speed manoeuvre. I just know Buddha is going to be faking it and step out the BAM! NO! SAMADHI JUST CRASHED RIGHT INTO HIM WITH A SHOULDER BARGE THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HAS BROKEN BUDDHA. SOMEONE HAS TO STEP INTO THIS AND STOP IT BEFORE HE GETS SERIOUSLY INJURED. OH MY GOD!

A voice very much like Morgan Freeman’s says “Yes my son?”

Must not laugh . . . must not . . . must  :bouncegiggle: :bouncegiggle: :bouncegiggle: :bouncegiggle:

Part 3.

Buddha staggered for a few steps dazed. Samadhi moved in for a swinging neck breaker, but Buddha is surprisingly light on his feet for such a big guy, ducks under Samadhi’s grasping hands, slips behind him then rams him hard into the corner post and Samadhi is down! Is Buddha going to go for the pin? No, he is climbing up. Oh my G… no wait, not that again. Jesus Christ, he is going for the top rope.”

Another voice says “Yes, I have eyes and can see that too.” What a character, he has his hands over his eyes and is peeking through them. That JC really cracks me up. Great guy. I ask him to hold my car keys for me and then laugh as they fall on the floor. He falls for that one every time.

Time for a ladies match. Women Scorned (Hel – finisher Highway To Hel & Chyna special move, low blow to the groin. Not as effective against other women as men though) against The Hail Mary’s (Virgin Mary – finisher Immaculate Leg Drop and Mary Magdalene special finisher Witness The Crucifixion). Women Scorned come down to Highway To Hell, AC/DC are popular tonight and the choir is doing it justice. The Hail Mary’s come down in rhinestone studded nuns costumes to Proud Mary.

Magdalene goes in first and Hecate comes out to meet her. It’s an immediate hair pulling contest in the middle of the ring, the pair of them trying to swing each other around. The guys might have more muscle, but with the gal’s it gets downright vicious.

While they are fighting I see Dusty Rhodes wandering around. He hasn’t taken part in the business since getting here, but the word is on the grapevine he is waiting for McMahon getting here so he can have some serious payback for the polka dot costume. Man, the Bionic Elbow. Worst big move ever, but the Big D just has so much charisma he could carry it off. The plumbers son who was just so sweet!

Meanwhile the fight has went outside the ring and all four women are tearing into each other. The Hail Mary’s are being tossed around like a salad by Chyna and Hel. After all they do hath the fury of a woman scorned, but Mary just isn’t staying down! She grabs a Mary by the hair and I can’t tell which one is which, smashes her face into the apron and then jumps back into the ring. Lucifer has no idea who the legal ma… woman in the ring is. I don’t think anyone does. It is chaos here, it is anarchy! He starts a ten count, but Mary gets back in by seven. She then tags in the other Mary. Wow, she is up to it tonight, doing handsprings over the to the other side of the ring, she wraps her legs around Chyna’s neck and OH MY GOD, IT’S A HURRICANRANA! THE VIRGIN MARY JUST HURRUCANRANAD CHYNA. SHE MUST HAVE BEEN FLIPPED SIX FEET UP IN THE AIR!

Once more Morgan Freeman’s voice answers me. It’s so damn hard to be an announcer in this place.

It must be the Virgin Mary who is in there, she runs into one rope, over the ring to the other and then on the return, puts an Immaculate Leg Drop right on Chyna’s head.

From there it is all over bar the counting.

We take a break for a pre-recorded promo spot. JC and his dad are being interviewed by Mean Gene. Mean Gene is asking what they think about all the smack talk Mohammad has been putting out there about JC, but it is God who replies “Well you know what Mean Gene, Mohammad has been telling everyone how he is going to nail my boy and how he is going to stomp all over the hearts of his Christomaniacs and bring them to Allah instead, well I gotta tell ya Mean Gene, I just ain’t impressed at all. And I have just one thing to say to Mohammad. He said to my boy to bring his best, to bring an ass whupping. Well Mean Gene I have to say just this one thing to Mohammad. He wants as ass whupping brought, the all I got to say is this.”

“ASK AND THY SHALL RECEIVE!”

Wow, he went full on there. Total reverb and everything. I felt the ground quaking beneath my feet. Some say that promo’s are a dying thing, but when you have a guy like this doing them… well that is one of the reasons I love this business so much.

Part 4.

Its followed up with a flash back to how Jesus lost the hard core title. He was already to roll with the apocalypse, when Randy Savage turned up and challenged him to a match. Everywhere JC went the Macho Man was there, getting all up in his face, demanding an Apocalypse Match against him. Eventually after he set up a money lending business in one of JC’s temples. Well JC just lost it with him right there and then. First he cleared house and then the Macho Man got his match. I’ve got to say, it was a match for the ages. No rules, no holds barred. Two hours the pair of them battled back and forth, until finally Randy got him right in the throat with an elbow drop from the top rope and a great big “OOOOOOOHHHHH YYYYYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” that was heard all over the heavens.

He then called out some of his old friends, Andre the Giant, S.D. Jones and Eddie Guerrero. I had thought Dunk the Clown was going to turn up, but it turns up that it was only his career that was dead. Anyway, between the four of them the slapped a leg lock, two arms bars and a sleeper hold on JC. They called it The Crucifixion and seriously nailed him with it. JC took it as long as he could, but eventually he submitted. As hard as he was no one could take that kind of punishment and not give up. He lost the match, the apocalypse didn’t happen and he lost the title. It has sat vacant since the Macho Man then disappeared.
Not seen the Macho Man around since then, but I have a feeling that if anyone tries to pull off the end of the world… Well he’ll be there waiting to stop them. Humanity’s ultimate defender.

Anyway, Jesus had a bit of a crisis of faith and disappeared from the scene for a few days. He missed a match the whole Holy Trinity was supposed to take part in and the clique kind of fell apart. Still three days later he came back and ever since he has been working towards another shot at the Hard Core Title. The management had been trying to move away from those kind of matches and be a bit more family friendly and he has had to put in a lot of effort to keep it going. Word is he can’t wait for Mick Foley to get up here so he can form a new tag team with someone just as crazy as he is.

How can you not love a guy like that? He got broken almost in half, and he took a few days, then got right back up and in there.

Back on to the next match. Last one before the big finally. We have Poseidon (finishing move Release The Kraken (I know, it makes no sense for a Greek deity to unleash something from Norse mythology, but who I am to argue with popular movies)) going up against King Midas (big move, the Hand of Gold). I guess we can expect a lot of classic moves from a pair of ancient Greek types.

The lower half of the arena is flooded to allow Poseidon his full range of moves, while Midas makes his way to the ring. I must say for a mortal, he seems remarkably confident about his chances against a god, who is not only more powerful but has a ton of experience in the ring. I know who my money is on.
Well there is enough water in the area now and Poseidon is coming in swimming all the way. Midas pretty much got a dead silence, but the crowd is roaring for the Lord of the Oceans. Wait, what’s this? Midas is putting on a blindfold. Seriously, Midas is going to take on a god blindfold! OH MY GOD!

Morgan Freeman says “Look, I am trying to enjoy a relaxing massage. Will you damn well stop calling on me!”

It is so hard being a ring side announcer in this business, but I love it despite the challenges.

Part 5.

What the… All the lights just went out? That isn’t in the script. Oh wait, now they are coming back on and… MEDUSA (finishing move The Petrifier) IS IN THE RING! I GUESS SHE IS STILL p**sED AT POSEIDON! SHE IS TURNING HER GLARE ON POSEIDON AND THE GOD IS TURNING TO STONE! AND THE MATCH IS OVER BEFORE IT HAS EVEN BEGUN! I GUESS THESE TWO ARE GOING TO BE THE NEXT DOMINANT TAG TEAM! THEY ARE JUST GOING TO BE UNSTOPPABLE. ONLY HALF THE CROWD IS CHEERING AND THE OTHER HALF ARE NOW SO MANY STONE STATUES! THEY ARE IN THE RING, MIDAS IS TAKING OFF HIS BLINDFOLD WITH ONE HAND AND HIGH FIVING ME… Dusa with the other.

Oh.

They should have thought that one out a bit more.

Well it had the promise of being the perfect tag team up until that moment.

We had better wait for some gardeners to get here. I think if you want a garden gnome then there is going to be plenty material around now. Oh, and if anyone wants a golden statue, contact the station manager. Got to pay the bills around here somehow.

I’ve been in this game for millennia, but somehow every once in a while it still throws up something that surprises even me.

I think this last match is going to be the biggest one since all the top names were in a lumberjack match for who shape planets were to be. So many wanted flat I felt for sure that was going to be the winner. Believe it or not one of them was even going to be carried on the backs of four elephants which was then carried on a turtle.

These guys really don’t help themselves when we are trying to present pro-wrestling as a clean, drug free sport.

Came as a huge surprise to everyone when the Flying Spaghetti Monster came out of nowhere and won that one. Ever since then planets have had to be roughly round as a reminder of his noodly meatballs.

Man, when they were handing out gimmicks that guy really got shafted.

But crazy things like that get up are one of the reasons why you just got to love this business. I was speaking to the managers the other week. Ratings had been down, attendances all over the world were falling. I was starting to get a bit worried we might get cancelled.

And believe me in this business, you get cancelled you are going to need more than the Macho Man to save things. Maybe even have to Hogan in.

He took a draw on his big cigar and pointed downstairs. “Look my boy, they still love us. Look anywhere you want in the world and everyone is copying what we do up here. Don’t you worry.”

I guess he is right. Plus McMahon and Hogan both look ready to join us real soon and both of them know how to bring in the crowds, even if they do have massive ego issues.

I was wondering why the water hadn’t been drained when Jesus came out to the ring, chair in one hand and his pet lump of wood being carried over his other shoulder. He just walks right on top of that water like it was solid concrete and the crowd is going wild. He leaps into the ring like it was nothing, smiles at the crowd and waits. Then we have something special. The camera’s switch to a couple in the crowd. We can see them all on the Jumbotron screen. He gets down on one knee and proposes to his girl. Of course she says yes and the place just erupts. Jesus turns that million mega-watt smile on the crowd then reaches down, touches the water and turns it all to wine for the crowd to help them all celebrate. Whatta guy!

Part 6.

I tell you, the problems we had promoting this fight was unbelievable. Every time we put posters up advertising it, Mohammad’s guys for some reason would go crazy about it and rip them back down. The things that guy can do in the ring though… it’s just else. I remember we were doing a gig in the Dome of the Rock, Mohammad went up to the top rope and pulled a Moonsault on God back when he was doing the Yahweh gimmick. He went so high the crowd called it ‘The ascent to heaven’. That is the kind of once in a career move that legends were made from! The camera’s hadn’t expected the move and went the wrong way, which helped the story when they lost tracking on him. People thought he had just jumped so high.

People forget the part where God rolled out of the way just as he landed, slapped an ankle lock on and secured a submission, it was the sheer guts of the move people remembered, not who won or even who was fighting.

Mohammad’s turn to come out was next. He didn’t go with his usual wailing music, instead for this event preferring “Eye of the Tiger” and the celestial chorus did it magnificently. The crowd were booing their heads off. Knowing how much Mohammad had been working the crowd for months, building their hate up to fever pitch for this match he must have been really appreciating that his hard work had paid off so well.

He climbed through the ropes to enter the ring, took a moment to bow to the crowd with a grin, then the bell rang and the fight began in earnest.

Man, I love this business!

A very short story from a friend.

Still trying to finish my script for this:

(https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1483322996l/33670817.jpg)

Way back when, I offered everyone here roles in the movie, along with Sir Anthony Hopkins, Colin Farrell, Nick Frost and Neil McDonough.  :wink:

I simply refuse to share the same air as Colin Farrell. And I don't ski, so I must have three stunt doubles. Wait, that's six people, isn't it? Just fix it, dear, and don't forget my green M&Ms!!

A letter to a psychologist. Fun stuff!

Finally found this thread again, so I can post my stories in here instead. :) One of the stackers (Suppliers), read The Forsaken and asked if I had any more he could read so I went delving through the past to recover these ones for him.

Figured since ER had written a story involving Scotland that I should do one too. Going to try something slightly different for my next story and do each chapter from a different person's perspective. And some of the people in the story (Bev, Jim, Alison and Chris) have the names (and some of the traits) of the people I've met in real life, although Jim is in the story because while we were at work he asked if he could be in one of my stories and have lots of sex. Paul is also based on someone else I know, but I'd to change the name as I didn't think his real name would fit into the story.


The bottom of the Loch was still. Little stirred down there in its depths, too cold and lightless for any life larger than the microscopic to survive according to modern science. Closer to the surface teemed with life, all manner of fish, although this part of the world was unusually remote and few would brave the journey to fish there when other, just as rich waters were more readily available.

It was exactly this that had brought those who dwelt below here in the first place, and the few who did come to this place seeking solitude would mysteriously go missing. They were careful to avoid the search parties though. Painful experiences had taught them to walk a careful line between stopping the curious tourists and attracting too much attention. A search party would eventually give up and go home, but if they vanished too then that would only bring greater and greater numbers seeking them.

They were careful also to ensure most of the bodies were found, although sometimes… well they were too badly damaged to pass off as some accidental death and questions would be asked about certain curious injuries. The dwellers below learned slowly and did not like change, but they lived a very, very long time compared to those who dwelt above and would eventually adapt.



“SIMON!”, the high-pitched voice wailed. Simon turned around to look at his girlfriend and sighed inside. There was no doubt that Bev was the most attractive woman in their class at university, and exactly the sort of woman a man like him should have on his arm, but man was she irritating. Simon was also aware that she had slept with most of her professors in order to keep her grades (barely) high enough to remain at college. Then again, he thought with a smile, when it came to sleeping around he was no slouch himself (and unlike Bev he had standards for who he’d sleep with, only the most attractive girls made it to his bed, although sometimes he’d slum it in an alleyway with a girl who didn’t quite meet his usual criteria). Any hey, what wasn’t to like? He was tall, sandy haired with sparkling blue eyes, a good set of muscles from playing rugby. handsome and of course never short of money. Women were practically jumping into bed with him in the hope they’d be the one to land him, that they would cure him of his bad boy ways. It was hardly his fault if they couldn’t see he had no interest in them beyond satisfying his basic urges. He had one more year to do at Uni, and then he’d be off to a job in the city, working for his dad. Immediately his thoughts started to turn to what he would do with all those desperate secretaries, his manhood starting to stir at the images running through his mind.

Bev’s wailing brought him back to reality. She’d put her foot in some soggy hole in the ground and was now wet almost all the way up to her knee. Adjusting his backpack slightly he walked back to help her up. Whose idea had it been anyway to come trekking through the wildest and most remote part of Scotland hiking? It had seemed like a good idea while they had all been high snorting Jim’s coke. Say what you like about the man’s personal life, he always knew where to score the best Charlie.

Simon sincerely hoped Jim had brought some with him. He was looking forward to getting high and naked with Bev under the stars. Otherwise the next time he saw Jim kissing Paul he’d punch him out after he’d finished throwing up at the sight of them. At private school Simon had experimented with that kind of thing (only ever giving of course) and a bit more after a game of rugger when the post-match games got out of hand, but that was hardly the same thing as what those two got up to.

How Jim and Paul were managing to walk hand in hand over this rough ground was beyond Simon. His muscular legs were tired from dragging his feet through the gorse. Did no one ever come out to this place and cut the damn grass back? The two men smiled at Simon as the caught up with him, and Simon flashed his killer smile back at them, keeping his disgust hidden inside as he had for the past three years. While other people’s attitudes had moved on about sexuality, Simon’s were still rooted firmly in the 1800’s. At least where other people were concerned.

The last two of the group finally caught up. Alison and Chris. They were most used to this kind of outdoors activity, and though his memories of that night were pretty hazy he had no doubt it was one of the pair who had suggested this trip. In his mind’s eye Simon compared Bev and Alison and imagined them both nude. Bev was tall and had (dyed) blonde hair with blue eyes that matched Simon’s, slim to the point of being boyish. Her body was nothing special, but her face was her fortune. Or at least it would be if she got her dream of becoming a model. With a snort Simon considered that she might want to get a boob and butt job. Even models had to have some curves after all. Alison, well she was almost as attractive as Bev (perhaps even more so if she ever cared to put on make-up and make a bit of an effort) but her figure certainly grabbed his attention. Bev had the body of a reversible ironing board, while Alison was voluptuous if a tad short. She was also one of the few women who had ever resisted his advances. Clearly either she was a dyke or just playing hard to get. She had a body that promised it was built for sin.

Perhaps if Jim had brought the right stuff, he could slip some Micky Finn’s into some drinks and have a threesome with Bev and Alison? He’d even let them have Chris if they wanted. Filthy degenerates.

Chris looked cheerful for a change. “Lovely day for a walk. I was a bit worried August would be too late in the year to be out here, but it is fantastic. Hardly a cloud in the sky. Suggest we walk on for another couple of hours, my map says there is a small village up ahead. Maybe it will have a pub where we can get a bite to eat and a pint.”

Bev was taking the chance during the break to redo her make-up. One of the things Simon liked about her is that no matter what she would always look her best. Compared to her Alison would always look a bit frumpy, although what she saw in Chris was beyond Simon. He was of average height and prematurely balding with a seemingly almost permanent hang dog expression only occasionally broken by a wan smile and a very self-depreciating sense of humour. As Chris spoke Alison cuddled up beside him, a wide smile on her face. Simon remembered something he’d done with crack cocaine and a pair of strippers. He was wondering if he could do the same with Alison and Bev.

Simon's thoughts rarely wandered from sex or power. When something else occured to him, it invariably ended up with him thinking about how he could turn the situation into more sex. If he'd heard the term narcissistic sociopath he would be too self centred to realise he was one. He just knew everyone around him was in awe of him. After all without a doubt he was the most physically perfect and richest person they had ever met. Everything that was important in life he had and they were right to admire him. With one of his characteristic snorts, he thought how pathetic Chris, Paul and Jim must feel when he was around. He made sure he played up to this, letting them borrow his (very expensive naturally) PC to do their Uni projects on. Of course, this also made life easier for Simon as he could simply copy off the stuff they'd wrote on his machine.

After all, he had too much fun to be having to be wasting his time actually doing any work for his degree. Still it was time to get everyone moving on. And this village would no doubt have some very innocent country girls who would no doubt be dazzled by his big city ways and all too eager to please him. Those thoughts filled him with a new energy. He pinched Bev's bum receiving a stern look from her in return. He really was going to have to find an upgrade for her. Looking as good as she did, she'd never had to learn how to be good in bed to get a man and Simon was getting bored with her. "Ok, lets get a move on then and get to this pub, or we'll be cooking outside tonight."

"Leave my bum alone!" Bev protested, her high pitched voice grating on Simon's ears. He just turned his smile on her and winked and could see her melting. It really was all too easy.

Taking Simon's lead to get everyone moving again Alison stood up straight, leaving the welcome warmth of Chris's body. The man was like a volcano. She could feel his body heat even through his jacket. Sometimes he was too warm to cuddle up to bed, but no doubt on this trip she'd find it very welcoming.

With a smile she thought about how they'd picked the perfect group for this trip. Sure Bev was a bit vapid, Simon was vain enough to have a Carly Simon song written about him, Jim had to have a good selection of drugs wherever he travelled (although that would come in useful she was sure), and Paul... well while she had other friends who were gay, Paul was GAY!!! and in bright lights. It was unusual to have a conversation about anything without him turning it into something about some other guys butt. He was fun and likable though. And of course she had Chris with her. Solid and dependable Chris. They'd been together for three years since not long after starting Uni together and once this year was over they'd return home together to spend the rest of their lives together. Sure he'd been with Bev for a few weeks before they had gotten together (and well what man hadn't been with Bev?), but they'd drifted apart quite quickly. She'd asked him once why he hadn't went further with her back then. In his usual droll sense of humour he'd said "Because I was crap in bed."

This was their last year as a group, the culmination of all the work. After this almost everyone would be separated and the chances are they'd never see each other again. It was important to have this trip before it was too late. She'd suggested the trip while everyone else was as high as a kite, and got them to book various parts online before anyone came down. Made it much easier to organise.

In many ways Alison was the glue that held the group together. Everyone else was very protective of her, even Simon. She seemed completely oblivious of her effect on men around her, either from those who wanted to protect her or those who wanted to have her. Whereas Bev's physical attractiveness could often put men off and make her seem unapproachable, Alison looked more of an earth mother type. Despite carrying a few extra pounds, she was used to the outdoors lifestyle and was coping with the walk much better than the other more physically fit members of the group (although her large bust was causing her some back pains on the long walk). Her dark hair was held back in a simple pony tail and she as usual wasn't wearing any make-up.

Staying together, she and Chris walked off, drifting off to one side for some privacy from the rest of the group, but not far enough to get seperated. It was important to her to keep everyone together for this trip.

It would give them something they could remember for the rest of their lives. A ridiculously happy grin split her face as she once more cuddled into Chris’s side and continued walking along through the deserted countryside.

Jim by his side, Paul trailed along behind the others. Bev and Simon were directly up in front, while Alison and Chris had wandered off a bit. They made a cute couple, but so vanilla. Paul knew that if he got Chris away from Ali for a night, he could get a few drinks and open him up for a few new experiences. There wasn’t a man alive who could resist Paul once they’d been loosened up a bit and he loved to turn straight guys. That was how he’d ended up with Jim, although from what vague memories he had of that night the pair of them had been high on a cocktail of mind altering substances that night. Simon on the other hand didn’t interest Paul at all. He'd met guys like him before and he was pretty sure behind that uptight rich boy front, Simon had (at the very least) already dabbled in other men.

Pre-used goods really were not Paul’s thing.

It was a warm day and Paul was sweating uncomfortably beneath his layers of clothing. Wasn’t Scotland supposed to be permanently cold and wet? He’d spent three years at Stirling University and is had been windy and rainy almost every day. It would be too much to expect a hotel this far from civilisation, but surely, they could find a bed and breakfast. Paul was looking forward to having a shower. Even out here in the hinterlands he was sure people showered. The closest he’d been to this kind of outdoors was when he volunteered at the local dog pound, taking the residents out on walks to the park. Still he could appreciate the view. He was sure in the future he’d look back on this walk with fond memories. Just right now he was stuck with being here, minus the rose-tinted spectacles.

With a sigh that was a strange mixture of contentment and irritation Paul headed on. In the distance they could see a few buildings clinging to the shoreline of the lak… then corrected himself. Of course, north of the border it is a loch, with a guttural accent on the ‘ch’. He could hear Bev still wailing on about her wet foot. What a diva.

The village (although Paul thought perhaps the word hamlet might be more appropriate) was further away than it looked and it was evening before they arrived. He hadn’t seen anyone moving outside the houses, although a few lights flickered in some windows. Did they have electricity this far north, because the glow from the windows was not the steady light of an electric bulb or even the flickering lights of a television. The village was shaped in a ‘T’. The top bar were the houses facing out onto the… loch while a single street headed inland. Most of the shorefront houses looked to be bungalows with honest to god thatched roofs, although they looked in dire need of repair. He guessed there wouldn’t be much money in a remote rural community like this. It was amazing that it had survived this long. Perhaps he could do his final year thesis on how isolated villages like this remained in existence, and how much longer they could hope to survive. Walking along beside Jim, the essay was almost writing itself in his head.

As they reached the village twilight was just emerging. The road through the village was barely worthy of the title. It was dirt, covered in a loose gravel which in many places had sunk down into deep pot holes. Only a couple of houses they passed actually had cars outside and none of them looked like they were in working condition. Most of them were 70’s models if Paul was any judge. How the hell had this place survived? It wasn’t like there would be a Tesco’s within walking distance. The streets were bare of any lightning. Paul thought how he’d hate to be staggering home drunk along here.

He heard an excited squeal from Ali talking about how picturesque the place looked. Paul decided to reply with a quote from his favourite movie “I do not think that word means what you think it means.”
Ali scolded him “Oh, don’t be such a sour puss” she said putting on a pout. Paul just couldn’t keep a straight face when she did that. The group walked closely together, despite their differences bound in friendship.

As they approached the corner of the ‘T’ they could see one building larger than the rest, being properly three stories high. The lower floor was lit up and a swinging sign outside convinced the group it was a pub, although the paint on the sign has long since faded into illegibility. A light rain started up, and with the thought of a cold beer to cheer them up the group broke into a run for the pub, giggling and laughing.

Paul practically dragging Jim made it to the doors first. Dragging the somewhat stiff door partly open he jumped inside mockingly pretending that he’d hold it shut leaving the rest trapped outside. With a laugh he opened the door again, holding Jim’s hand as the pair of them walked into the bar.

Inside the bar, was gloomily lit. Low wattage bulbs fittings had been mounted on the walls, although more than half of them seemed to be dead. The bar was a large open area, but only half a dozen patrons were present, most of them hunched over the table, wearing clothes typical of fishermen. Although they were inside most of them had their waterproof jackets hoods up over their heads.

The barman was a brute of a fellow. His jumper was straining to contain his broad shoulders, while his face was pallid. His eyes seemed disturbingly far apart and his thick lipped mouth unusually wide. Greasy, lank hair hung down past his shoulders. He looked over at Jim and Paul pointed one dirty finger at them, and in a somewhat liquid voice said “Your kind ain’t welcome here!”

Nice to see you writing again, Alex. I enjoyed that. Keep it up! :cheers:

While initially taken aback, Paul had heard this kind of thing before and wasn’t about to put up with it after a long day hiking over the hills. He stepped forward ready for a shouting match with this ogrish looking fellow, when Chris pushed past him. Ali put her hands gently on Paul’s shoulders and standing on tiptoes to reach his ear whispered “Let Chris deal with it. You know he is good at dealing with idiots like this guy.”

Indeed, during their years as friends Chris was always the one who could step into a situation and defuse it before it got out of hand. He walked over to the bar and motioned with one hand behind his back for the others to move to a table. Ali carefully guided Paul to an empty table knowing just how angry he’d be feeling, and not wanting him to suddenly leap into action on the barman. He looked like he outweighed Paul by at least twice. Chris was speaking earnestly to him, but the others couldn’t hear what was being said between them.

When Chris re-joined the others, he had his usual hangdog smile and a tray of pints.

“Don’t worry guys and girls, it was all just a slight misunderstanding.”

“Chris, the guy told me gays aren’t welcome.”

Chris laughed a little. “No mate, it’s not gays that aren’t welcome. He doesn’t like any strangers in the bar. The fact you are gay has nothing to do with it. He just doesn’t like our faces. I talked him into letting us stay for a few drinks, but I don’t think we should ask about rooms for the night. Looks like we’ll be camping outside.”

“He doesn’t like our faces” huffed Bev. “Has he had a look in the mirror ever?”

“Bae, he is just jealous. He is never going to get a woman like you and he knows it.”

Bev relaxed, slightly mollified by the thought of making men jealous.

 :smile:

“Bae, he is just jealous. He is never going to get a woman like you and he knows it.”

Bev relaxed, slightly mollified by the thought of making men jealous, even one who apparently swam at the shallow end of the gene pool.

Paul took a sip of his beer “Urgh, I almost wish that guy had kicked us out rather than serve us some of this goat’s p**s.”

Simon’s perfect face grimaced as he tried his pint. “Yeah, hardly something you’d want to trek out into the wilds to sample.”

Chris drank deeply of his pint “Well, I’ve tasted worse. Maybe it is an acquired taste?”

“Not one I’d care to acquire”, laughed Jim. “Here, try some of this.”

He reached inside his jacket and brought out a tiny bottle, with an eye dropper and after putting a few drops in his eyes, passed it around the table. Each of them in turn used it, not caring or even considering if the locals noticed or disapproved. “Just a little something to set us up for later. If you have the money I have the goods to make any night great.”

Everyone slipped Jim some notes and with a smile he brought out a snuff box. Paul recognised it as a present he’d given him to keep his stash in. Plus, Jim had a thing for antique snuff boxes. He watched Jim as he opened the lid and gently tapped out a short and narrow line of white powder along his finger, while using his other hand to roll one of the notes he’d just been handed he used it as a straw and in a single motion snorted it all up one nostril, before passing the snuff box to Simon. He took his hit and flung himself back in his chair, leaning backwards and chanting “Hot damn, hot damn, HOT DAMN!”

Paul took a hit himself, seeing stars dancing in front on his eyes, then passed it onto Ali. Shaking his head as if to clear it a little, Paul realised the few locals in the bar were watching them intently. Guess not much else happens around here worth watching, he thought. Hell, a couple of sheep getting it on must be about as exciting as it got. He half laughed, half grunted at that thought. Under the table Jim passed him a couple of pills that Paul swallowed without the others noticing. The cocktail of drugs quickly started to take effect, easing his mood and relaxing him. He smiled at the locals staring at him, thinking how odd it was that even inside they kept their hoods up and their faces hidden in shadow. The room swam slightly around him and he felt warm inside with nothing but love for those around the table beside him. He drank some more of his pint, the taste bothering him less now. He finished it, and asked for another as Ali went up to get a round in.

Chris watched Ali from behind, admiring her rear as she walked up to the bar. He could picture perfectly the sweet smile on her face as she spoke to the barman. He was convinced that she was the woman for him, and no other could ever make him feel as happy as he was with her. The others around him were chattering away. Chris half listened, nodding where he thought it appropriate, but wasn’t really paying attention to the others. He’d never swap a girl like Ali for someone like Bev, who while she had a nice-looking face had the body of a reversible ironing board, flat on both sides. He broke into a broad grin thinking of Ali’s curves. Truth was, he didn’t care that much for the rest of the group (although he didn’t dislike them either), and if he could have stayed home just him and her he’d have been quite happy. But still, he had to do his duty to society and take part. Besides Ali loved company and always shone like a diamond in any gathering.

Chris watched as the pupils of his companions grew larger as their drugs took effect. He had partaken himself just to fit in with the group, but recreational drugs didn’t seem to do anything to him. It was one of the reasons he was the peacekeeper for the group. While the others were out of their faces on drink and drugs he’d still have his head firmly on his shoulders. He supped his beer, enjoying the unusual salty taste as it rolled down his throat. He couldn’t help noticing the look Simon shot Jim and Paul as they shared a long lingering kiss. Was he jealous of them? He’d never thought of Si as being that kind of a guy. Still, it takes all sorts and Chris never claimed to be any kind of expert when it came to understanding people. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward, joining in the conversation with the others, vaguely aware that they really should have found a place to camp before it got too dark, but too relaxed to actually do anything about it. Maybe the drugs were having some effect after all? He was never entirely comfortable in company, but at times like this he could feel what it would be like to be one of them.

Ali returned with the next round of drinks. Everyone else seemed to have lost their distaste for the drink too. She handed him his drink with a wink that was full of promise for later that night when the others weren’t around and ran her fingers down the side of Chris’s hand as he took his drink, then sat down beside him. Chris couldn’t help but notice Simon taking an admiring look at Ali’s arse as she moved to sit down. Guess he prefers curvier women too. He could hardly blame the guy, but he knew he had no chance. Ali and him were meant to be in a deeper way than Chris would ever know or understand.

The conversation had turned to discussing various lecturers the group had and imagining what peccadillos they might have, each suggestion bringing louder and bawdier laughter.

Chris was half wishing he’d brought his copy of ‘Cards Against Humanity’, just to see what reactions that would get from the onlookers.

Right at this moment Jim was in his element. His best customers and friends were obviously well satisfied with his choice of drugs, and as long as they all suddenly didn’t decide to go cold turkey all at once, he’d be able to finish his last year at Stirling University. No small feat in today’s economy. Jim had grown up in poverty with a single mum who had did her best with the limited money she had available, but had inevitably sunk into debt. Jim had been determined to avoid that. At first, he’d worked his ass off in every and any job he could get, but it had left him exhausted and in danger of falling behind in his studies. Whenever he had spare time he’d started drinking and was headed down a self-destructive path. It wasn’t until the doorman at a nightclub had offered him some pills that he found a way out. Not drugs… well not taking them anyway. Most of his classmates came from privileged backgrounds and had cash to spare. They were already buying drugs. Jim figured if it was him they bought them from, well it wasn’t like he was forcing them to take them. He’d picked up a few sources to buy small amounts of drugs from which he then passed on to his friends for only a minor increase in price. He justified this to himself as being more convenient for them, plus he was now the one taking the risk if he was caught buying them. He also made sure he found out who was safe to buy from and only purchased from sources that didn’t cut their product with weed killer and rat poison. Surely his friends didn’t mind paying him for those services. One more year to get through and he’d never have to deal drugs again, he could get a good paying proper job and settle down. In his mind’s eye he pictured the future he had planned out. Nice house, nice car. Paul… well that part he wasn’t sure of. Sure, they had fun together, but Jim wasn’t sure it was what he wanted for the rest of his life. He enjoyed women as well as men and before they’d got together he’d always thought about marrying a woman and having kids together. Sure, they could adopt, but it wouldn’t be the same for him. Not to mention that both of them had completely different plans for after Uni and they involved settling down in different parts of the country.

Sighing, Jim decided to forget deep and meaningful thoughts for the night and helped himself to a generous helping from his snuff box, then offered it around his companions.

While he’d been thinking and discussing whatever random subjects came around the table Paul had bought a round in, then when that was finished Si went up and came back with a bottle of brandy. He sat down slightly unsteadily. “Can you believe that they don’t have any champers in this bustling metropolis?” he said, slurring his words slightly.

“Did they have any Prosecco?” enquired Bev.

“Pfft, that stuff is for plebs and poseurs. I only drink the real stuff. Wouldn’t catch me with that in my wine cellar. Only the best for me and mine! Speaking of the best, Jim give me some more of your magic snuff. Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a toast to US!”

Jim watched as a swaying Si stood up to make his toast and almost collapsed sitting back down. He then continued. “You know, I think I am going to suggest to my dad that he buys this entire village, knocks it all down and turns it into a car park.”

With a laugh Jim asked him “Who the hell is going to drive all the way up here to park a car?”

“Who the hell cares. I just want to knock it all down. Maybe get some kind of award for making a civic improvement. HEY BARMAN! Bring me and my friends over a whisky each, and make sure it’s the good stuff, not the s**tt you yokels drink. We are in Scotland right? You must serve whisky.”

Jim could hear the barman growling from the other side of the room. Chris got to his feet, somewhat less unsteady than Si had. Looked like Chris was doing his usual and getting ready to step in before a fight broke out.

For some reason in his head, Jim could hear the lyrics to "Eton Rifles" running through his mind.

I have been trying to get a sci-fi story off the ground and haven't had a lot of time. Science fiction is a genre I like but I've rarely written in, but I hope this story could be good if I could just get it up and running.

Chris grabbed Si by the elbow and gently, but firmly propelled him in the direction of the door, the others hurriedly following. Jim was last, just behind Paul, and the pair of them had to duck, when Paul passed the barman and just couldn’t resist winking and blowing him a kiss. The man with a howl of rage, grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a glass ashtray and launched it their direction. It shattered against the top of the doorframe showering the duo in glass. They ran outside into a now dry night, and everyone collapsed in drunken laughter, not even thinking that the barman might just be angry enough to chase them out into the street.

Feeling a little tipsy, but in high spirits Bev walking along towards the water’s edge. Paul and Jim were trying their best to remove broken glass from their hair and clothes, doing their best to make sure none had gotten into their backpacks, not an easy task while drunk and in the dark. For no reason a giggle burst from her lips and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep the night” she called out.

“Oh babe, what I’ve got in mind for you tonight doesn’t involve any sleep”, slurred Si. She could tell he’d had too much to drink and wouldn’t be up for performing anything he had in mind. Bev had grown up poor and was determined never to live in poverty again, so she made sure she always had a man like Simon around to look after her. She had to looks to make sure of that, and until she was able to make it as a model, she’d make sure she had him, or someone like him around. Putting up with his personality was just part of the package she was prepared to accept. It was the same with her studies. She wanted to live in Australia or America and that would be a lot easier if she had a degree. If getting that meant giving blow jobs to old men for better grades, well she was prepared to accept that as part of that package too. She didn’t think of it as cheating (either in terms of her relationship or unfairly getting decent grades), just using her talents to get where she could in the world and she wasn’t hurting anyone else to let there. It wasn’t like she actually planned in working in anything that her degree would be useful anyhow. Hell, if she really needed to, she could always get work as a stripper.

The sextet had wandered out of the village confines and were strolling along the edge of the loch. The moon was shining on its waters, illuminating its otherwise black surface with a silvery sheen, and what lights there were from the village soon disappeared.

She looked up at the sky noticing how clear the sky was. Being a child of the city, light pollution had never allowed her to see the sky in its natural glory. In her drug and alcohol befuddled state it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen.

Paul was making lewd comments to Jim and Simon, when Bev suddenly shrieked “Let’s all go skinny dipping!”

Even before anyone had replied, Bev was pulling off her top and fumbling with her bra. She ignored the chorus of wolf whistles as the others decided to follow suit, convinced suddenly that going swimming naked in the middle of the night was the best idea ever. Paul of course was openly leering at the men as the stripped off. Simon, meanwhile leered at the women just as openly, although falling over as he struggled to remove his trousers somewhat spoiled his view. He had been trying to compare Ali’s nipples to Bev’s and collapsed in a heap.

Bev, impatient to get in the water ran on ahead, the cold water hardly noticed even as goose bumps crawled over her skin. She waded in until she was hip deep in the water then dived forward disappearing momentarily under the water. A few moments later Ali and Chris ran in splashing and laughing. Paul, jumped on Jim’s back who then carried him piggyback into the water, then finally Simon, recovering from his fall entered. Bev surfaced, gasping for air and saw Simon’s elbow was bleeding. He hadn’t yet noticed that he’d skinned his arm when he’d fallen. Part of her mind registered that he’d be unhappy about that in the morning. He hated his skin being marked in any way, but the rest of her was lost in the moment and didn’t care.

Simon and Paul were shrieking about the cold water. Jim decided to show him just how cold it was, and leaned back until he fell into the water taking Paul down with him. The pair rose up spluttering and spitting out water, laughing. Paul tried to push Jim back under by jumping up and shoving his shoulders down. Bev giggled and called out “Paul, better be careful. Looks like the cold water is causing things to shrink.”

Unusually Paul blushed, although his reddening face was hidden by the moonlit night and no one else saw it.

The groups momentum was taking them deeper out into the loch. Occasional waves were now lapping at their shoulders. The cold was starting to penetrate even the drug induced fugue they were under.

Deciding she’d had her fun, Bev decided to swim for shore, ducking under the water as she done her best to push off the bottom of the loch. Simon jumped with a squeal and shouted that she’d bitten him on the arse. At the same moment Jim shouted, “What the hell?” as he felt something grab his calf muscle with a tug.

Bev surfaced some meters away, to hear Simon shout “There she is. Get her!” She looked behind her to see Simon start swimming towards her. Although he was powerfully built for swimming, his coordination was somewhat off and she easily outpaced him reaching the shore long before anyone else.

“What the hell?” she yelled angrily turning around to face those still swimming. “Which one of you perv’s has hidden my clothing. Those knickers were Victoria’s Secrets I have you know and not cheap.” demanded.

Chris made it out next, “Hey, all our clothes are gone” he exclaimed.

They started looking around, joined by the rest as they emerged dripping from the water. “Our backpacks are still here. Why would someone take our clothes and leave them?” Simon asked.

“Obviously babe, some pervert is out there watching us on night vision or something. Well I hope you are getting a good look, because you’ll never be getting your filthy hands on these goods.” Bev put her hands on her hips and struck a pose, slowly turning around while shouting “That’s it, you take a long good look and remember it for when you are wanking alone tonight.”

Their exuberant mood spoiled by the theft, they all pulled fresh clothes out of their backpacks. Ali pointed out that they should walk further away from the village to avoid any other pranksters or perverts.

“I bet it was that guy in the pub. I swear when we go back that way I am going to find him and smash his f**king face in.” Simon had been swearing angrily about the missing clothes ever since he’d gotten out the water. Other than his stream of threats and curses it was quiet as the group walked along the Lochside until they found a suitable place to camp, pitching their tents in the darkness.

Simon did not get to have sex that night.

Alison was a habitual early riser and got up earlier than the rest. She hadn’t been as annoyed as the others had been about losing their clothes. Making sure everyone else was still asleep, she slipped out of the tent still naked and slipped into the water, leaving a towel on the shore just in case anyone else should happen along. She used a small bar of soap and washed herself all over, enjoying the feel of the water on her skin. She had grown up being used to going swimming in all sorts of weathers. She found the feel of the cold-water invigorating, its icy chill hardening her nipples and raising goose bumps all over her skin. It started to excite her a little and she started to think of ways she could give Chris a surprise wake up if the others still were still sleeping by the time she went ashore.

With well-practised strokes, she powered her way through the waves, often dipping below the surface for as long as she could hold her breath, not testing herself against the elements, but seeking to flow with them. She moved her feet very little, all the power coming from her arms until she was deep enough to turn underwater somersaults. On land she was an indifferent athlete, but in the water, she was lithe and graceful.  Never once had she ever found swimming tiring.

Alison was a natural swimmer. Her mother had told her it was in her blood, and the small waves of the Loch proved no challenge to her as she swam out much further and deeper than they had last night. A few of the group would be wishing they hadn’t drunk quite as much today, but like Chris she rarely felt the effects of alcohol and felt well enough to go swimming. As a child she’d practically spent more time in the water than dry land and it was something she’d never stopped doing. After half an hour or so, she decided she’d had enough and started for the shore. Picking up her towel she started drying herself off, critically examining each part of her body as she did so. True she was carrying a few extra pounds, but she had never been short of admirers both male and female, many of whom did not care that she already had a boyfriend. She’d tease them and lead them on for a while, enjoying the attention, but ultimately, she’d also leave them frustrated and unsatisfied. Her breasts were much larger than most women, something that had prevented her competing for swimming professionally, and she liked her large, dark nipples. While her belly wasn’t flat she didn’t have a muffin top either. Although the only hair on her body was on her head, it would surprise others if they knew this was natural for her. She had never grown pubic hair, although she’d developed normally in every other way. Not that she complained about that, just saved her all the bother of keeping everything neat and shaving regularly. Her piercing green eyes captivated many a man and her hazelnut hair was her crowning glory. Ali did consider herself to be manipulative. Men did all the manipulating on their own. She might not discourage them, but she didn’t ask them to throw themselves at her either. Men seemed to find Bev’s model type looks off putting, and her height intimidated them, but Alison being short didn’t threaten their manhood. She finished drying herself off, and walked back to the tent, a wicked smile on her face at the thought of what she was going to do to Chris.

The first sound Simon heard when he woke up was Bev’s snoring. It wasn’t overly loud, but just loud enough to irritate him, especially with a hangover. When they had first started sleeping together he had tried pinching her nose while she slept, or rolling her over but none of it stopped her. He was feeling horny as hell, but in no condition to do anything about it. Feeling like he was going to throw up, he moved to the bottom of their tent and peaked outside to see if anyone would witness him having a white out. As his peered out of the gap between two toggles he saw Alison walking out of the water, as naked as the day she was born. “Somebody up there likes me”, he thought, his hangover temporarily forgotten. He got a full view of her naked body, much better than last night’s drunken… The thought was interrupted as memories of last night came flooding back, falling over, his clothes being stolen. f**k! His watch. It had cost him £1000, and although he had three others just like it. Bastards. Stolen like the rest. Alison’s movement distracted him again, and he stared at her watching as she dried herself off, and then brazenly walked back to her tent.

Yeah, I bet she knows I am watching and she is just showing me the goods, make me want her more, he thought. I’ll have her before this year is out he decided to himself. He had been just horny before, but now he was ready to burst, his libido battling with the nausea filling his body. As the nausea started to win and he desperately opened the tent to run to the water’s edge to empty his stomach he thought to himself “One for the wank bank later on”, even as he ran to the water’s edge, retching and leaving spots of vomit behind him as he sped over the cobbled shore in his bare feet.

A few minutes later when his body had finished ejecting the contents of his stomach, he splashed some water on his face to wash away the beads of perspiration and staggered back to his tent. Whose s**tting idea was it to have this holiday anyway? Four f**king days wandering around a lake in f**king Scotland! He couldn’t wait to be done at Stirling Uni and be back down in London. He swirled a mouthful of water and then spat it out angrily, seriously considering just walking back to… well dammit there had to be somewhere civilised. This is the UK. We don’t have any wildernesses left here.

Just as he reached his tent, his stomach rebelled again and he fled back to the water, hand clasped over his mouth to try and stop the puke spraying out everywhere, too busy in his own world to notice the muffled sounds of laughter and giggling coming from Chris and Ali’s tent as they fooled around together. His body was wracked by spasms heaving his chest. He dropped to his knees as the world swam around him. f**king Scotland, f**king Jocks in the pub. He hated this place. For a few minutes all his strength seemed to leave him and for a few minutes after he finished puking, he stayed there, his feverishly hot forehead resting against the cold pebbles.

Damn but hangovers never seemed to get any easier. When Jim woke up, he’d get a pick me up off him. Until then he would be in his own private world of pain. The sun seemed to be too hot and the glare of the light on the water made Simon’s head hurt. f**k the natural world. He wanted plastics, coffee, a comfortable bed, satin sheets and women on call to go with them, not this hippy horse crap f**king freezing cold in the middle of effing nowhere, without even a f**king Asprin. Shakily, he got to his feet. Being sick always seemed to drain the energy from him. He wiped the bile from around his mouth, spitting again to try clear his mouth of the taste. He returned to the tent, coughing as the smoke from a now awake Bev’s cigarette hit him. “f**king hell love, give us a puff of that” he demanded.

Bev, obligingly handed her hand rolled cigarette over. He always thought that was a common habit and would mark her out as never fitting in with the kind of company he liked back home. He drew in heavily, filling his lungs with smoke, and then with a second coughing fit, blew it all back out. He looked at Bev. Even without her makeup on, she still looked very pretty. Her hair was a mess though, made her look like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. She was sitting up in her sleeping bag, her mosquito bite (as he liked to call them when she wasn’t around) breasts on display. Simon was in no mood to appreciate them at the moment. “Got anything to drink?” He asked.

Looking at him through bleary eyes, she turned around to dig through her bag and after some rummaging around found a can of cola. Gratefully he took it, opening the can and downing half the contents in one gulp. “Ah crap, it’s f**king warm. Couldn’t you have kept it cold?”

“Oh, what a stupid f**king cow I am. Forgot to put it in the fridge”, she replied shrewishly, his voice rising in pitch as she prepared for one of her and Si’s regular arguments, but Simon’s head was in no fit state to take that. “All right, all right. Sorry. Just shut up for five minutes!”

Bev’s mouth opened and closed a few times making Simon think of a goldfish, before she decided having a shouting match wouldn’t do her head any good right now either, but Simon could tell the information was being stored for another argument when this morning would be brought up again. He took another long drag on the cigarette before handing it back to her.

Good to see you continuing your writing, Alex.
One small mistake, though: women don't snore.

Women are like old testament gods. Lots of rules and no mercy.    :bouncegiggle: :twirl: :bouncegiggle:

Been thinking lately about ending my diary on my birthday this year, December 24th, because I began it on my tenth birthday in 1988 when my grandma gave me a little diary book with a lock on it, and somehow thirty years sounds like a good round figure for the 7,000-page exercise.

If I do stop I think I'd need to overcome something like an addiction and might have psychological withdrawal symptoms, to the point that my first thought on the day after I ceased would be, "I gotta write in my diary what it feels like not to write in my diary anymore."

I'm not sure I could quit if I wanted to.

Quit when you are ready to quit, not by some arbitrary date. Perhaps you'll end up like Samuel Peeps, or Anne Frank and find your life being studied by generations of students for hundreds of years to come.

Even though she hadn’t put on her make-up and her hair was a mess, Bev still looked good. She was sitting upright, her tits just over the top of the sleeping bag. Simon for a second if it would be worth paying for a boob job for her, get those mosquito bites at least up to a handful each. Maybe he could do it just before he dumped her and went back home, sort of a leaving present to remember him by and to soften the blow. She’d dropped enough hints that she wanted one.

Simon’s musings were interrupted by a scream and a giggle from another tent. Ali and Chris no doubt. Despite his hangover Simon was in the mood for sex (he rarely wasn’t). He gave Bev a look and a smile. She knew what he was after right away “With your breath smelling of puke? I don’t bloody think so. At least go brush your teeth first you randy bastard.”

With a scowl and a grumble, Simon grabbed his toiletries bag and headed back out to the lakeside.


Watching Simon ass as he made his way out of the tent, Bev gave a little smile. He did have a good arse on him. That and his money made up for his personality. She finished her cigarette and went to light a second, before deciding it would be a waste. Simon would be back before it was finished. Her hand slipped back inside her sleeping bag. She should at least get herself ready for Simon. The man thought that foreplay was something you did in golf. She had only just begun to touch herself when she heard Paul’s voice as he said good morning to Si. Oh well, that was that then. There was no way they’d be having sex with everyone else up and around.

She decided she should grab her clothes and get dressed just in case anyone popped their head in to say hello. She’d just put her bra on as Simon re-entered, flashing his million-pound smile. She guessed Paul had given him something for his hangover.

Occasionally she wondered if there was something else Paul wanted to give him. Perhaps she’d agree to it as long as she could watch. The thought of those two together made her laugh, although she put her hand over her mouth and pretended to cough rather than have Si ask what she was giggling about. “Sorry bae,” said Simon “we are going to have to take a rain check. The others are up.”

She put on a sad face and lied “But I was so looking forward to a bit of fun. Didn’t get any last night, didn’t get any this morning.”

“f**king hell babe, I am not a machine. Look I promise you’ll get plenty tonight. I’ll even do something special for you.” He winked and smiled again.

“Oh, all right.” She sighed theatrically and thought “I should get a ruddy Oscar for that performance.”

Still inside her sleeping bag, she finished getting dressed, struggling to get her Demin’s on in the tight space, pulled on a shirt and then left the tent to brave the second day of this stupid trip.

Ali was setting up a portable stove for breakfast. Chris seemed a bit flustered. She wondered if they’d had an argument. Always seemed to be the perfect couple. Would be nice to know they were just as human as everyone else. No one else looked quite as bad as Simon had, but then he had been downing all his drinks much faster than anyone else. Bev decided to be useful, filled up a pan with water and then set up her own stove and boiled it. She always felt hopeless before her first coffee. The water was quickly ready and the grateful look on Jim’s face as she offered him a mug showed she wasn’t the only one who needed a caffeine fix first thing. Paul (who else?), made a comment about how it would help him get (it) up.

About the time she was half way down her mug, their breakfast was ready. Eggs and beans. Still, the walking should wear off the calories. She felt herself again. The tents were quickly taken down and packed away, and everyone was as ready for the second day as they were going to get. Bev hoped they made good progress before Simon came off whatever chemical high Jim had doubtless given him.


His mind more on what Alison had done to him this morning, Chris pulled out the map and called the others over. Pointing to the south-eastern tip of the loch on the map he told them “This is where we are today. If we want to get all the way round this weekend, we need to get to at least here,” his finger now jabbed at a point two thirds of the way along the loch’s northern short. “Tomorrow, we’ll pass over the north-western end and follow it back down and towards the road, and we should all be back in Stirling Monday morning.”

Simon peered at the wrinkled map “So how far we walking?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing too hard, fifteen, twenty miles a day.” Chris decided to leave out that it was over rough ground and not as easy as it sounded.

“And how do we cross the river at the top? I don’t see any bridge on the map.”

“Oh, there is a crossing. It’s not that wide a watercourse and a few planks of wood let you walk across.”

Simon, a touch of suspicion in his voice asked, “Have you been here before, how do you know?”

His voice dropping in volume Chris told him “Well, there is always that kind of crossing in these places. The shepherds put them down I think, and you can see on the map it is only a stream feeding into the loch there. We’ll pass over a few of them on the way around, and I promise you every single one will have a crossing.”

That seemed to exhaust Simon’s supply of questions for the moment. Everyone shouldered their packs and following Chris and Ali’s lead headed off following the line of the beach.

Almost immediately Simon broke into some song, making up the lyrics as he went along. Whatever Jim had given him must have been good stuff, but ten minutes later with Si still singing Chris was starting to wish he’d given him a sedative instead of an upper.

The scenery had to be seen to be believed. The heather was deep in the second of its two annual blooms, and the sun was bright bringing out all the colours of the countryside. Soon it would be turning to autumn, but the evergreen trees would retain their colour much longer than the deciduous trees of the south. The forest would gain a springy bed of pine needles (although not one you’d want to sleep on). Chris loved the wild places like this and was sad at the thought of leaving them behind and moving onto the big city. Ali walked alongside him. He could tell her thoughts were similar to his from the thoughtful expression on her face, with an occasional frown clouding her face as she thought of some problem they’d encounter, or something they’d miss from this, their old life.

Unconsciously he reached out for her hand, and by that strange unspoken contact that all loving couples have, she reached for his. He gave her a reassuring squeeze and a smile. It would all be all right. The changes the future would bring would be faced together.

He couldn't hear any bird song, but the sound of the waves lapping on the shore was curiously relaxing. He loved listening to the waves, be it from the ocean or a loch like this one. Ali leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

They walked for around three or four hours before deciding to stop for lunch. Jim suggesting trying to catch a fish, but Bev squirmed at the thought of chopping the head and tail off of a living creature, then cutting its belly open to gut it. Chris had always been surprised tha she had never became a vegan. A catty voice inside his head said yeah, that isn't the only 'v' word she isn't. He snorted, receiving an enquiring glance from Ali.

"Hey bae", he heard Simon call. "Stand infront of the water. I want to get a picture of you and stick it on facebook." Bev was never one to turn down a chance to pose, and Simon quickly snapped off a few pictures on his mobile phone.

"Damn it, can't get any signal here. What kind of place doesn't have a phone signal?"

"Never mind honey, you can do it when we get back" Bev told him soothingly. He grunted and put his phone down, turning his attention back to his lunch.

The sun was high and hot when they set off once more. The hangovers of the night before appeared to have worn off, and the group was soon in high spirits again as they walked along laughing and joking. Simon suddenly stopped and swore. "f**k! I've left my phone back when we had lunch."

Chris shook his head. "s**t mate. We'll walk back and get it, just have to walk a bit later tonight than we had planned."

"Nah, its alright. I'll walk back and get it. If you don't mind setting up our camp for us, we'll catch you up later."

"What do you mean we'll catch you up?" Bev interjected.

"Oh c'mon bae, you can't expect me to walk all the way back on my own. What if I have an accident?"

"Simon is right", said Chris. "He shouldn't walk back on his own."

Bev looked ready to throw a tantrum, she crossed her arms and huffed, looking at her friends eyes for support and seeing none. "Fine, but you owe me dinner when we get home! And not somewhere cheap either." As if Simon would ever choose to eat somewhere anywhere less than expensive. They rejigged everyones backpacks, so the others were carrying Bev and Chris's tent, and then he and Bev headed back off down the trail. Simon called back "We should be back before it gets dark."

"I can't believe you left your phone. I've never seen that thing more than a few centimeters from your hand before."

Simon had the feeling he was going to get complaints like this all the way back. Still, it would be worth it. He had a surprise in mind for Bev. As he thought about it, his fingers unconsciously ran over the object hidden in his jacket pocket and what he would do with it…



Jim smiled as Simon and Bev walked off. Simon had confided in his before they’d even came on this trip what he was planning to do and Jim had agreed to get him a few special pills that would help Simon out and gave him a few suggestions to help him out. Hell, he even knew Simon had lied about leaving his phone behind. That was just as excuse to get Bev away from everyone else, and well if he didn’t do it right, there was bound to be some screaming. He’d love to be a fly on the wall and see Bev’s face when she found out what he was really up to. He’d found it difficult not to say anything to anyone else, especially Paul. The chances of it remaining secret if he found out though… Paul couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. He noticed Paul looking at him and smiled at him, then gave him a brief kiss before continuing towards the end of the loch. Ali and Chris had already started off and they had to hurry a little to catch them up.

While Simon and Bev were part of their social group, Jim had noticed that things were always slightly more relaxed when the pair of them weren’t around. Everyone was always half expecting Simon to say something off colour, or Bev to throw a tantrum. Once or twice she’d even taken their arguments out into the street, no doubt providing entertainment for any passers-by and other residents. With them gone, things were just less on edge. Ali and Chris were holding hands, walking along with an exaggerated swing to their arms and singing the theme from The Muppets. Paul was smiling too, nothing spoiling the cheerful atmosphere, although he did make a comment about what he’d like to market Gonzo’s nose as a sex toy. Laughing Jim asked what was green and smelled of pork, before telling them Kermit’s middle finger. It was a corny old joke given new life with their ebullient mood, and it exhausted their supply of Muppet related sex jokes.

As they walked along Jim wondered about how things were going with Simon. Had he done it yet? Would Bev see it coming, and run away screaming with Simon chasing her or would he take her by surprise? Si had gone into a surprising amount of detail about what he wanted to do and asked questions about how to make it work out, not all of which Jim had been able to answer. He wondered what anyone looking at his internet search history would make of Simon’s planning. He’d even had to go online and order a few things not available in your average shop. It would look pretty incriminating though if anyone saw his credit card bill.

Oh well, that would-be Simon’s problem to worry about. He wondered if he should have suggested a gag though?


Looking at his longest lasting boyfriend, Paul could see that ever since Bev and Simon had left Jim was very preoccupied with something. When he noticed someone looking at him, he’d realise he’d went all introspective and he’d smile and be attentive, before slowly drifting back into his silent contemplation. He supposed Jim was doing something he’d found himself doing a lot this weekend himself. Thinking about the future. Where would their paths take them after this last year together. In his head, Paul’s mind ran along paths he’d been considering a lot recently. He was thinking about perhaps it was time to settle down with one man. Although he hadn’t said to Jim yet, fearful of what reaction he might get he had been considering marriage and (once they had stable jobs), adopting a kid. Or maybe a few of them. Society had moved on a lot in the past few decades and he was sure the pair of them would make great dads.

Assuming anyway that Jim managed to avoid getting done for possession. It had been great at the start having a connection to the party line, but increasingly Jim’s dealing had been worrying Paul, although Jim had assured him it was just a temporary measure to get through University. Unlike the rest of them Jim had been born into a family on the breadline, and would have struggled to afford the fee’s and loans involved in his education. There were good reasons why more than half the students at Stirling (much like St Andrews), came from outside Scotland. Jim had been born in what was practically a ghetto in Edinburgh. A single misstep and he could have ended up (and could still end up) as a poster child for Trainspotting. Still, none of them were even well off when compared to the money Simon seemed to have.

When this story is finished, Alex, I hope you put it in a single file and re-post it. I am enjoying being interested in it, and I am not making guesses.

Just for you Ellie, when I finish it I will send you the copy from Word I write it on.

Danke!

It was a nice day and Paul was finding the walking going easier than the previous day. He relaxed and enjoyed it, wishing Jim could do the same. He’d drifted back on whatever path his thoughts were taking him down and his brow was furrowed. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Was he worried about Si and Bev getting lost? Paul leaned in to him and whispered “They will be fine. I am sure they will catch us up after we make camp.”
Jim looked surprised for a second, then gathered his thoughts “Oh, yeah, I am sure they will be.”

Paul decided he should keep talking to his lover, keep him from whatever was keeping him so preoccupied. It was hard going to keep a conversation up though. Jim gave answers that did not invite further replies. Paul was not one to give up easily though and just kept on talking to him, a mostly one-sided conversation about whatever entered his head. This continued for several hours.

Eventually, Chris called a halt for the night and the group set to putting up their tents (including Bev and Simons). Ali set to cooking up a meal, deciding to gather up some wood and cook it on a camp fire rather than use the portable gas stoves. She wrapped potatoes in tin foil and buried them in the firewood before lighting them. Setting up a camping stool as a makeshift table she set up some spreading cheese and more beans on a pot over the fire.

Paul could have done without a second day of beans. The smell in the tent had been terrible when he’d woken up this morning.

Bev fished the potatoes out of the fire, unwrapped them and sliced them open, then spread some cheese along the insides, sprinkled some herbs and served them up to the others. Just how much stuff had she managed to fit in her backpack? Even as a child Paul had found women’s ability to squeeze an incredible amount of stuff in to their bags. Of course, it had been handbags back then. Even today he had a healthy fear of handbags and would never go in one. He was glad no one else had picked up on this phobia. He could only imagine the things of his they’d hide in one. The group sat around as the after chatting about inconsequential things as the afternoon faded into the evening and light started to fail.

There was still no sign of Bev or Simon. Jim was clearly worried and Paul himself felt some concern, but Ali and Chris argued that it would be foolish to go trying to find them in the dark. All that would happen would be they would end up separated and lost. The best they could do was keep the fire burning as a signal to guide the errant walkers to them. If they still hadn’t turned up by morning, and of course they were sure they be then they would start a search. They agreed to take it in turns to sit watch and listen for the missing pair in case they tried shouting. Chris offered to go first, saying he would sit up until midnight. Paul would relieve him (at which Paul sn****red and made some innuendos), and then Jim would take over until first light when he’d wake everyone up if there was still no sign of Bev and Simon.

Paul gave a very worried looking Jim a shoulder massage hoping to relax him a little and then they headed off to their tent, as did Ali, leaving Chris sitting alone, the firelight flickering over his face, shadows playing across him and making him look like some ancient guardian of the wilderness.

Jim was deep in the middle of an uneasy dream. Half seen things were clawing at him, trying to drag him under the waters of some monstrous sea. He awoke with a start as Paul gently touched his shoulder.

“Hey lover, your turn on watch” Paul told him.

“No sign of them then?”

“Absolutely nothing” was the bleak reply, “I’ve kept the fire banked up, and there is plenty of spare wood to keep it going.”

“What could have happened?”

“Maybe they decided just to head back early. Simon most likely is sitting in that pub winding up the locals while Bev is waggling her arse at anything remotely man like.”

“Yeah… maybe. Do you think we should go looking for them? We could leave a note for Ali and Chris, tell them to meet us back at the cars.”

“Look, it will be light in a few hours. Chris was right, there is no point in us wandering around in the darkness. The last thing we need to do is to trip over some tree root and break a leg. As soon as the light comes up we’ll get organised and find them. Don’t worry, it will all be fine. You’ll see.”

“I guess,” Jim replied, although he sounded unconvinced.

Paul climbed into his sleeping bag as Jim got out to start his watch. As he left the tent, he turned around and flashed Paul a worried smile before closing the zip of the tent.

Jim walked over to the fire, but rather than sitting down started to pace back and forward. He peered into the darkness, willing himself to be able to see through it and see his missing friends. His concern about how what Simon had planned had faded, and he was now more worried that something serious had happened. They had wolves in the highlands, didn’t they? Maybe the occasional bear? Of course, the newspapers regularly had pictures of large wild cats on the loose in places like this.

Still the darkness remained complete and impenetrable.

Paul’s eyes opened suddenly. The light filtering through his tent immediately told him something was wrong. Why hadn’t Jim woken him up as soon as it got light? He quickly pulled some clothes on, calling Jim’s name. Even before he’d left the tent he knew Jim wasn’t there. He must have wandered off during the night to find Bev and Si. f**king idiot, what the hell was he thinking? If they were lucky he would just be wandering around somewhere and not lying in a ditch somewhere. Stumbling over his sleeping bag, Paul almost fell out the tent. “Ali! Chris! Wake up. Jim’s bloody well went on a walkabout”

He heard a muffled shout from their tent as he looked around for any sign of Jim, hoping to see some muddy footprints, or a scrap of fabric handily caught on a branch. The kind of thing that always seems to happen in the movies. “JIIIIIM!” he yelled as loud as he could, turning around to look everywhere.

He saw Chris come scrabbling out of his tent, wearing only his jeans. “What the hell” he exclaimed.

“We need to head off, start looking. It’s ten o’clock already. He could have been out there wandering since four!”

Paul tried to keep himself calm, but his words came tumbling out, tripping over one another as his voice went up into a high pitch.

“Calm down mate. We’ll pack the tents up and get looking.”

“Calm down? Calm bloody down? First Si and Bev get lost and now Jim too. How many more of us need to go missing before you start to worry?”

“Ok Paul, you head off back the way we came. Keep going and if you find any of them, take them with you back to the village. Just in case Si and Bev stumbled past the camp during the night, we’ll keep going along the planned route and see if we can pick them up. This time tonight, we’ll all be having a beer with those twats laughing at us for panicking. Every couple of minutes, shout out just in case they have wandered away from the water’s edge. Don’t worry about your gear, we’ll sort it all out.”

Without another word, Paul set off back the way they had come yesterday. He called out Jim’s name repeatedly, hoping against hope to hear an answering shout. Occasionally he would remember the others who were missing and shout their names too, but most of the time it was only Jim who was on his mind. Scenarios ran through his mind where he found imaging finding Jim paralyzed after a fall and them spending the rest of their lives together, having to look after him or some other equally bad tragedy.
After an hour and a half or so of shouting, Paul’s voice was getting horse and his throat was raw from the constant yelling. With every step the panic in him rose, his heart hammering in his chest. He realised he had brought nothing with him, no food and nothing to drink. For a second the thought about heading back to the campsite to pick up some supplies, but he realised they would most likely have packed up and were searching the other side of the loch, and besides he was too worried about Jim to head back now.

Oh, sweet Jesus Christ.

He spotted a familiar looking jacket floating on the gentle waves of the loch with something underneath it.

Chris had watched Paul’s retreating back as he left to look for Jim until distance and foliage obscured him from view. Every few steps he was calling out Jim’s name. He’d left without taking a first aid kit, or a flare so if he did find Jim wounded he wouldn’t be able to do much. He hadn’t taken any food or water either, although he could always drink from the loch Chris supposed, but with the pace he was setting it wouldn’t be long until he was exhausted.

With a heavy sigh, Chris headed back into his tent where a naked Ali was waiting for him. They’d head off soon enough, but there was no point in rushing these thing and what Ali had in mind for the pair of them was much more entertaining than looking for some idiot who had vanished in the night.

Afterwards, and glad of the privacy everyone else being lost had given them they lay together, Ali’s head resting on his chest. Chris ran his fingers through her hair, causing Ali to giggle as he touched a ticklish spot. “Do you think he will find him?” she asked.

Chris shrugged. “If he sticks to the water’s edge… maybe. Depends where Jim wandered off. Hell, he might have even walked in entirely the wrong direction. If he had been doing some of Paul’s special marching powder, who knows what direction he went off in.”

“Should we get dressed and head off.”

“Hmmm, we should do. But there is something else I want first.”

He rolled over, climbing on top of her, and kissing her neck while Ali held him close and pretended to struggle against him, while wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling him in towards her.

They spent the rest of the morning alternately making love and just lying there together holding each other, before deciding it was time to leave. They finished packing their clothes, made sure the fire was smothered and then Ali asked, “Should we pack the tents too?”

“We can come back and get them later. Don’t want to carry too much and weigh ourselves down. After all, if we get injured I don’t think we can expect any of the others to come riding to our rescue.”

“Poor dears, I hope they are all ok.”

Chris raised an eyebrow.


Ali pouted at Chris, “Oh come on now. They’ve been our friends for three years now. You can’t seriously tell me you don’t care if they have been hurt or not.”

“Sure, I guess” he replied non committedly. She picked up a handful of leaves and threw them at him. He glared at her in mock outrage. “Right, now you are in trouble!”

Alison laughed and ran off, Chris following pretending to chase her as they set off further along their path.

They walked along listening to the gentle lap of the water. Chris heard a strange noise, distorted by distance, but it might have been Paul shouting for Jim. He glanced at Ali and saw her cocking her head to listen. “Don’t worry, we’ll meet up with them back at the rendezvous. In the meantime we might as well make the best of what is left of our walk.”

“Are we doing the right thing honey?”

He pulled her close, kissing her deeply, and squeezed her bum with one hand and replied softly “Of course we are baby. Everything is going to work out.”

Hand in hand the pair of them walked along, on one side the clear water of the loch sparkling in the bright sunlight, on the other hand the heather coated hills rose up. She couldn’t help but think it was a shame there weren’t more places like this. So much of the land was coated in concrete and tarmac instead of letting its natural beauty remain, and all for what? Still this place looked almost untouched with only the occasional sheep to indicate there was any other people anywhere out there. The waters looked fantastically inviting and Ali wished more than anything that they could just stop for a while and take a swim. They had spent too much time on diversions already, as pleasant as that had been and needed to make good time. She could imagine swimming on the surface, the cold water beneath her and the warm sun on her back before diving down into the chilly depths and seeing how deep she could reach before having to return to the surface. Recently she'd noticed she was getting much better at staying under for longer and she loved the feeling of it.

Simon opened his eyes with a violent start, jerking his body upright. He couldn’t see anything. He felt freezing cold and tried to stand up, but his legs were weak and shaky forcing him to sit back down. His head ached where… Suddenly the memories came flooding back. He cried out as he remembered everything that had happened and he sobbed Bev’s name, tears coming easily to a man who had never once cried in his adult life.

It has all been going perfectly. He’d took Bev back to a large flat stone they’d passed by earlier that he thought suitable for his purpose, talking dirty to each other the whole time. He started kissing her, first tenderly, but increasingly getting more passionate. Pretty quickly, things had gotten more serious and Bev enthusiastically agreed to sex outside. His hand slipped inside her panties, playing with her until she felt wet enough. By that time he needed to be in her more than he’d ever needed anything. Simon remembered practically ripped her clothes off there and then (some of her clothes got a bit torn at this point), using them to make a rough bed on the rock, then telling her to get on her knees. She knelt on the ground, head down and skinny ass sticking up in the air. Absurdly Simon thought of a nature program he’d once saw with a female baboon offering herself up for mating and had to supress a laugh. He knelt down behind her, guiding himself so that just the tip of his manhood was inside her, and then grabbing an ass cheek in each hand thrust himself inside hard. Things were going well and Simon decided it was time to put all the long discussions with Jim into play as Bev was too deep in the throes of passion to see what he was doing until it would be too late. If she realised what was happening… well it would all be over. Taking his hands off her body, he reached inside his jacket, pulling out the secret he had stashed in there before the trip had started. Finding preparing it, while f**king her was to say the least difficult but he did his best, switching hands, then reaching out with one to grab Bev’s hair and pull him back towards him. He was too far into the moment to do things the way he had carefully discussed with him and forgot his careful plan When his other hand came down, object still in hand, Bev screamed in a way he had never thought a human being could scream.

It was a scream he would remember for the rest of his life.

Bev could feel herself  building to an orgasm quickly. The feeling of doing the forbidden had turned her on more than she would have ever believed. Her body writhed with the feeling, and then suddenly her entire body seemed to be on fire with pain. She tried to move forward, but Simon’s grip on her hair, yanked her head back painfully. It took her a few seconds to realise the inhuman screaming she could hear was coming from her.

Staggering to her feet, her hand reached around in disbelief behind her. Her eyes and mouth were wide open as her hand groped behind her not quite comprehending what had just happened and  feeling for the thing Simon had just stuck in her.

She yelled “WHAT THE f**k SI?” as she ripped the butt plug he had just rammed hard into her rectum back out. “WHAT THE ACTUAL f**k?”

Simon, has face a mask of panic as he stumbled for the right words to say. For once he found his charm not quite up to the situation. Bev came storming over to him and he took a few steps back, but she didn’t stop until she was nose to nose with him, the vibrating butt plug still in her hand as she waved it around furiously. She wanted to call him every name under the sun, but all she could manage to get out was to repeat “WHAT THE f**k!” over and over again. Finally she got her brain in gear and she unleashed a tide of vitriol the likes Simon had never heard before in his somewhat sheltered life. Calling him a filthy f**king animal was the least of it. Simon was shocked by her verbal assault and was unable to make a few strangled noises. He almost fell off the rock they were standing on, as he retreated before Bev’s fury.

Still, the look of shock on Simon’s face when she slapped him was palpable. Bev stopped for a second, shocked at what she had done, and then her anger rose again and she unleashed a wave of physical attacks, wind milling at him, trying to hit him. Simon raised his arms to protect himself as the attempted punches came in thick and fast. She had no idea how long she tried to hit him for, but eventually her rage exhausted her and she simply stood there glaring at him, both still naked.

Perhaps things would have ended there, had Simon not suddenly burst out in peels’  of laughter. Bev threw the still vibrating butt plug at him, which bounced off his chest and fell to the ground, which only made Simon laugh more. Incensed Bev prepared to launch another assault, but a loud roaring noise from the sky above made her look up. A pair of fighter jets were flying overhead and Bev suddenly aware of her nudity went to grab her jacket. It lay on the far edge of the rock, overhanging the loch. As she bent over to scoop her bright pink jacket up. As she did, the butt plug smacked into the back of her head as Simon threw it back to her. Bev felt herself overbalance and fall into the water. She hit the bottom of the loch, and suddenly her leg exploded in pain. The water was churning and mud was kicked up by her struggles. She couldn’t see what was wrong with her leg but it felt like a shark had sunk its teeth into her leg, pinning it in a kneeling position. She tried to  scream but only managed to swallow a mouthful of water.

Wwwwow.

The thing gripping her leg was dragging her down, but sheer panic managed to propel her to the surface, where she managed to suck in a quick lungful of air and then let out an almighty scream. She saw Simon who had been laughing and waiting for her to surface, the laughter dying instantly. For a few seconds he froze, and then his mind started working again. He tore his jacket off, and pulled his jeans up from around his knees as he ran to the edge of the rock, and dived into the water. He swam over to Bev, whose flailing arms threatened to drown them both.

Panic overwhelming her, Bev tried desperately to grab for Simon, who had to fight her off to stop from dragged under. She felt him manage to turn her around so her back was against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her, then attempted to kick them both back towards the shoreline. Her wet and naked body was slippery and combined with her panicked struggles, she kept breaking loose of Simon's grip, and the thing grabbing her leg stopped them from moving to the land. She managed in between incoherent screams to shout "MY LEG, MY LEG!"

She felt him let go of her, and immediently she was dragged under the surface. Something was bumping into her, and grabbing her, but after a few more seconds she realised it was Simon.

He was groping around her injured leg, trying to prise whatever had a grip on her off her, while at the same time trying to support her above the water. She felt the pressure lesson for a few moments, and then renew as it dug into her flesh once more bringing fresh screams from her. Simon, spluttering surfaced beside her, holding her again afloat against his chest. She could barely comprehend his words as he told her “Bae, you are stuck in a f**king bear trap. I can’t open the f**king thing. You need to calm down baby. I need to find a branch or something to lever it open, but you need to calm down and keep yourself afloat. Can you do that for me bae? I need to leave you for a minute but I’ll be right back.”

She renewed her screaming, begging her not to leave her for a moment, and trying to grab onto him, twisting around to face him. Her blood was staining the water, which was all churned up and frothing from her struggles. Yet only a few feet away the rest of the loch seemed placid and uncaring of the struggle going on in one small corner of it, until Bev saw something rise up out of the water behind Simon.

Her screams suddenly died, chocked off in her throat. Simon thought she was finally calming down and kept reassuring her that he would be right back. He just had to grab a branch off a tree, maybe he’d even find one that was already broken off and return to her all the quicker. Bev’s eyes grew wide in horror and her mouth was wide open, but no noise came from her. The thing was in the rough shape of a human, although it had to be eight feet tall. It was already huge, but to Bev’s terrified mind it seemed to be swelling and growing larger, it’s shadow reaching over the waves until it touched them. As the shadow grew and blocked out the sun, it got much colder in its shade. Perhaps it was this, or perhaps it was Bev’s unwavering stare that warned Simon that something was up, and he twisted his head around to look over his shoulder.

The thing must have stood at least twenty feet over the waves, and grew larger still. Bev stared into its black, froglike eyes, its wide mouth marked by thin lips. Webbed fingers with cruel looking talons reached towards them, seemingly infinitely slowly as time slowed down to a crawl. Its body was covered in fish like scales, although these were dull green and not the silvery coating she had seen on fish in the supermarkets. For a second the word ‘squamous’ jumped into her head, although she didn’t remember ever hearing it before. The scaled paw reaching towards them grabbed Simon and carelessly tossed him to one side, sending him flying into the trees. Frozen in fear, Bev started to sink beneath the water, her bladder venting its contents. As she sank beneath the surface, she saw the gigantic webbed hand reaching towards her before unconsciousness mercifully claimed her.

Simon remembered trying to loosen the bear trap and telling Bev he needed to help to get her out. Then something had happened… Had something swept him ashore? Surely you didn’t get tidal waves from a loch? For a second he thought he saw something else in the water… but it must have been a trick of the light and a bit of shock.

His chest felt battered and bruised. Even just breathing brought a thousand screams of pain. He couldn’t tell if he couldn’t see because it was dark, or if he’d went blind. That thought sent an uncontrollable wave of panic through him, and he curled up into a ball, half speaking to himself, half gibbering unintelligibly. He had no idea how long he lay there in the dark, or when his thoughts started to form a more coherent stream. Questions raced through his mind. Who the hell dumped a bear trap in a lake? Had some sicko dumped it there, hoping to catch an unwitting tourist? It would be one hell of a coincidence if someone happened to jump into the water at just the right point. Where was he? Tenderly he got up on his feet, running his hands over his body. His chest felt like a mass of painful spots, although he didn’t think anything was broken. His arms and legs were covered in scratches, but nothing too serious. He could feel a hard lump against the side of his stomach, and worried about internal bleeding. He had to find where he was, and get help. Hopefully whatever had knocked him out of the water had saved Bev too.

Then a sudden thought stuck him like a thunderbolt. Had the locals from the village done this? Had they followed them on their walk, picking them off. Where were the others? He remembered a film he’d watched a couple of years ago about a pyscho picking up hitchhikers and killing them in Australia. The rational part of his mind told him this was nonsense, but the older, more survival orientated part of his brain would not shut up. The others must have noticed they were missing and raised an alarm by now (unless of course they had been captured, or killed his thoughts told him). Starting with whatever bed he had been lying on, he worked his way to the wall and started feeling around. The walls were rough, cold and damp. Was he in a cellar? It couldn’t be a cave. There was a faint fishy smell in the air. Slowly feeling his way around, he almost fell over something on the group that clattered metallically as it fell and rolled away. Exploring a little, he found what he guessed was an empty tin of paint. Deciding it was something useless to him, he abandoned it and returned to his careful exploration of the room. He banged his head slightly against what turned out to be some shelves, with assorted items he couldn’t even guess at what they were from touching them. He found a wooden door which was locked, and when he tried charging it with his shoulder it didn’t budge even slightly, and the waves of nausea that overwhelmed him, driving him to his knees. It took a few minutes for him to recover and realise this was not going to be his escape route. Further exploration of the room yielded no further results. He considered trying to break the door down again, but decided against it in his weakened condition. He limped back over to his rough bed and lay down on it, attempting to conserve his strength. Despite his predicament and the rush of thoughts running through his head he fell into a doze, and eventually a fitful sleep.

When Simon awoke, he could see a dim flickering light. Twisting around gingerly in the bed, he could see while he slept someone had put a lit candle in the dank room he seemed to be a prisoner in. His throat burned from thirst, and his stomach growled. Retrieving the candle, he used it to have a closer look at himself. His chest was a purple mass, and the lump in his side had either went down, or it wasn’t quite as bad as it had felt in the dark, although it seemed to have a large red tip. He hoped whatever had caused the injury, it hadn’t become infected.

His body still aching all over and freezing cold without any clothes to protect him from the chill, he got up and tried the door on the off chance his captor had left it unlocked. The door was still locked just had solidly as it had been before. One thing he hadn’t noticed in his earlier search was the door did have a narrow slot in it, like a letter box, perhaps five centimetres off the ground, maybe thirty centimetres long. Simon had a very uneasy feeling about that.

He had a look around the room again, and on remembering the shelves he had found earlier went looking for them. Maybe something on there could help him out. His heart climbed at this faint ray of hope, only to be dashed when he found it contained only a number of curiously designed ornamental jewellery. Perhaps it was the poor light from the candle, but they seemed to be an unusual shade of gold, and in the vague shape of a tiara or crown, although designed for a head somewhat larger than that of any person he’d ever met. His anger rose up and he ran to the door, shouting and pounding his fists against the solid wood, not feeling the pain that coursed through his body as he did so. He howled and yelled but the door was unyielding and made from thick wooden planks, not your usual cheap household things.

Didn’t these people know who he was? How dare they treat him like this! Defeated, his shoulders slumped and he headed back to the bed, kicking the empty paint tin as he passed it. The clang as it ricocheted off the wall was shockingly loud to him.

He heard something loud crash against the door, followed by a scream of pain. Seeing the paint tin as the closest thing he had to a weapon, he picked it up and stood with his back to the wall beside the door, waiting to attack whoever came through that door. He was rich, he wasn’t going to die in this s**thole!

Paul slowly regained consciousness, his wits still temporarily scattered. Something was tugging on his leg continually, and this bed felt cold and uncomfortable. He raised his head and looked down, not quite comprehending what he was seeing.

Why was someone dragging him by his leg? He looked from side to side. There was the loch on one side, and the sparsely wooded hills covered in heather on the other. Yeah, that seemed ok, but the leg thing was confusing him. He grunted as his head banged off a rock he was dragged over. At this noise, his companion turned his head around enough to see him. Oh, I know you, thought Paul. You are the ugly barman. It finally got through Paul’s head that something was very wrong indeed here. Aiming a kick at the large man’s backside, he shoved him forward, making him stumble and release his leg. He scrambled to his feet and started running back the way he’d been dragged. With a roar though, the ogrish barman was chasing him, and quickly caught up with him, buffeting Paul with a blow from a ham sized fist. Jim slammed into a pine tree, and groaned as he tried to run again, but his legs didn’t want to obey him. The man grabbed him, and slung him under one arm, carrying him as effortlessly as he would a small child despite his best attempts to escape. Up ahead, he could see their destination. The tiny village they’d visited on the first night.

He was carried toward the pub. As they reached the door, the man hit Jim again in the head, causing him to see stars, then opened the front door. Despite his own predicament, Paul wondered if this is what happened to Bev. He’d recognised her jacket floating on the loch and thinking she was still wearing it, he’d dived in to rescue her. What he’d thought was a body was only a submerged log the jacket had been caught on, but as he’d been climbing up the steep embankment from the water, something (most likely the barman) had hit him and Jim had known no more until he’d woken up being dragged by him, or it as Paul was rapidly coming to think of him as. ‘It’, opened another door, revealing a stone staircase leading down into the earth with a very old fashioned looking wooden door at the bottom. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in a medieval castle.

Paul suddenly found himself being swung around by ‘It’ so he was being held in both of his massive fists for a few seconds, and then he found himself flying as ‘It’ launched him down the stairs. He landed badly at the bottom, his ankle catching on one of the steps and breaking with an audible snap. Paul looked in horror at the blooded stump of bone protruding from the side of his leg, and then after a few moments the pain hit him like a steam train. ‘It’ followed him down the stairs, walking slowly and ignored him writhing there in agony while he opened the door. Paul heard a clanging noise and ‘It’ staggered back, followed by a naked man barrelling into him through the open door. The naked man however tripped over Paul's injured leg, smashing into the stone steps. ‘It’ simply picked the nudist up with one arm, spat on his face and tossed him back into the room, then threw Paul in no less roughly before slamming the heavy door shut, leaving the pair of them trapped inside.

JPaul grabbed his shattered ankle and rolled around in his own private world of pain. A voice speaking his name however did cause him to look up. For a second he didn’t realise who was speaking to him. The collision with the stone steps had broken his nose and shattered a few teeth giving him a bit of an impediment when he spoke but it was Simon! Simon unashamedly embraced him “I am sho glad to she you”, Simon tried to speak in between spitting out mouthfuls of blood mixed with shards of teeth.

"Have you sheen anyone elsh?" Simon asked through mangled lips.

"I haven't seen anyone. I walked all day and night," Paul replied through gritted teeth, rocking back and forward while nursing his foot. His voice was horse from the shouting he'd been doing. He dug desperately through his jacket pockets until he found what he was looking for. "Oh thank you God!" he exclaimed as he found some pills and quickly swallowed them. He continued looking through, hoping to find some additional drugs, but he came up blank. Sweating heavily and cursing he lay back down on the cold ground. "I saw Bev's jacket... thought she was drowning and tried to save her, but... she wasn't there. That f**ker upstairs hit me and dragged me back here. How did you end up here."

Whatever drugs he had found weren't get dulling down the pain. He really hoped he hadn't popped something that would make him feel more sensitive to pain. "Do you know where anyone else is?"

As he watched Simon sat down heavily on ancient looking bedframe with a equally antiquated looking mattress. He shook his head and sighed heavily.

"Dey got Bev. Shesh fell in the water and schreamed. I jumped into shave her, but her leg wash caught in a f**king bear trap. I couldn't get it open and then shomething s**t me hard. I got knocked out and woke up in sheer."

It took Paul a few moments to translate what Simon was actually saying. Some of the injuries on Simon's face looked like they were going to leave scars. His good looks weren't going to be quite the same when it all healed up.

A treacherous voice at the back of his head said to him "If he lives long enough for them to heal."

"Shince den I've schtuck in dis place. It wash dark. I fell ashleep and when I woke shomeone had put shat candle in here. NO- ONE HAS f**kING GIVEN ME ANY FOOD OR WATER THOUGH, YOU DASTARDS!" he yelled, looking up at the ceiling, then sighing again continued "I shink it is the lair of shome demented artist. You sheen the jewellery?"

Simon motioned towards the oversized headpieces on the shelf, then remembering Paul wouldn't be walking anywhere anytime soon, went over, picked up a few pieces of the bizarre artworkt and brought it over for Paul to look at. "These pieces don't confirm to any known school of art I can think of. Either the designer is a genius or an idiot."

"Great", mumbled Si "I get to shpend my last hours alive with a monshter out of a bad movie and an art critic. I don't know which of you shucks more."

Even trapped in the cellar with no idea how to escape Paul couldn't resist saying "Oh, I promise I suck more, and better sweetheart."

After that the pair lapsed into silence for a while. Paul continued looking at the strange jewellery, while Simon lay in a pit of dispair. They were both startled by a clattering noise from behind them. A tin plate had been shoved through the narrow slot at the bottom of the door, and on it were slices of cooked meat. A plastic bottle of water followed, bouncing off the steaming food and rolling onto the floor. Simon got up again, picked up the bottle and plate then returned to the bed, handing the both to Paul who sniffed the meat. "Doesn't smell poisioned."

"How the f**k would you know?" Demanded Simon. "Anyway, if dey wanted us dead, I don't dink either of ush could put up much of a fight."

Paul picked up the water, opened it and guzzled half of it down.

"Hey you greedy prick, shave shome of dat for me" protested Simon, "And ration it, we don't know when we'll get any more."

Paul looked at Simon, who seemed to have no interest in the food. "Tuck in, we should keep our strength up. Soner or later they'll let their guard down and we can escape. I wonder what they want us for?"

"You kidding me right? Ishn't it obvious? Dis little s**thole at the ash end of nowhere. Everyone has to be poor right? Dey figured out when we were drinking here that I am rich. It's a kidnapping. I bet my parents have already deen sent a ranshom."

Paul picked up a strip of meat and started chewing on it. It was tough, and tasted slightly salty although not entirely unpleasant. Neither had eaten for quite a while and any food was welcome. Simon chewed much more slowly and carefully, his mouth full of broken and loose teeth painful to eat with. "My dentisht is going to charge a fortune to fix dis mess" he said through a mouthful of meat, washing it down with the remained of the water from the bottle, forgetting his warning to Paul about rationing it. Paul looked forelornly at the now emtpy bottle but said nothing. He didn't want to waste what might be his last hours alive in a pointless argument. Then an unbidden thought did cheer him up. If their captors intended to kill them, surely they wouldn't bother feeding them or giving them the mediocre light they'd been provided with. Maybe they did have a chance of getting out of here?

Chris and Ali watched unseen as Paul was carried by the barman towards the inn. Paul was trying to fight, but he didn't seem to be slowing the brute down any. He looked around at Ali, who watched the unfolding scene beside him.

"He is taking him into the pub. I think we need to get back to the car and get out of here. Let the others handle this."

"Chris, he is our friend. The others might be in there too. We can't just abandon them, we have to get in there."

"Alright honey. I guess this proves that when I said I'd do anything for you, I really meant it. Lets ditch our packs here."

Chris was interupted by an unholy howl of pain from the direction of the bar. "You sure you want to go in there?"

"If we don't I am not sure I could live with myself."

"Fine then," he signed, shucking his pack on the ground. "Lets at least try not to be seen."

They removed their brightly coloured jackets as Chris put on a look of determination. Doing his best John Wayne impression "Well pilgrim, lets saddle up," he said and in a half crouching run, set off to the village. It was as quiet as when they had visited the other night though and they saw no signs of life on the street. During the day, the sense of decay of the houses was even more pronounced. Sagging roofs that were long overdue repair, front doors that hadn't seen a lick of paint for decades, lawns overgrown and chocked to death by weeds and the occasional old car, more rust that metal left to die on driveways. It was as if humanity had been wiped out, and nature was reclaiming the place.

The pair snuck up to the pub, and tried to peer in through the grime encrusted window. Using the cuff of his jumper, Chris managed to smear the dirt around, allowing him a narrow view inside. He saw the barman appear from an open doorway, walk through the bar and then disappear into a rear room. "Ok, its clear but we better be quick."

Chris silently pulled the door to the pub open, and they both slipped inside. In a careful whisper he told Ali "He just came through the door there," and pointed to the still open door leading down into the cellar. They snuck over the smooth stone floor and down the stairs. The heavy wooden door had a stout wooden bar across it, holding it firmly shut. Chris lifted the bar while Ali kept watch for the return of the man.

The door creaked slowly open outwards, a noise Chris was sure must be rousing the entire village.

"Paul, you in here?" Ali hissed as the door opened.

"Oh dank f**k," a voice answered. Footsteps came walking towards the door, carrying a dim and flickering light. Simon appeared out of the darkness. He was completely naked, his face and chest a battered and bruised mess, although it was the large lump in his side that Ali could not take her eyes off. "Oh you poor dear, what happened to you" she asked as she embraced him.

"Hi folks, nice to see you."

Ali looked further into the darkness, "Paul" she exclaimed in an excited squeal. "We saw you being brought in here. How are you."

He pointed limply at his twisted, the snapped bone, still protruding from the side of his bloodsoaked sock. Ali blanched a little at the sight of that. "Oh that is just awful. I am so sorry sweetie. I'll have Hamish take a look at it right away."

Slightly confused Paul stuttered slightly "Who, who, who the hell is Hamish? Look we need to get out of here. Medical attention can wait. I'll limp out of here on one leg f I have to."

"Oh we couldn't do that. Not when we went to so much effort to get you here."

Both Paul and Simon had shocked expressions on their faces. She could tell they were wondering if this was all some sick joke being played on them or what.

"Its a complicated story, but I'll explain it as best as I can. Me and Chris come from a small town in New England called Innsm... No wait, I need to go back a bit. Human's aren't the only intelligent race on the planet. There are many others. We have many names. Mostly we call ourselves the Deep Ones, although I prefer the Dwellers Below. We come from beneath the deepest oceans. You are one of the Dwellers Above, or as you call yourselves humans. There are others out there, like the Dwellers Between, but they are seriously icky and gross and well, you don't need to concern yourselves with them. I doubt there is one of them within a hundred miles of us right now anyway. We think our species must all have had a common ancestor somewhere along the line since we can all interbreed with each other. Half breeds like me and Chris here, well we are born looking human, but as we age we slowly transform becoming more and more like our non human brethren. At that point we take to the sea where we live forever in the splendor beneath the waves, worshipping our lord, he who waits for the stars to be right. We came over here, to shake up the gene pool a bit, intorduce some new blood. "

Ali's hand automatically moved to make a sign at the mention of her lord, a completely unconscious thing, a familiar routine to her. Beside her Chris echoed the gesture. Paul and Simon just stared at her as if she had gone insane.

"Normally our race is immortal, unless we die violently or from some disease and this is where the problem comes in. All that pollution you silly humans have been pouring into the oceans, all those micro plastic beads, well it has been affecting us. Diseases have been killng more and more of us because of you, and we need to keep our numbers up. Another problem we've been finding is that we are having problems carrying live babies to full term.

All because of you filthy humans and the rubbish you dump in the oceans. Hardly fair that you do that and we suffer, but we found a way of letting you help repair the damage. If we use humans, our offspring are born normally. Yes, the aren't born under the sea in the tradional manner we'd all prefer, but needs must. We've actually been here for a while. We walked for a bit and then decided just to swim across the loch and got here early."

Paul's expression said it all. He simply couldn't believe that he was hearing this from Ali. He was her gay BFF. Over the past three years he'd confided everything in her, his worries, his plans for the future and he thought she had confided all her secrets to him. Now, here she was, the glue that had held their group together through thick and thin telling them that they were prisoners of some crazy religious cult! She looked at him, her bright eyes full of understanding.

"I know it is hard to believe sweetie, but we will prove it shortly."

"So you think, you are a member of some ancient race of mermaids and you need people to continue your line? That is seriously what you are telling me. And you Chris, you going along with this? You the man from Atlantis, or maybe Aquaman?" Paul's voice was full of contempt.

"Well, when you put it like that." answered Christ "Yes. That is pretty much it in a nutshell."

"Look you pair, this isn't real. I must have given you some bad stuff. This is all just a bad trip. You'll come down off it, I promise. Right now, I need you to listen to me and help us out."

"Oh sweetie, I really am so sorry for you. Your whole world is coming crashing down around you. We had to pick someone to pick someone to bear our children though. It really is quite an honour though when you think about it. You'll have plenty of time to think about it, and I am sure you'll see it our way eventually."

"I think I've seen this movie. So you need to kipnap our women and breed with them? You are living in a f**king crappy Friday night B movie. We watched this one together! And now you think you need Bev to have a baby?"

Simon who had been sitting, his face a ghastly shade as recent memories he'd dismissed as impossible swam to the surface, suddenly lept to his feet and lunged at Chris, "You touch Bev and I'll rip your f**king head off and s**t down your throat." Chris caught Simon's fist, pulled in towards him, spun him around and pushed him back towards the bed. Simon was shocked at just how strong pudgy old Chris seemed to be.

Bev laughed, a sweet and happy sounding noise, totally at odds with the situation. "Oh don't worry about that Simon, we don't need that dirty skank."

"f**k you, ya bamn btich!"

"Oh don't worry about that sweetie. You already did. You haven't really understood what I've been saying. We don't need human women to bear our young for us. We don't even need you hunky, hah! men to fertilize us. Believe me, Chris did that several times this trip already. I am surprised I can still walk right now."

Beside her Chris blushed as she continued. "You see once we have our egg sacks, we need to implant them into a human for them to survive, and it has to be a male. Something in the female immune system kills our little ones. So once they are ready, we implant them in a suitable host subject and he carries them to term.  When the little darlings are ready, well they will just eat their way right out of you. I am sorry for how painful that will be, but its what we've got to do to survive. And well, lets face it. As members of the human race, you did bring this on yourselves."

"You ain't getting near me." snarled Simon.

"Oh but sweetie, I told you, you already did. While you were lying there unconscious I already laid my precious little babies in you. Thats them right there." She pointed to the discoloured lump in Simon's side."

Simon's hand went to his side, he could swear he could feel things squirming underneath his skin. He threw up noisily, his vomit splattering on the stone floor.

"What about Dev?" he asked imploringly.

"Well, she was unlucky enough to get in the water where we normally offer our sacrifices to Mother Hydra and Father Dagon. They must have been pleasently surprised to turn up in person to accept it. On their behalf, I'd like to thank you for your offering."

"You mean, she, she's dead?"

"Well yes, but if it is any consolation we gathered up the remains, and in a very real sense she is here with you now, and will remain with you until the end. Simon with mounting horror followed her stare to the plate of cooked meat he and Paul had so recently eaten. Now it was Paul's turn to throw up nosily.

"Oh you pair! Now your home is going just stink of vomit and that isn't going to be a very nice thing. No, it isn't" she said in a sing song voice as if talking to a baby. "Poor Hamish is going to have to clean that up, and that just isn't going to make him happy no it isn't."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Paul asked "If this is all true why haven't I had eggs laid in me?"

It was Chris's turn to answer "Bloody hell mate, give us a chance. I am not a stud farm you know. Your time will come soon enough. You should be happy about that though. Ali told me how much you wanted to adopt some kids. Well, now you get to go one better and actually give birth to some."

"Anyhoose," interjected Ali "it has been awesome catching up with you, but we aren't really supposed to. Sort of against the rules. We just wanted to let you know how grateful we are for you allowing our little family to be possible. You see in a way, we've all got what we wanted. Simon, you wanted to have sex with me and you got that. Paul, you wanted have a family, Bev... well she wanted to be adored, and now she will be venerated as a bride of our goddess. Don’t be expecting anyone to come looking for you. I wouldn’t want you to be all disappointed when no one does. You see Simon, when we were using your computer we weren’t just doing essays for you to copy. We put a whole diary in there that tells a story about you and the boys serious drug dealing habit. It appears that you spent a load of money you owed to some drug lord and had decided to run off and hide. When we go back tomorrow, we’ll be telling everyone none of you ever showed up for our holiday, but we found your phones in our backpacks. I guess you put them there for anyone tracing your phones as a false lead. By the time it all gets investigated and sorted out, well by then me and Chris will have returned to the oceans. We will think of you often though."

Simon launched at her, but again Chris blocked him, and threw him against the wall. "Don't think I won't hurt you Si. Those little eggs inside you can survive almost anything. I doubt you can say the same about yourself!"

"You sick f**ks, you actually believe any of this is real don't you."

"No sweetie, we know it is. And soon enough you will see the proof too."

"And what about Jim."

It was Ali's turn to look shocked. "Oh! I'd forgotten about poor Jim. Oh well, we have people out looking for him. I sure they will find him soon enough, unless exposure kills him first. Poor dear. I hope they fnd him. I really want to implant into both of you at the same time, so you both give birth together."

"You really are effing demented. You know that right?"

Ali pouted. "Such a potty mouth. Well, I am not going to stay here any longer to listen to this. I'll send Hamish down to sort out your foot. I don't think we'll see you again, but I'll make sure and tell our babies all about you."

She turned around and skipped her way back up the stairs. As she left she heard Chris say "I'd say bye too, but to be honest. I never really liked any of you. I only tolerated you for Ali's sake."

Without another word he turned around and left the pair of them, securing the door behind him.

Jim was cold, tired and p**sed off. He'd been wandering through the woods looking for Simon and Bev and gotten lost. All he'd had was cold water from the lake and he was starving. More by luck than anythng else he had found his way back to the loch and then followed the waters edge back to the village. He could call for help from there, or maybe the others would be there waiting for him. He was way overdue, it would be getting dark soon and he'd be lucky to make it back in time for his classes tomorrow. If they were sitting in there having drinks, they'd better have a cold one sitting waiting for him. He really hoped he could get some hot food though, and that Simon hadn't p**sed them off again.

He pushed open the door, a big smile crossing his face as he saw Chris and Ali sitting at a table. They looked slightly surprised to see him. The big barman was emerging from a doorway, with stairs leading down and he too smiled as he saw Jim. Chris pointed at him, and the man turned around. Jim's smile fell as he saw what the man was holding. In one hand he held a massive meat cleaver, stained with fresh blood. In the other he held a boot. The stump of a leg protruded from the top of the boot. He recognised the boot as one of a pair he'd bought Paul for his last birthday. The man advanced towards him, raising the cleaver over his head. Chris and Ali were shouting something, but the words didn't quite register in his head,

Jim felt something warm and wet running down his leg. He realised he was definitly going to miss his classes in the morning.

And Ellie, I will send you a full copy of the story when I get back home on Monday.

   You don't mess around with a Redcap. Everyone in this business knows that much right? Or at least if you don't, well this isn't the  business for you. Murderous little buggers they are and if you make the mistake of spending the night in one of their lairs... well its cap gets dyed a little bit redder. They don't even like others of their kind. And by that I mean faries.

   Its funny to me when I hear that people used to think faries were nice sweet things that granted wishes and made flowers bloom or whatever. There are more types of them than I can count, divided up into two camps. Seelie and Unseelie. The Unseelie are all the vicious and murderous ones. The Seelie, well they might not rip your guts out and wind them around a tree like christmas decorations with your head on top, but well they were still dangerous and to be avoided by anyone with any brains. The fae had always been there, long before we climbed down out of the tree's. Just for whatever inscruitable reasons fae to things they had... faded into the background. When the werewolves repeared though, so did the fae. Well the Were's appeared first. We'd just about figured out what we had to do to kill them when the fae decided to come back. I have no idea if it was the Were's that made them come back, or if it was just coincidence. Doesn't matter either way. By the time they'd stopped fighting pretty much all the major cities were gone. They weren't destroyed, wiped out, desolate ruins with the skeletal remains of buildings reaching up to the sky like broken fingers, a sad monument to the hubris of humanity.

They were just gone, and in their place stood pristine forests. The British Isles went back to how they had looked before mankind cut down the trees. No idea what happened to them or the people that lived in them. You can find the odd friendly Seelie and talk to one. They'll talk about almost anything, but if you ask them what happened to the cities the most you'll get is a smile and a wink. They didn't wipe out all human habitation though. Small villages, farms and suchlike remain. And if you know how to appease the fae then you'll mostly  be left alone. You know, things like leaving out saucers of cream for them, not having spikes on your fence so they can sit on them.  You do that and the Seelie will leave you alone, maybe even put a blessing on your house or do you some favours. You p**s them off however, and well you best be moving away.Far, far away.

You make the mistake of just wandering into Unseelie territory though and all bets are off.

Anyway, we were heading north, on a return mail trip. Messages are now the only way for people to keep in touch any more. No phones, no TV, certainly no damn internet anymore. It is back to handwritten letters. Not that there is much communication nowadays. People live off the land like they used to in ages past, most places have learned to be self sufficient, but lots of folks still have relations scattered all over the country and that is where we come in.

We are the post men. The last thing holding civilisation together.

We have all sorts of dangers to watch out for. Some Seelie might take a fancy to one of you, steal you away for a nights pleasure and when you wake up it is 500 years later, or another might decide you've offended it in some way and look to take payment in blood. Sometimes you'll get lucky and meet up with someone like Truthful Tom who can you out of most trouble (he has a bit in influence with the farie queen), but mostly you are out there on your own. Well, not quite on your own. We travel in groups of seven which seems to please some groups of faries for reason's we haven't quite figured out. And travelling between places isn't as simple as it sounds. Since they came back geography has become unreliable. Places that weren't there before are suddenly there. I keep hoping one day all the missing cities will come back, but so far none have. We still have Glasgow and Edinburgh north of the border. South, you have Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham... Maybe a few other places I haven't been yet? Nowhere near as many people living in them as we used to have. Few thousand at most. There isn't the infrastructure to support much more than that n one place anymore. Anyway, that's why you just can't mark up on a map the safe places to go because what is there one time, might be there or might be elsewhere. Not to mention the occasional left over Werewolf the faries didn't catch. So, yeah our job is a tough one.

Or something else might have moved in. Before I became a postman I had a nice house in a small town called Wick. A Boggart moved in and just made life a misery. Constant petty small tricks made it unbearable. Keys were always missing, milk was spoiled, things got broken. Eventally I gave up and moved out. Anytime I find myself in the neighbourhood,  check my old house out. I have no idea what he still finds to break in there, but I hear the noises of him throwing things around and smashing them.

So on with my story. We were doing the return leg of a Glasgow to Manchester run. Things had been going more or less well. We were deep in what is still called the borderlands, the old dividing line between Scotland and England. It was getting late, and the place we were looking to spend the night didn't seem to be where it ought to be. The wind was howling and getting stronger, heavy dark clouds promised a night of rain. Not the sort of weather you want to spend sleeping under the sky. Only thing we could see to head towards, was what looked like an old ruined keep on the top of a barren hill. I'd passed this way dozens of times and never seen it before. We knew it was risky to spend the night there, but we couldn't see any other choice. So we hiked up the hill. Close up, it was an old ruined keep. Looked like it had been there for centuries, and in some strange way it had, even though it hadn't been there two weeks previous. We checked out the grounds for any obvious signs of anything living there. Other than a few large boulders lying scattered around we saw nothing.

Yeah, we really should have taken that as more of a warning.

We settled down to sleep, agreeing to take it in turns to stand watch. I got the first shift, did my duty and then woke up my replacement. As I lay down, the wind and rain sounded even heavier than they did before.

Not a fit night for man nor beast to be outside.

I couldn't have been asleep for long when we are all awoken by an almighty crash. I sat bolt upright, thinking we were in the middle of an earthquake from the way the ground had shaken, but it was all over almost as quickly as it had begun. It took us a minute or two to figure out there were only six of us now, and we couldn't see the missing man. Not until we stopped a hand sticking out from underneath a boulder, fingers still twitching from whatever phantom signals were jumping around the crushed body beneath. There was no way the six of us could even try and shift the boulder. Then there was a flash of lightning and we saw it outlined against the bright flash. It looked like an ancient and wizened old man, with a floppy cap on his head. One hand held an old fashioned pikestaff which he was waving manically has he cappered around, celebrating no doubt the death of our companion. I'd seen pictures of them before, and I knew that if we saw him upclose he'd have stringy gray hair, matted with blood dripping from the hat he liked to dip in the blood of the slain and despite his appearence as an old man it was more than strong enough to kill all six of us if we were foolish enough to try and fight him.

So we upped and fled out into the night, wind, rain, thunder, lightning and all. We left everything else behind.
And that sir, is why I am formally submitting a form 67a, to request the king of the faries formally be approached to request the return of our mail sacks. Ain't no way any of us are going back there to fetch them. I mean you can try reading scripture and showing a crucifix and maybe the stories about that scaring a Redcap off are true, but me I reckon those old monk's lied when they wrote that stuff. Be a damned silly creature who was scared of words from a book. Besides, if you are close enough for him to hear you speak, then you are close enough for him to throw a boulder at you. Me, I'll put my faith in red tape (although I'd be appreciate all things considered if we could change the name to a different colour) and see if we can get the buggers to return it that way.

Decided to try something a bit film noirish. Not sure how this one will go, or if I will finish it, but it is something to do on the train.


It had already been a tough week. I'd been dealing with a report of a murder. Some broad had dropped a house on a witch to kill her. Likes to take trophies too, stole the shoes off a dead woman. Pretty sick stuff. Seems a bit extreme in my book, going to all the effort of dropping a house on someone, when a second report came in. The same dame had murdered the witches sister by throwing a bucket of 'water' over her.

Great, just what I needed. A serial killer bumping off witches. And an inventive one at that. I was sitting wondering just how she'd gotten a witch to agree to a wet tee-shirt contest, and how no one had noticed one of the buckets had been filled with acid. The suits in city hall were pretty nervous about this one. They'd have to put a pretty good spin on it. There was an election coming up soon and no one wanted a headline grabbing serial killer running around pushing politicians off the front page. Those guys did not like compition.

The lieutenant called me into his office. Gave me the hard sell on solving this one fast. The mayor was breathing down his neck, which meant the LT was breathing down my neck so closely I could smell that he'd had steak, eggs and coffee for breakfast. By the time I left his office, his voice was hoarce from the yelling and my ears were ringing.

I left the office, turning the collar of my mac up against the drizzling rain. Funny, no matter what the weather was like everywhere else, it was always drizzling when you left the police station. I called a cab aand took a ride out to the first murder scene. I never liked getting out of the city. On it's mean streets everything was black and white, but once you got away from it, suddenly everythng became colourful. I was just glad went I crossed over, I stayed black and white. Proper colours for a person to be.

Something about this case though… It sounded somehow familiar. I felt like a man drowning in quicksand trying to reach a branch just brushing his fingertips. Something was there, I just couldn’t grasp it.

I noticed the driver was going over the speed limit. I figured he knew I was a cop and that I wouldn’t really care if he sped a little, or ran the odd red light as long as I got where I was going. Pulling him up now would mean paperwork, and I was already buried deep in that. I took his badge number and made a mental note to report him to one of the traffic boys later. They’d appreciate the assist, and it never hurt to have them owe you a favour.

We reached the outskirts of the city, the change to technicolour hit me hard like it always does. If I’d thrown up in the back of the cab though, it might have counted as an improvement. The floor was littered with trash, and I’d to be careful where I sat not to get someone else’s chewing gum stuck to the seat of my pants. Dirty cabs like this one made me wish sometimes the seemingly endless dreary rain would turn into a flood, wash all the filth away, but I’d learned in my time of the force that some dirt just doesn’t clean off, and this city was dirty deep down to its very core.

We arrived at the Podunk town where the first witch had died. The bright colours made me wish I had a hangover. If I’d been making friends with Jim Bean last night, I’d at least have a good reason to feel so nauseated.

Jerry, one of the junior detectives I worked with on a regular basis was already there. He’d directed the blue suits to secure the crime scene. I got out the cab, tipped the drive a $10 (which I’d get back when the traffic boys fined him). Jerry handed me a welcome cup of Joe. It was dark and bitter just the way I liked it.

“So, what’s the score Jerry?” I asked, pulling a cheap cigarette out and lighting it as I did.

“The old lady didn’t stand no chance. She was walking along, minding her own business when SPLAT! Out of know where a two-story house drops on her. One hell of a murder weapon. Ever tried dusting a house for prints?”

“Witnesses?”

“Oh yeah a ton of them. We got a second body to deal with though.”
“The house landed on two of them?”

“No, apparently the witch had a beau in town. He hung himself when he heard she was dead. Oh, and get this, the entire town is populated with Munchkins.”

“You’re kidding, right? Just tell me they don’t keep bursting out into song.”

“Nope to the first. And three times so far while I’ve been trying to question them. Ever tried keeping track of twenty identically dressed short guys when they start doing a song and dance routine? It ain’t no picnic around here boss. And I thought the time that chocolate factory guy enslaved those midgets and started murdering kids in ‘industrial accidents,’ was bad.”

I shuddered at the memory. Only one kid called Charlie and his granddad had survived that day and they were never quite the same again.

The singing short people had really got on my nerves and I’d hoped never to work with anything like them again, and yet here I was. Different place, same s**t.

“Ok Jerry, round up the little men. We’ll interview them one at a time in an isolated room. Handcuff them to a chair if we need to. That should at least stop them dancing. Break out the hot lamp and we’ll see who wants to sing a different tune after a while under it.”

Better show me the murder scene.”

Still something was bugging me, some forgotten memory that was dug in like a worm. It teased me, seeming to always just be on the tip of being recalled but not quite. I’d was a fifteen-year veteran of the department, worked a lot of cases and sometimes the details just flowed together like a how a bunch of raindrops coming together to form a river.

I thought of a holiday years ago with Devon. Now there was a swell date I was foolish to let go, but I’d let Devon walk out of my life without even trying to keep things together. I remembered that walk, how the hips swayed from side to side, how the distinctive conditioner smelt. Little things like that, that just stay with you, like gum stuck on the sole of your shoe. Finishing my coffee, I sighed and crushed the paper cup tossing it aside. Jerry was looking at me expectantly. “Say boss, you need a minute? You look like you just seen a ghost.”

“You know Jerry, for a moment I think I did.”

We walked over to the house, which despite being dropped from the sky, seemed to be in remarkably good condition. Sure, it was a bit of a fixer upper but a little work and it would be as good as new.

Providing of course you could figure out how to get the stiff out from underneath it of course. Jerry showed me where her legs protruded out from underneath it. They looked fairly intact. I didn’t want to see the mess the rest of the body was in. The two legs were covered in red and white stripped tights, the toes curled up. It looked so sad and pathetic. What a crappy way to be remembered. Judging from the holes in the leggings, she did not have money. As it had mentioned on the report, her only possession worth taking, her shoes, had been stolen off the dead woman’s body.

I promised myself there and then, I’d take this one down hard. It had just got personal. If the court sentenced her to the big sleep, I’d be there to watch as she did the electric jig in the chair.

Jerry put his shades on and said I guess for her the housing market had just collapsed. I put him in charge at the scene and called one of the beat cops to drive me to the second site. Other than a description (woman in a gingham dress), I didn’t think Jerry would get much to go on from the Munchkins. Plus, I didn’t want to have to deal with the suicide on top of everything else.

We took the Highway towards Oz City. Kids had vandalised the road a while back, painting rude signs all along it in yellow paint. Ever since it had been known as the ‘Yellow Dick Road’. The shocks on the police car were in need of work. I felt every cobblestone brick we bounced over. The beat cop driving me, a heavy-set guy called Murphy (weren’t they all?) and identical to every other beat cop in the precinct was good enough to drive in silence. I was in no mood for idle chit-chat.

We’d been driving for half an hour when I heard Murphy swear and slam the breaks on. I looked up from the report I’d been reading and re-reading endlessly, hoping to scratch the itch in my memory. Some damned fool dressed as a scarecrow was standing in the middle of the road, slowly turning around in circles. Murphy climbed out the car, roaring at the idiot to move. His back was to him as he approached the scarecrow. I wound down the window, to tell Murphy to shove him off the road, or arrest him if he resisted when his slow spin turned him around to face us. The head was initially hanging down staring at the ground, but slowly rose to stare straight at Murphy. He was wearing old ripped clothes, a mix of greys and browns with a sack over his head and a tattered hat on top. A carrot poked out the sack for a nose and the eyes seemed drawn on and soulless, but the teeth. In the name of the fairy godmothers, the teeth… Each of them seemed like a three-inch-long ivory dagger, gleaming in the sunlight. Even from this distance I could see a drop of saliva run down one of the fangs and drip to the ground.

Scarecrow said a single word, and I felt a cold chill creep through my bones as everything that happened in the next few moments seemed to slow down to a crawl.

“BRAINS!”

And with that, before anyone could say or do anything else, he leapt on Murphy, sinking his teeth deep into Murphy’s head. I heard the crunch as his skull collapsed under the attack. I dropped the papers I’d been reading and jumped out of the car. For the first time the Scarecrow took notice of me and dropped poor Murphy’s body, starting to walk in a strange, jerky fashion towards me. I pulled my piece out, shouting at him to halt, but knowing I was going to plug this monster even if he did stop. I pulled the trigger six times, the Scarecrow staggering backwards as I emptied my revolver into him. He staggered all right, but didn’t fall. I could see holes straight through him where the bullets had passed through his body, but he straightened himself and continued his weird stop motion walk toward me.

I felt as much use as a tub of butter in trying to stop a blowtorch as he showed me his blood and gore stained teeth. I was pretty sure the gig was up for me right there and then, when I had a sudden thought. I dropped my gun and grabbed for Jerry’s lighter. I flipped its top and flicked the ignitor in one smooth motion. The smile dropped off the Scarecrows face pretty quickly when I started running towards him, shoving the lighter in through one of the holes left by a bullet, while my other hand grabbed his throat to keep those lethal teeth from sending me for a dirt nap.

The dry hay he was stuffed with caught fire, and with a whoosh, he went up in flames. For a few seconds he looked even more horrific, his face wreathed in fire. Then it hit him just how much trouble he was in. I pushed him away from me. The day wasn’t going to get any better for me if I ended up as a human Catherine Wheel. Damn thing still kept on moving in his stiff limed way, trying to beat out the flames. I backed off to the driver’s side of the car and watched him burn. No way I was putting this guy out. I checked the trunk of the car just in case we had a can of gas back there just to make sure he burned, but no such luck but by then the Scarecrow was just some ash, blowing away in the wind. I made a call to headquarters and set up a road block. A look at Murphy’s head told me his wife would be collecting a widow’s pension. I’d seen worse ways to go, but not many. His head had been burst open like a watermelon being eaten by a shredder. I covered his body up with my mac so I didn’t have to keep chasing the birds off him. For a second I thought I could really do with a scarecrow, but I killed that line of thought damn quick.

The department takes it pretty seriously when one of its own bites the dust. The crime scene investigators were here pretty sharpish, along with some suit from the Mayor’s office to run some PR. He jumped out his car, smoothed down his suit, checking himself in the wing mirror before striding over to me.

I could tell I wasn’t going to like him already.

“Detective Holzman?” He asked. I nodded and he thrust out his hand for me to shake. I looked at him coolly and ignore his hand. From his face, I could tell I had rattled him a little. Good. I could tell this guy was going to be a pain.

“My name is Lyman Baum. The Mayor is taking a personal interest in this case and asked me to come down and keep an eye on things. Keep him informed on the progress you are making, and here I find you knee deep in the ashes of someone you apparently decided to burn alive. Is he even a suspect? Do you have any clue about who might be responsible or is this whole thing just turning into a cluster on your watch?”

Talk about first impressions being right.

“Mr Baum, first of all no he wasn’t a suspect. He was just some random nut job who attacked us in the middle of nowhere. Second, no I don’t have any clues. I might never get any clues because some ass from the Mayor’s office is for one thing stopping me doing any investigation, and for another thing his two hundred and fifty-dollar shoes are currently standing in the middle of what is left of the perp. Three, we lost a man here today. I didn’t know him well, but from his wedding ring I assume he has a wife, maybe some kids. I saw him get half his head ripped off for nothing more than telling some circus freak to get out of the road, so how about you back off before I decide to slug you one right on the jaw.”

I deliberately pushed past him, making sure his expensive suit was smeared with the blood and ash I’d picked up while checking out the two victims.

I ignored him as behind me I heard him call out “I am a dangerous man to upset detective, and I have contacts.”

Yeah, no doubt he’d cause problems with me. The Mayor played golf with the Chief, and the Chief would come down hard on the LT about this, which meant the LT… well s**t rolls down hill and this particular detective seemed to be standing at the bottom with a basket designed to catch it all. I found a still burning ember from the Scarecrow, lit another cigarette and flicked the ember behind me in the vague hope that it would burn Lymon’s suit. Maybe they’d push for my badge and I’d quit and become… whatever ex detectives became. Another detective arrived, Morrison. He was going to take the Scarecrow case. I was a material witness, not to mention I’d burned the guy until only scraps were left. Morrison was a good man. He’d been my supervisor when I’d been a junior.

“Jeez Winnie, what a mess.” He grunted and indicated both sets of remains. “Any leads?”

“Nothing. Perp had no ID, at least nothing that survived the fire.”

“Straw man huh? Tough break for Murphy. He was only three days from retirement. They’d picked him out a gold watch and everything.”

“I can tell you one thing, he moved funny. It was as if he didn’t have full control over his body. Even when he was burning, it was like some messed up dance.”

Morrison pulled a pair of shades out of his coat pocket, put them on and said “Sounds like a real disco inferno.”

I like your representation of fairies. Supposedly I'm descended from them, ha. Explains a few things, I've always thought.

You want a driver to take you back to the station?”

“Thanks, but no. I still need to check out the second witch murder. I’ll type up my report on this mess and have it on your desk by tomorrow.”

“Be appreciated Winnie. Hope the rest of the day gets better.”

I thanked him and went back to the car. Morrison was the only guy who called me by my first name. We’d known each other a long time though and we let each other get away with stuff that anyone else trying to pull would have found themselves in a whole world of hurt over. I hated my first name with a passion.

Driving the car myself was no more fun than it had been as a passenger. Who the hell uses bricks to lay a road? I’d wasted a lot of time waiting for the crew to arrive and the sun was starting to sink beneath the horizon like a ship loaded with one too many rats. I decided against driving back to the precinct, and then having to spend most of tomorrow driving out to Oz City and stopped at a cheap motel for the night. The clerk looked like he’d seen some time in Sing Sing. I let him ‘accidently’ let him see my badge as I leaned over to sign the register so he’d know better than to stiff me on the charges. Half these guys are out on parole and a bad word from me, he’d be doing a nickel to dime in Folsom and singing about trains passing by.

I paid in cash and made sure I got my receipt. Claiming expenses from the department was a real b***h and I didn’t want to give them any more excuses to stiff me out of any more greenbacks. I grabbed my typewriter out of the trunk and took it back to my room, preparing to spend the night explaining just how I’d managed to lose a driver and incinerate the murder suspect.

The room was cheap and looked it, but at least it looked clean. It had a bed, with a small desk and a chair. I sat myself down in front of the desk, set the typewriter up and decided to get a cold glass of water. Walking outside to the ice machine I was a bit disgusted to see an “Out of order” sign hung on it. Complaining to the desk jockey got me a bucket of iced water. Better than nothing.

Returning to my room I spent a couple of hours trying to put as good a shine on my report as possible, or at least not writing it so it booked me a one-way ticket to Old Sparkie for incinerating a (technically) unarmed suspect. It was just about finished when I heard some shouting from outside. Looking at the clock on the wall told me I’d been sitting writing until past midnight. Against my better judgement I peeked through the thin curtains.

Ah crap, I knew I should have just went to bed. Some maniac outside was waving an axe around while wearing what looked like and old-fashioned suit of armour. Some days a guy like me just can’t cop a lucky break. I grabbed my side iron and ran outside. I aimed my gun at the lunatic who was hooting and hollering like some demented drunk. As I shouted at him to drop the weapon and raise his hands. He turned around, reminding me of a toy robot I had as a kid. I almost expected little sparks to come flying from the eye slits in his helmet. A metallic voice shouted at me that he was going to cut my heart of my chest while it was still beating, and he ran towards me, his axe raised over my head. Carefully I squeezed the trigger and…

CLICK.

Back during the war, we used to call that one the dead man’s click. I had forgotten to reload after the Scarecrow. I dived to one side to avoid to down sweep of the axe, crashing into a bunch of trashcan’s, sending them rolling around and making a noise like thunder. Rolling with my momentum, I got back to my feet and ran towards the line of parked cars, hoping to grab a few precious seconds to reload my 45. The axeman’s suit of armour must have been heavy and slowed him down. I dived behind a Buick and crawled along the ground, hoping to confuse him about where I was hiding, then stood up with my back to a removal van. I popped the chamber open and shoved six rounds then slapped the chamber back in place. Peering around the corner of the van, I could see the axeman walking towards the cars as quickly as he could, clanking like a bag full of tin cans.

All this noise and not one person had popped their head out the door. Guess everyone else is smarter than yours truly. I shouted another warning and then fired off three rounds when he didn’t stop. I saw sparks as the bullets hit his chest armour over his heart, but bounced off his makeshift metal suit.

This really wasn’t my day for shooting people.

Thinking quickly, I tried shooting at his helmet, hoping that the ricochets combined with the noise and flash of the bullets striking would stun him, but no such luck. He came on relentlessly. The axe bit into the side of the van, and I jumped back. My gun was empty again, but even if it hadn’t been it was useless. I threw it at him, hitting him with a clang, but to no other effect.

I ran, almost tripping on the rain slicked sidewalk, very conscious of the axe swinging behind me. Talk about having death stalking to you. I’d always expected to die on these mean streets one night, but not quite like this!

Anything I passed I knocked over trying to slow down this unstoppable thing pursuing me, bins, luggage trollies, the ice machine… The clanking noise behind me, slowed and changed, becoming more tortured. Glancing over my shoulder I could he was struggling to walk now. The ice machine must have bust for a while. All the ice had melted and he’d soaked his legs when I had knocked the broken machine over. He could still move his upper body futilely swinging his axe even though it was far out of reach. Well, this did change things. I picked up a few pebbles and threw them at him, smiling as the pinged off his armour. “Well, well, well chump. The shoe is WOAH!”

I narrowly avoided the axe as the maniac threw it at me. I felt the swish of air as it spun passed me, embedding itself solidly in the wall behind me. So, he is a weak spot for water does he. “You just stay right there pal, I’ll be right back.”

In a minute or two I was back. I collected the bucket of iced water from my room and carefully walked up behind the guy. Sure, I’d made plenty of mistakes in my life, but I tried never to make the same one twice.

“Have this tin man,” I shouted as I poured the bucket over his head. Sure enough, the tortured squeal of rusty metal quickly replaced his metallic clunking and in a few moments, he seemed safely frozen.

Just to be on the safe side, I dragged his arms down behind him and cuffed him. His arms were hard to move, but not because he was fighting me, they just seemed stiff. I hadn’t heard him speak a word since he’d said he wanted to chop my old ticker out of my chest. “All right tin man, let’s find out who you are under that sheet metal.”

I reached out and knocked his helmet off. I got a bit of a start when I found there was no head beneath it, just a hole leading down into the chest cavity. The helmet was filled with clockwork that looked like the inside of one of those “haunted piano’s” you see in old western saloons that play themselves. Looking inside the chest, it seemed to be similar. Someone was making killer robots? I thought again of how oddly the strawman had moved. Then I thought again of the Wonka case. Surely not another mad scientist?

Like some ancient shipwreck rising from the depths, Devon rose unbidden in my mind. If I’d played my cards differently I could have spent the night in each others arms, but instead here I was outside with a rusty robot that had tried to turn me into convenient postage stamp sized chunks. I thought again of my childhood toy. It had stopped working when the wind-up mechanism had finally had enough of being wound up and just gave up the ghost. What would it take to keep this guy still? I decided not to bother the station with this one. It wasn’t like they could slap a thing like that in the cells.

Still I couldn’t just leave it there, like some medieval equivalent of a wooden Indian. I returned to my room, picked up some lipstick and wrote on the torso “DO NOT LUBRICATE.”

I returned to my crappy room in a crappy motel where a crappy robot had tried to chop me up on a crappy cold night. At least if the rain had kept up it might have rusted up sooner. It was the kind of night you didn’t want to be outdoors, and not just because of psychotic robot types either.

It was the kind of damp night where the chill crept into your bones and stayed there. The clouds were low and heavy, hiding the moon completely. The only light outside was the sickly yellow neon glow of the street lights. The adrenaline that had been coursing through my body during the fight had well and truly worn off, leaving me feeling worn out, like a tree that has rotted from the inside and suddenly collapses. I fell on the bed, ready to collapse into sleep. My brain though had other idea's. It was feeling wired. It took several hours but eventually my stiff and sore body won out and I collapsed into an uneasy sleep, where I dreamed about flaming robotic scarecrows.

Waking up early, I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out. I wanted to be gone before any of the other guests found out about the damage to their cars or the rusted tin man outside. If they were curious about him, they should have came out and helped me try and fight the crazy thing.

I had the strangest feeling though, like this wasn't the strangest thing I would see before this case was over.

I jumped back in the car, gunned the engine and headed off toward Oz City, gritting my teeth at the very thought of the place. Colour was bad enough, but why the people of Oz decided to paint everything green I'll never understand. Glancing in the mirror, I caught sight of a motorcycle behind me. I disliked bikes and those who rode them on principal. No one likes a smart arse who rides up between you and the car next door when you are stuck in a traffic jam.

Twenty miles later, the bike was still in my rear view and a lot closer. The rider seemed to have some ridiculously furry collar on his leather jacket, which was being whipped by the wind. Must be blocking his vision. What an idiot. It was bad enough he was riding a bike in the first place, but with that get up and no helmet. Some folks just had no respect for their own lives. A little while later he overtook me. I was in no hurry. I got a good look at his bike as he passed, it looked like an antique. The rider glared at me as he passed, a blonde haired man with a black leather jacket and that stupid long furred collar. It looked more like ginger chest hair that had climbed out from inside the jacket and was threatening to overwhelm him, and then overtook me and headed off down the road. Soon enough I'd forgotten about him. You saw a lot of strange people out there and he wouldn't even rate in the top 50 I'd see this week.

Not long after that, I could see the gleaming spires of Oz City. My derriere was aching from two days of riding along this damn road, and I still had the return journey to make. If it wasn't so far out in the sticks I might have gotten crap from the LT about the length of time it took to get out here. They were used to be treated as second class, and wouldn't complain to headquarters, the LT would assume I was being thorough and had to stay the night. Still, didn't make turning up to investigate the crime a day late feel any less like a snake twisting around in my guts. These people deserved our attention just as much as anywhere else.

Still, if they were that bothered, they'd have set up their own police force long ago. I drove up to the gates. The guard on duty saw it was a police car and didn't give me the usual shakedown they gave to the run of the mill rubes who showed up wanting to see the boss man. The glittering green gates swung open. Part of me had hoped they would refuse and I could drive back to the precinct early. This case was going to be chasing after a bunch of corpses until the killer messed up and got herself caught. She had all the advantages and all we could do was pick up the pieces afterwards and hope. Truth be told, that was what most police work was, waiting for the bad guys (or gals) to make a mistake. I wound down the window and spoke to the guard, trying to keep a serious face at his silly fur hat and make moustache. He gave me directions to the central palace. Not a place I had ever been before, or expected to see. Visitors just weren't allowed in there.

Guess having a murder in there must have shook them up pretty badly.

I could feel a lot of eyes on me as I drove through the city. Oz didn't exactly encourage visitors and well to put it bluntly, most family tree's seemed to have a single branch.

Certainly explains the fashion trends.

It wasn't hard to find the city centre. The Oz City guards had cordoned off the area, standing their in their comical fur costumes. For a second I thought of the motorcyclist, and then dragged my thoughts back to the matter at hand. The crime scene consisted of a black dress (still wet), a pointy black hat, and a pool of goo underneath it all. Not much to see really. I should have sent Jerry here, but that would have meant dealing with the singing midgets. One of the guards waddled over to me, pike carried over one shoulder. He saluted me, introduced himself as sergeant Jenkins and said when I had finished checking the murder scene I had been invited to visit the Wizard's personal secretary. If I told him when I was finished he'd send me her way. The secretary he said, had witnessed the entire thing. Just to look professional I had a check around. A bucket lay on it's side. I guessed it was the murder weapon. There were a lot of foot prints, two obviously feminine shoes, the rest heavy boots (presumably guards). I bagged and tagged the bucket, putting it in the boot of the car and then told what I thought was Jenkins, but turned out to be someone completely different, that I was ready to go. It was so hard to tell them apart. I accepted an offer for one of the guards to drive me onwards, and after asking Jenkins (or someone looking exactly like him) to keep the clothes quarantined I left with my driver.

Of course he insisted on taking his pike with him which wasn't easy to get in the car.

I was already regretting accepting the offer of a driver when I'd to share my seat with his weapon, but he jabbered on constantly about as far as I could tell, anything that just happened to pop into his head. He told me that they'd been celebrating the last day of spring break when the witch had arrived to see the wizard (and rumours were the pair of them were having an affair, not that anyone knew if the witch or wizard were married, or even seeing anyone else, and if they were was it an exclusive relationship, I was informed in a breathless stream of information. Words just tripped out of his mouth with no gaps between them or breaks to take a breath).

I missed Murphy and his taciturn silence.

It surprised me when we drove outside the city. I thought all these monkeys lived inside the walls. In fact we went about five miles outside the city, into the woods. We drove up at some mansion, I climbed out the car whistling at home much this pile must have cost. My guard jumped out of his side, still talking non-stop, dragged his stupid ass pike out of the car and knocked on the mansion door. It was opened as I followed the guard up the steps to the large double doors.

Got to say, I did not expect to see Devon open the door. My jaw just dropped and my eyes went wide. It had been over a year since we'd parted ways, and there hadn't been a day since I hadn't regretted it.

Devon stood there, smiled that wide, slow smile I'd seen so many times before. "Winnie, glad you could make it finally."

I felt myself blushing and wishing I'd touched up my makeup on the ride over, or at least brought a spare change of clothes so I wasn't still wearing yesterday's clothes. Of course there was no way I could have known he would be here. When we had been dating I never let him see me without a face full of make up on, nice dress, perfume... things that sadly my day to day job left me little time for. I reached out to shake has hand, but he took my hand instead, kissing it gently.

I felt my heart flutter like a bunch of canaries who had just spotted a cat walking around their cage.

"I was hoping they would assign you to this case. It's been way too long since I last saw you."

I mumbled something about how it was good to see him too. "Come on inside" he invited. Officially this is the boss man's mansion, but he never uses it so I have the place to myself."

Devon always did have a deep resonating voice that reassured me... and turned me on. I forced myself to concentrate on the job at hand, and not what we'd gotten up to in the past.

Inside, the house was decorated in a stately style, meant to impress visitors I guessed. Devon confirmed this as he told me how any important visitors to the city would often be put up here rather than staying in the city proper. I listened to his voice, letting his words wash over me and slipped into something of a daydream as he led me through to a drawing room. Suddenly, Devon was looking right at me, obviously having asked me some question was expecting an answer. I managed a vague "Huh?"

"I said is it still strong, black coffee, and no sugars?"

"Oh yeah." I really had to get my head back in the game and concentrate. I wondered if Jerry had been having any problems with the Munchkins? Must keep my mind on the job.

"Make yourself at home."

I took this as cue to sit on one of the antique looking leather chairs. I felt very self conscious and sat demurely, with my knee's together, took out my pen and notepad while Devon poured me a cup of coffee. He handed me it, in a fine china cup. It looked incredibly delicate and I worried that I might accidentally snap it.

Devon meanwhile pulled a chair over to sit opposite me. He was close enough that our knee's touched and each time they did I got the same thrill of contact, like a con must get when Old Sparkie gets powered up, only this was one jump I'd enjoy.

I cleared my throat, and started "So, you saw what happened."

"Yeah, I saw the whole thing. I was in the city, appearing as the Wizard's stand in."

"You do that a lot?" I interupted.

"Oh yeah all the time. The wizard doesn't do public appearances. Doesn't often take private meetings either. So, anyway it was the last day of spring break and I was there for the closing speeches, wishing the students all the best, when this woman comes in shouting that the party isn't quite over yet. I thought it was all part of the festivities."

"So you didn't know the full plan of events?"

"Well in theory I did, I mean we had a timetable, but it isn't unusual for stuff to be improvised. The Oz folks might not look like it, but they do know how to party. Just a shame they have such terrible taste in colours."

"Oh I know, right? Every time I see that place it makes me want to puke."

We laughed together, and for a few seconds all those years we had been apart faded away. He looked at me, and I felt my knee's turn to jelly. In those few moments, if he had asked me to go with him, I swear I would have forgotten about my career and the whole damn case. I'd have just up and left where ever the fates took us.

A coughing from the door broke the silence and the moment. A curiously androgynous figure, dressed in a Butler's uniform stood in the doorway. I tried to mentally compose myself again as (I guessed) he asked if we wanted tea. Clearly, Devon had been lost in the moment just as I had, and he stuttered slightly as he asked for two cups (even remembering that mine was black, two sugars). I watched as the butler left still not 100% convinced he was indeed a he. The fine cheekbones and hair slicked back into a long pony tail didn't help either. I'd visited a few stately piles in my time, and I'd never seen a butler before who didn't look like he came straight out of old England with a factory stamp proclaiming his authenticity. I caught Devon staring at me and returned to the interview.

"So, you said this girl wandered in. She the one who ice'd the witch?"

"Yeah, she seemed pretty in a girl next door kind of way. Her dress was made out of gingham."

"Bit kitsch if you ask me."

"Well, you always did look better in a little black dress" he said with a knowing smile.

"So you were saying she walked on unannounced?"

"Yeah, started whipping the crowd up into a frenzy and then asked if they wanted one last wet tee-shirt contest. Of course, they were wild for it. Some guy came out with a bucket of water in each hand, she took one and dumped the whole lot over the one woman in the front row. She started to melt, the crowd started to panic. I got caught up in the crowd and didn't see what happened after that.

When I am on a long strain journey I try to write a short story. This is more a framework that I could develop into a story, but it is what I got done today.

Warning: This story contains mature themes.

   Y'know, when you are watching the movies they make showing all the exploits of superheroes it isn't quite as glamerous as they like to make out on the big screen. I've been a PR man for them for twenty years now and I got to tell you, there is a lot more goes on that gets left off screan than they'd ever dare show.
   Its all in the name of a good public image of course. Clean cut sells better, and no one likes to deal with the whole fake moral outrage brigade. You know the ones, they get up to all sorts of things when they think no one else is looking, but if anyone else gets caught on doing it they scream blue murder to the media.
   One of my first jobs was looking after some kid with the spider powers. He was just a teenage kid back then, just getting established on the scene. I can't tell you which one of the spider guys we are talking about, and last I checked there were three or four different ones. He was living out of some crappy appartment and the maid came in to clean his room, caught him knocking one out. Of course with his whole web flinging thing, everytime he moved his wrist... well I am sure you don't need me to draw you a picture. Suffice to say the maid got some of his webbing on her face. She was going to sell her story to all the newspapers (of course these days, it would be all online, but back then that wasn't something we had to worry about). Now this kind of thing could end a super's career before it had even begun. I contacted her, offered her a big payoff, good job (with benefits) but she was determined to have her day in front of the camera. Eventually I had a word with one of the more extreme vigilanties out there, can't mention his name here, but if you know the guy with the skull on his shirt then you'll know exactly who I am talking about. Anyway, I dropped a rumour to him about this woman being a blackmailer and just to sweeten the deal I had some coke planted in her room. Just enough to make her look like a dealer. It wasn't pretty what he did to her, but in the end the set up worked and the kid went on to have a great career (still going strong in fact) and I still get my 5% residuals.
    In the grand scheme of things though that was small change. Later on I'd get assigned to work with some guy who was seriously into his magic. Very strange guy. He'd go into a bar and try to chat up a woman. If his chat up lines didn't work, he'd simply rewind time and try again and again until he got his way. And the things he would do to those women! He had access to all sorts of other dimensions and I swear at least one of them had to be a universe of sex dungeons. I always stayed clear of his parties but I hear he had suppliers who could fix him up with drugs you have never even heard of and shouldn't ever have been on this planet. If someone overdosed, he'd just open a portal to some other place and dump the bodies.
   I assumed he was dumping the bodies in another dimension. Wasn't until many years later I found he'd been dumping them in some hotel in Chicago, back in the early 1900's. His magic has seriously messed the design of the building up. Turned the whole place into a maze. When they found the bodies,it was all pinned on the owner. Did some research and found he got the death penelty for it, poor bastard.
   Worst place I ever heard of though was some school for kids with powers.What the teachers got up to with each other! Wow, just mind boggling and the pervy old guy running the place got off on using his "mental powers" to watch it all. I've seen some of the secuity camera footage and I tell you, that team should have been called The X Rated Men. Never worked with them myself, always avoiding working with kids. The parents are always trying to get involved, tell you how to do your job.
   Working with women is just as bad. There is one who is named after a certain type of spider. Yeah, her nickname is well earned. Check out how many husbands she went through and what happened to them. And every single one of them had a huge life insurance policy on her. Lets not forget about the guy in the metal suit. The movies made out that he put his girlfriend in charge of his company, asked her to run it for him. Yeah, that was a cover up for an especailly nasty corporate takeover. Somehow she manage to lever his money against him, took out loans against his business and effectively used his own fortune to buy him out. Left him penniless and on the street.
   The guy with the mouth? Yeah, I thought you'd bring him up. I did represent him and to be honest he was one of the easier ones. He didn't try to have some clean image up front and you know what? The public loved him for being who he was. Well, as long as he kept his mask on. He did look a bit like melted cheese underneath that. No matter how many bad guys he shot, sliced and diced or even tortured no body seemed to care. Just as well really, I don't think he'd have changed even if they had.
   So why am I telling all those stories now? Can't you guess?  I am going to release my very own tell all biography. You see, after two decades of representing the good guys and knowing all the time that they weren't that good I have decided its time for a new career. I am going to become a super villian. I know all the supers secret weaknesses and where their skeletons are buried. Literally in some cases. Any superhero makes a move against me I'll publish and they'll be damned! Can't you just see it? I've learned a few tricks and I'll make sure the public will love me for what I do. In time the entire world will bow before the evil genius of...

note to self. SELF, REREAD THIS THREAD!

Not one of mine, but I thought it was interesting.



Error 404 (Not Found)!!1 (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=leohcvmf8kM#)

 

It was a sorry and miserable trio that slowly trod through the seemingly endless mud that made up the so-called road they travelled along. The figure in the front was evidently a holy man, but a capable fighter too if the mail armour and weapons he wore were any guide. He was powerfully built, with a shock of white hair and a beard. Over his mail he wore a tabard, proclaiming his allegiance to the Lord Solar, the light bringer and he bore a similar looking design on an icon around his neck. One hand held a heavy looking mace which he tapped against the side of his leg as he walked. He looked older and more mature than his companions.

 

Behind him trudged a striking looking woman. She wore dark leather armour. A rapier hung at one side, while a light crossbow was slung over her backpack. Her long red hair was soaked through, framing a face that many would consider attractive. She had bright green eyes that darted left and right, on the lookout for something, perhaps anything that would get them out of this damn rain.

 

The final member of the trio was the most curious of the three. Where the other two wore armour, he had only a long robe. Like the female he carried a light crossbow on his back along with most of his worldly possessions, save the book he had clutched to his chest, wrapped in an oilskin to protect it from the rain and mud. He was soaked through to the bone and was thoroughly miserable about it, something that he made sure his companions knew about. His lank brown hair hangs down, water dripping from the ends. On one shoulder perched a raven, it’s wings partially spread to help it keeps its balance. The other two had long since stopped paying attention to his complaints and ignored as he whined about their predicament.

 

“Six weeks we’ve been travelling together and the closest we’ve had to any adventure was that farmer who paid us to clean out his pig sty. This is not the life of adventure we discussed! I want a warm bed, I want hot food, I want… I want… I WANT TO GO HOME!” He stopped, stamped one foot in the mud and succeeded only in splashing more wet muck over his robe.

 

The older man to the fore, stopped and pointed ahead “Look, it’s a town. Quit your moaning Zolis, you’ll get at least two of your wishes there. If you want the third, damn well turn around and head back home to mummy.”

 

The redhead spoke next. “Well, if we don’t find some work in there we might as well all head home. Those of you who have one anyway.” A sad and bitter look crossed her face and she paused for a few seconds before continuing. “We have enough money between us for one night in an inn and a meal… if they don’t charge too much. And that this godsforsaken place has an inn.”

 

The one called Zolis was evidently having problems getting his foot out of the mud. After stamping his foot in it, the viscous mud sought to claim his shoe. “Cadmus, can’t that god of yours shine some sunbeams out of his arse and make the day brighter for us? What use is it having a priest of the sun if you can’t bring us a weather miracle?”

 

“Be careful whose god you mock wizard. My mace is more than capable of extracting retribution.” The priests voice was a dangerous low growl. It carried an undertone of menace that got through to the headstrong wizard, who preoccupied himself with trying to rescue his lost shoe, succeeding only to overbalance and fall back into the mud. With a loud squawk his bird flapped its wings to stay aloft, before alighting on his head.

 

The laughter of the other two broke the recent tension. Cadmus strode over and gave the sodden and even more miserable than before Zolis a hand up. “Then again, perhaps my god is more than capable of punishing blasphemers in his own way. The ways of the gods are strange and not to be second guessed by us mere mortals.”

 

The red-haired woman continued walking along, eager to have a break from the wet. It had rained almost every day since they’d decided to take up a life of adventuring, the weather marking the gradual change from winter to spring. She’d find some way to make money in this out of the way hole in the middle of nowhere. She had nowhere else to go. Her name was Valerie but told everyone to call her Val and she’d been on her own since her parents had died in a fire when she was twelve. They sent her to various orphanages where sometimes well meaning, other times bullying attendants had tried to install some sense of discipline in her. She’d managed to escape every time though and found more useful skills living on the streets.

 

The town up ahead was hardly one to raise their hopes. A signpost against all the visual evidence declare “Welcome to Karlston”. Karlston, as far as the group could see, consisted of a miserable collection of a dozen buildings, most of them little better than shanties. Only two stood out as being different. One was an impressive looking way temple, far grander than such an out of the way and poverty-stricken place would appear to warrant, while the other was a two-story inn. Badly in need of a coat of paint it still seemed a welcome sight to the weary travelers.

 

Val surprised even Cadmus by suggesting, checking out the temple first but Zolis insisted they seek out food and drink first of all.

 

The trio wandered into the inn, rain dripping off them and mud clinging to their boots. A dozen or so locals clustered in small groups across the room, looked around at them, temporarily halting the low murmur of conversation. Stares bordering on the hostile bore into the group as they took a table. Val went over to the bar, the man behind it the only one in the room who seemed happy to see them.

 

“Greetings and welcome to The Kings Head Inn. My name is Sillas and I’ll be serving you this day. What can I get you good folks?”

 

Although the man’s words were friendly enough, his dark eyes told of sleepless nights. While not a tall man, the man was strongly built and had a friendly open face, if looking as if he was under some great stress. Zolis ordered a round of ales and asked if something was wrong with everyone looking so dour. The barman merely shook his head and served the drinks, his eyes staring down at the ground as he accepted three copper coins. Zolis scooped up the drinks and returned to the table, where the other two spoke in hushed whispers.

 

He told them that the barman had suddenly became very reticent when asked if something was wrong.  Val ran her fingers through her long red hair and pushed it back, so it hung down her back and over the rough wooden chair before replying “Well there is obviously something up with this village. The barman seems friendly enough, maybe I can find out what is up. Might be a job in it for us.”

 

“What”, Zolis said “is up with this village is simply that it is no longer on a trade route. It has no wealth and is dying.” Zolis’s idea of a whisper however was slightly lacking, and his words brought some angry growls from the assorted locals. Completely oblivious to this hostility, he continued supping on his ale. It was a weak brew at best, but with a pleasant take that surprised his taste buds. As a student wizard, Zolis had spent many a night sampling many different ales and he considered himself something of a connoisseur. His drinking companions during that time would have laughed at this however and pointed out his penchant for passing out after three or four mugs and having no memory of the night before.

 

“Look, give me all your money. I’ll go back to the bar, order more drinks, food and a room for the night. Then I’ll butter him up a bit, get some information from him and who knows, perhaps we can get a paying job out of this place.” Val smiled and winked, with an air of confidence.

 

Zolis snorted but said nothing more preferring his ale. He had spent over a decade studying the arts of mastering control over the minds of others and poor Valerie thought she could do the same with just a smile and a wink. Val downed her drink and walked up to the bar. Zolis couldn’t help noticing how her hips swayed as she walked. Surely the drink wasn’t powerful enough to have her staggering? He leaned over closer to Cadmus “Pah, she’ll get no information from him. I can delve the secrets of his mind with my magic tonight while he sleeps. It took me years of study and learning, and she thinks she can just ask. Poor woman. Still can’t expect her to be as smart as a man, especially not one as learned as he was.

Cadmus looked at his companion askance, “This place you studied magic at… They didn’t encourage mixing with women, did they?”

“Well of course not. Such things were seen as a distraction to our studies and we were discouraged from any contact with them, beyond what was strictly necessary.”

Cadmus nodded, and smiled a half smile. “I am sure you will catch up on everything you missed quickly.”

Zolis snorted again. “There can’t be that much to learn.”

 

Having imparted his sage opinion, Zolis leaned back on his chair, supped deeply of his ale and then wiped the foam off his mouth with the sleeve of his voluminous robe. Cadmus echoed this action, trying to hide his laughter behind his mug, although if Zolis had been watching he would doubtless have seen the priest’s bright blue eyes crinkled up with laughter.

After a few minutes, Val returned bearing more drinks. “He admitted something was wrong but wouldn’t speak of what the problem was. We should go speak to the village priest he said. His name was Father Morgan. I think we should go look for him after our meal.”

Cadmus nodded his agreement, while Zolis looked open mouthed at Val. Cadmus leaned over and whispered, “Women have a magic all of their own my friend.”

 

Shortly afterwards another round of drinks arrived along with that night’s repast. A stew where a few bits of meat floated forlornly in a thin gravy would be the best they could have. Still was well seasoned and had a more than passable taste. Each bowl came with a thick slice of bread. It had been a while since the trio had ate more than trail rations and the warm food was a revelation to their hungry stomachs. It would not keep them feeling full for long, but it would do for the moment. Val was just mopping up the last remnants of her gravy with her bread and contemplating the few coins they had left that would buy them one final round of drinks when the door to the inn burst open. The wind had risen in strength and it was now the early evening. Rain, blown in splattered the adventurers as a panicked looking man almost fell into the common room. He thrust the door shut, and pressed his back up against it, as if to bar it and keep some terror outside. Words poured from his mouth in a breathless flood, “Its happened again, they’ve killed another one outside the village. Young Margret, she’s been ripped to pieces!”

Most of the villagers buried their heads in their drink, but a few got to their feet and heading out, including the barman Sillas who took a heavy looking cudgel from behind the bar. The adventurers shared quick glances and with an unspoken agreement followed the more intrepid villagers out into the dark and rain. As they walked through the rain, others joined them attracted by the hue and cry. Near the edge of the village the posse now led by Sillas stopped to speak to a tall figure wrapped in a dark cloak against the weather. The man who had warned them all in the inn, who they gathered was named Jerad interjected several times, stammering and explaining what he had found. A couple of times Sillas glanced over his shoulder to look at the three newcomers and nodded in agreement to whatever was being said to him. While they were more the curious as to what was said, all three decided to wait and let the villagers come to them rather than seem overeager for work, and perhaps end up being offered less money.

 

Perhaps half a mile beyond the boundary of the village, they found the body. A young woman, her throat ripped out, lay in the mud at the road side, what remained of her face frozen in the last moment of a scream. Several villagers threw up noisily. Others invoked various gods and goddesses asking them for protection. One man swore and said “It’s ‘im. He’s sent the hounds of Hel to get his revenge.” Sillas hushed them man and bade the others to collect stout branches to make a stretcher and to keep an eye out in case whatever had done this foul deed returned. By now the last light had faded and the night was dark, interrupted only by the burning torches. The villagers moved in groups, never less than three or four, but quickly found some suitable branches. Sillas used his cloak, to lie the body on and covered it up as best he could with the shredded remnants of her own clothing.

It was impossible to hide that the body was missing some parts and what remained had the look of having been bitten and chewed on. What in the thousand hells could be plaguing this village? All three wondered if perhaps they were getting into something that would be over their heads.

Four of the villagers carried the lifeless body between them. The sudden cry of what sounded like a wolf howling rang through the night. The villagers looked ready to panic and run. Cadmus and Val gripped the hilts of their weapons in case some nightmare creature should suddenly appear out of the darkness and everyone clustered together. The howls were answered by others, which at least sounded further away. “Steady now. These beasts won’t attack such a large group and I am sure these fine folks”, Sillas nodded at Val, Cadmus and Zolis “will keep us safe until we are back in Karlston.”

 

Although it was only a short walk back to the village it felt like it took many hours to get there. The rain had finally ceased, but the ground underfoot was closer to being a swamp than it was to solid ground. Still no further howls broke through the darkness and they returned unmolested to Karlston. It looked like every remaining person in the village was standing, waiting for them to return. The publican, Sillas, who seemed to have taken charge of the whole operation bade the villagers to take the Margaret’s body inside the temple and lay it down respectfully. Turning to the party he spoke to them again “Father Morgan asked if you would be good enough to speak to him once you returned. If you are agreeable, I’ll take you to see him. He has some rooms at the rear of the temple.”

Cadmus replied that they would be happy to meet with the village priest, and if they could help with the villages problem they would gladly assist. That they would expect to be paid for this aid hardly seemed worth mentioning.

 

Sillas ushered the rest of the village towards the main temple doors while he guided the party around to the rear of the large stone building. A weak light shone through a small window beside a plain wooden door. Sillas knocked reverently on the door and a deep voice called “Enter.”

He opened the door and motioned for the party to enter. Zolis went first and his nose immediately recognised the smell of books. It was not a large room he walked into. The only furniture he could see was a cot bed and a writing desk, but the walls were lined with books. Any space where a shelf could be put, there was one and it would then be stacked high with books. Behind the desk sat a man of middle years. He had a finely trimmed goatee and dark eyes full of intelligence. Dark brown hair with a touch of silver seemed to add to his scholarly image. His general aura seemed to indicate a man who did not smile often though. He was reading a book by the light of single candle, the light from which threw flickering shadows over the man’s face. Sillas coughed politely and said in a much quieter voice than they’d heard from him before “This is Father Morgan, our village priest.” He fell silent, clutching his hat in his hands.

“Thank you Sillas, that will be all for the moment. I am sure the others will be in need of some drinks. Please, give them all a couple. I’ll pay for them in the morning.”

Sillas touched his forelock and excused himself, seemingly intimidated in the presence of the priest.

“I fear my friend was being overly generous when he called me the village priest. I am but a lay preacher at most. Still, I serve the people here as best as I can.” He spread his hands wide as he spoke, affecting a humble air. Before he could say anything else, Val interrupted. “What ails this place? Whatever killed that woman, it looked like it used teeth and claws. Those were not wounds from any weapon made by man, and why won’t Sillas tell us about it?”

Father Morgan sat back in his chair and stared at the group as if weighing them up in his mind. His piercing stare seemed to Val to be looking deeper than her eyes, indeed to her very soul. She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a shudder as it ran up her spine. From somewhere in the room she thought she heard a squeaking, like that of a mouse or some similar rodent. Her girlhood on the streets of Port Glass had meant such creatures were common bedfellows. More than once she had awoken to discover some snuggled in again her for her body heat. More than once, they’d made an improvised breakfast when pickings had been slim.

“Well, to answer the last question first. It is because he was not here when thing happened. He had travelled to the nearest city on business. As to what killed that woman, and indeed the five others who died before her, well that story began many years ago when a man called Anton took over the running of one of the outlying farms. He was however no farmer and as the people of the village were soon to discover he was in fact some kind of warlock! The village grew fearful of the man over time, visited now and again by some evil doubtless of an infernal origin. The occasional animal would vanish or sicken, or a year’s crops might fail if you did something to offend him. Stories of unnatural creatures attending him spread, demonic hounds who would protect him prevented the village from rising up against him, and although he demanded an annual share of our food at the autumn harvest festival and none dared deny him he never provided so much as a mouthful of food or drink to anyone else. So, might this state of affairs have continued had it not been for him pushing things too far. One of the village children disappeared from her bed on a moonless night. The warlock’s hounds had been heard howling that night, and their pawprints were found around the village in the morning. Enough was enough. The people of the village rose up and we marched to his farm. We could not find the girl and Anton refused to give his location. He threatened the villagers if they didn’t leave and went to cast some foul spells against them. There was a fight and they killed him, but we could find no sign of the missing girl.”

Father Morgan steepled his fingers as he lent forward over his desk and paused for a few moments in his narration. “Alas, it appears evil cannot be quite so easily banished. Around a week after this happened, the first of our village was taken. A charcoal burner named Ned he was. The body was found in a condition… well no doubt similar to poor Margaret’s and like hers his soul was dragged to the infernal planes to be the eternal plaything of the damned. We are as you can plainly see not a wealthy village, but we touched nothing in Anton’s farm fearing it accursed. No doubt individuals such as yourselves who live by your wits and by your blades have no such fears. He surely had many treasures in his farmhouse. Should you… deal with this problem for us, I am sure no one would complain if you were to, ahem shall we say liberate any items from the farm. Indeed, I for one would be grateful if you were to take them away. I want nothing that has been tainted by such a man and worry that sooner or later one of the simple souls who lives here may be tempted by the tales of his wealth.”

Cadmus glanced at his compatriots who both almost imperceptibly nodded before he replied. “We will deal with this warlocks shade. The wrath of the Lord Solar shall burn his wickedness from this place.”

Morgan’s face twitched slightly in what have been an attempt at a grateful smile. “Then Karlston, and indeed myself owe you a debt of gratitude. Please, join the others in the inn and rest well. I will pay for your room and board this night. In the morning I’ll have one of the villagers show you where the farm is.”

“One last thing before we go” interjected Cadmus. “This temple seems rather grand for an out of the way place like this.”

“Ah, well if you were to go back several decades, you would have found this village was a thriving way point on the trade routes. The temple was originally built to worship the Master of Coins but was abandoned when the merchants chose other trade routes. Followers of the Bringer of Law held it for a while, using it as a base to patrol the region from, but with little to protect they moved onto other more glamourous places. The temple has extensive workings beneath where they had a barracks and food stores. Perhaps on your return I can show you around.”

“My thanks Father. I think I really would like to see beneath the temple” said Cadmus is a strange, almost far away voice.

With that Father Morgan returned to his book, leaving the others to make their own way out of his room. Outside, the night was quiet. The Kings Head shone like lantern in the dark but was silent. The threesome walked towards the inn, not speaking until about half way to their destination Val spoke up “Was it just me, or was he a bit creepy?”

Cadmus grunted and replied “I found myself not trusting him fully. Still there is no denying that something is attacking the village. I say unless we find proof otherwise, we take the job, see what we can salvage from the old man’s place and put whatever evil awaits down.”

Zolis laughed. “Just because the man can read does not make him sinister or evil. I am sure everything he told us is true.”

Val and Cadmus exchanged despairing glances but said nothing more, instead heading towards the welcoming light of the Kings Head and the free drinks awaiting within.

 

In the morning Cadmus awoke early. It was just before sunrise, a time he had been accustomed to rising at in order to perform the first ritual of the day and greet the rising son as another day was blessed by the Lord Solar. He prayed for the spiritual power to defeat his foes and do his gods will, then checked his gear and headed downstairs, ready for whatever adventure awaited. Val was already down there, having a grey looking gruel for breakfast. “Let me guess, Zolis drank too much again and is still sleeping in his room.”

She shook her head. “He was still drinking when I went to bed. When I came down this morning I found him still passed out under the table.”

Cadmus peered under the table and indeed the wizard was lying there. Cadmus could tell he was breathing through his nose, mostly because someone appeared to have bundled his beard up and shoved it in his mouth. “He snoring again.”

“Yup. One of the locals must have got fed of him. He is still breathing, I checked.”

Cadmus sat down and gave the prostrate mage a hefty kick to wake him up. “Get up you drunken fool. We have travelling and maybe some fighting to do, and you have a hangover!”

A low moan issued from below the table as Zolis stirred. He slowly climbed back onto the same stool he had doubtless fallen from.

“Damned fool,” swore Cadmus “get upstairs and your spells together. We need you clear headed, not throwing up every half hour.”

Zolis looked very pale, shot up out of his seat and ran for the outhouse.

 

It was much later in the day than they had planned when they finally set off. Cadmus had wanted to leave as soon as he had performed his morning rituals, but if Zolis didn’t have some time to study and memorize which spells he wanted to use that day then he’d be no use at all. It had crossed Cadmus’s mind to attempt this job without him, but the wizard did have some useful powers that just might make the difference between success and failure. A substantial crowd had gathered to see them off, headed by Father Morgan. He offered them a blessing in the name of the gods to wish them success and introduced them to a thin youth by the name of Felick. He would take them at least part of the way to Anton’s farm, although he would be leaving them early enough to get back before dark. It would take around six hours to get to the farm on foot he informed the group. If they had expected cheers from the villagers as they marched off, then they were to be disappointed. The expectant eyes of the crowd watched them leave in silence, perhaps fearful of what would become of them should their chosen champions fail.

 

Although the rain had finally stopped falling and the sky was clear the road underfoot was still muddy. Felick proved to be sullen and untalkative companion. Val wondered if he had perhaps drawn a short straw and been forced into being their guide. Still, the day was pleasant and only the worry about what dangers lay ahead stopped them enjoying the day. Sillas had been good enough to provide them with some food. Simple fair, but it would be a welcome change from hard rations.

 

After a few hours travelling where their guide trailed behind them instead of leading from the front the group decided to stop for lunch. Val and Cadmus sat on their cloaks while Zolis chose instead to perch on a fallen tree. Unwrapping the package Sillas had given them they found a loaf of bread, freshly baked that morning, some cheese and a jar of some brownish sauce. It turned out to have a tangy taste. Taking pity of their unwilling guide, Val even offered him some which he gratefully accepted and wolfed down as if he hadn’t eaten much recently. He seemed to cheer up a little and even spoke to them about where they were going. “You keep going along this road, it’s the only farm still going. All the others were abandoned. Folks say the warlock cursed their crops to fail just so he’d have more peace and quiet. Aye, old Anton wasn’t one for company. He only came into the village a few times a year to buy supplies. Didn’t speak to none that he didn’t have to. One time I remember a couple of young bravo’s travelling through tried to rob him. He beat those two black and blue and sent them on his way. Might have been an old man, but he knew how to handle himself. At harvest time he’d come in for the festival and do fortune telling for those who wanted it, maybe get drunk and cause some trouble. People said he’d a horde of gold he’d sold his soul to the devils for and that he worked all sorts of magic.”

Cadmus leaned forward, and asked “Did you ever see him do anything evil, or cast any spells?”

The young man reddened and looked down at the ground, but before he could answer, he leapt to his feet and pointed at something at the roadside. He vomited noisily, and then ran off abandoning the group, shrieking about devil dogs. Zolis peered into the undergrowth where the boy had been pointing. “Oh look, it’s someone’s hand!”

Cadmus and Val jumped to their feet and came to investigate for themselves. Most of the flesh and muscle had been torn from the hand, leaving only a few strips of tattered white flesh and bloody tendons holding the rest together. One finger still had a plain gold band. Carefully Val removed the ring noting an inscription on the inside, a simple devotional to a wife. “I think we have found part of the woman attacked yesterday.”

Cadmus nodded. “We should at least bury the hand rather than leave it for the animals and birds.” He delved into his canvas backpack and found some cloth to wrap the remains in while Val dug a shallow grave. Zolis merely shrugged his shoulders and pointed out it would still be eaten, only by insects instead of animals. Cadmus shot him a look that convinced the mage that he should hold his tongue and make no more comments.

“We should keep the ring, see if we can return it to her family” said Val. Cadmus nodded in agreement.

 

After they had buried the hand, and Cadmus had said a few generic words over the grave the group decided to continue. No one felt like finishing the lunch.

 

Weak sunlight dappled the ground, but it was still gratefully received by the trio after the weeks of rain that had left them sodden and muddy on a daily basis. It did little to dispel the days chill though. Each person walked along quietly, deep in their own thoughts. It took them all by surprise then when a pair of snarling dogs ran out of the overgrown flora at the roadside. Zolis reacted first, calling on his arcane powers he caused magical fires to burn on his hands, hoping the fire would scare the animals off. It seemed to have the opposite effect as both animals snapped and tore at his legs, ripping chunks of flesh. Zolis collapsed in the dirt as the dogs continued to bite at him tearing a gout of his skin and muscle free with every bite. Val pulled her crossbow, flicked the safety catch and fired a shot without aiming. It was incredibly lucky that one of the dogs raised its snout to snarl at her and the bolt went down the animal’s throat, lodging deep inside it. The dog made some strange coughing noises and collapsed. Cadmus meanwhile grabbed his mace and swung clumsily at the other dog. Off balance, his swing came closer to the unfortunate Zolis’s head than it did the dog. Val moving with her heightened reactions, reloaded her crossbow and sent a second bolt thudding into the flank of the other dog which squealed and tried to limp away. It staggered a few steps, then fell to the ground as its body finally realised it was already dead.

 

Zolis was lying on the ground, moaning feebly while blood soaked the dirt beneath him. His bird, disturbed by its master collapsing flew in tight circles around him, cawing loudly. Cadmus dropped his mace and lifted the wizards robe away from the wounds for a better look at the injuries. A large part of the back of his right leg had been bitten off leaving a gaping hole through which he could see the muscle twitching spasmodically. He put his hands on the wounds and called on the power of the Lord Solar, making his body a conduit for the holy energy and speeding up the healing. Val watched in horrified fascination as the injury knit itself back together rapidly. Cadmus’s hands glowed faintly with the power he channeled and in a few seconds the leg was completely healed, a patch of scar tissue the only sign there had ever been an injury there.

 

And of course, Zolis’s shredded and blood-stained robe. Cadmus was breathing heavily from the exertion of healing the injury while Zolis’s whimpers and cries subsided slowly.

“Oh man up you big baby. Cadmus has healed you. You can walk again.”

“It still hurts!” the wizard protested.

“Come on, if you don’t get up we’ll never make it before dark.”

“Don’t… do… that… again Zolis” panted Cadmus. “The Lord Solar grants us only a small amount of his power each day. If I have to keep healing, you then I will quickly run out. Guess what happens when I run out?”

“We all go home?” said the mage in a hopeful voice.

 

After a few hours walking, punctuated frequently by Zolis complaining that his legs still hurt they reached the end of the road. A wooden gate lay partially submerged in mud that had once blocked the path. At the right-hand side of the road a faded sign read “This farm is the property of Anton Senet. Hawkers and travellers are welcomed only by my hungry dogs!”

“How charming and inviting,” mused Zolis.

“Well we didn’t come all this way just to turn back because of a sign.” Cadmus replied. “Besides, from the look of the footprints in the mud, it didn’t put the Karltoner’s either. Those dogs that attacked us earlier, did they look particularly demonic to you?”

“I was too busy being eaten alive to judge them on appearance.” Zolis said wryly and unconsciously touched the fresh scar on his leg.

“I know what you mean Cadmus” interjected Val. “They looked half starved.”

“Maybe such creatures are always hungry for souls. They were certainly hungry enough for my leg!”

They continued along the path. Tall trees lined either side, lending the walk an oppressive air. Rounding a corner, the treeline ended, and a single-story farmhouse could be seen. Part of the building appeared to have been set on fire, although at a guess the recent rains had prevented it spreading. Behind the farmhouse a wooden barn could be seen. From a lone tree near the farmhouse, hung a body. Although they were too far away to make out details it seemed a reasonable assumption that this would be the body of the alleged warlock, Anton.

“Well, I guess we know how he died. And it doesn’t look like he has returned from the grave to take revenge.”

“He didn’t get a grave.” Zolis commented drily. “I can see him hanging there. Look, he is swaying in the breeze.”

The other pair sighed at their literal minded companion. Val decided a conversation about this with Zolis would go nowhere and just be frustrating. “Let’s go check him out first” was all she replied. The wizard however interrupted her, “Hold on. Let Black Adam check the area out first.”

“Who is Black Adam? You hiding someone under that robe or something?”

“Black Adam is my raven. I’ve mentioned his name to you before.”

“You called your bird, Black Adam? And he is going to scout out the farm for us?” asked Val, the disbelief clear in her voice.

“Oh yes, yes. He can do that. Just watch.”

Zolis carefully moved the bird from his shoulder and held it in his hand. He spoke softly to the bird, which cawed back in return, then in a much louder voice Zolis said “NO! You can’t eat any stray eye balls you come across! Fly over the farm. Come back and tell me if you see anything unusual,”

He sat Black Adam on the ground, letting him loose. The bird stretched its wings and then took to the skies.

“Now, we wait.” The wizards looked at the other two, a triumphant look on his face, puffing his chest out.

“Zolis,” said Cadmus “your bird has flown straight to the hanging body, has perched on its shoulder and unless I miss my guess is pecking at the eyes. If there are any left.”

Crestfallen, Zolis seemed to shrink a little and deflate. “He… needs some extra training. Work in progress, yes that’s it!”

“Well since our scout is busy filling his belly, I guess we should do our own reconnaissance.”

Val patted the mage on the shoulder and walked past him, heading over to where the raven was feasting.

 

“Well, he is definitely dead.” Cadmus peered at the decaying remains suspended in the air. The weather combined with the attention of local insects and animals had not been gentle with the body.

Val looked at the priest sideways. “I am so glad we brought you and your healing skills along. I could never have worked that one out myself.”

Zolis’s only comment was to retch loudly as Black Adam continued to peck at the remains.

“EAY!” yelled Cadmus, waving his arms in an attempt to frighten the bird off. It merely stared at him curiously, before returning to its meal. “Hmm, that’s odd.”

“Cadmus, you ever see dead bodies hanging from a tree and think it is normal? You must have grown up in a bad place.”

“I was thinking about the legs. They seem to have been chewed almost to the bone, whereas the rest of the body is a bit more…”

“Fresh?” finished Val.

“Yes. I would guess a dog around the same size as the ones that attacked us, on its back legs could eat the flesh off the legs, but not be able to reach the rest. We should bury the body.”

“Eeeew, you touch that, and it is going to fall to pieces,” squealed Zolis.

“You are going to have to learn how to be less squeamish Zolis. During my training we regularly had to prepare dead bodies for burial. One thing I found is that death is no respecter of the mortal condition.”

Val drew one of her blades, a wicked looking narrow stiletto and started to cut through the rope. It was thick, and the dagger wasn’t the best suited item for the task, but eventually she cut through the rope.

The body came crashing down to the ground. The rotted skin on the chest burst splattering the group in semi decayed fluids.

 

Even Cadmus threw up this time.

 

Once they had cleaned themselves up as best as possible, Cadmus and Val dug their second shallow grave of the day. The body was carefully moved into it and quickly buried, with the same words said over the body as had been said over the hand previously.

Finishing up the burial rite, Val suggested they go check out the farmhouse. The door had been kicked in. It led to the kitchen which had obviously been the area the fire had been lit. Part of the roof over the burned area had collapsed in, doubtless saving the rest of the building in the process. Beyond that, it seemed like a typical kitchen, taking up perhaps half the house with nothing to suggest anything overly sinister on the part of the owner. Two doors led further into the house. Zolis examined the ruined part of the house. “It was not some stray spell that set this alight. Someone piled up firewood and broken furniture and set it alight. “

Agreeing, Cadmus walked over to check the other rooms. The first one was apparently a bedroom. A plain bed and a chest of drawers stood against one wall, and at the foot of the bed sat a very ornate and expensive looking chest, of the kind a wealthy traveller might take on a long sea voyage. The wall above the head of the bed bore a large painting of a sun, rays of light emanating from it. Cadmus recognised this symbol immediately. “It seems strange does it not, that an evil warlock would have the symbol of the Lord Solar over his bed.”

Nodding Val replied, “There does seem to be a few differences to what we were told and what seems to have happened.”

“That chest. Looks large enough to hide a body inside, certainly that of a young girl and yet it is still closed. Seems odd if they were looking for a missing girl that it would be left closed.”

Zolis finished nosing around the kitchen and joined them. “Perhaps they couldn’t find a key?”

“It’s a farm Zolis. I am sure if they looked around, they’d find an axe somewhere.” Cadmus sometimes wondered about the wisdom of bringing Zolis with them. True he was in certain specific ways highly intelligent, but he seemed to be a complete void when it came to common sense. Oh well, it was too late to look for another spell caster. It had been hard enough just getting a threesome together to go wandering the world looking for adventure, never mind looking for a perfect group. Sighing inside, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to Val. “Can you open it?”

She flicked her red hair over her shoulder. “Maybe. I’ll give it a go.”

She knelt beside the chest and pulled out a set of slim tools from her leather armour, selected one and went to work on the lock. After a few minutes with an audible click, she pronounced it unlocked, her face beaming with pride.

 

The three stood around the chest. “Might be his fabled treasure inside,” said Zolis in his hopeful voice.

“Might be his dirty laundry,” retorted Cadmus. “Let us open it and find out.”

 

Val put her hand on the lid and slowly opened the chest.

 

They all stood there, looking down on the contents of the box. They were silent for a few seconds and the Val spoke.

“Well, that was not what I was expecting.”

“Truly not,” agreed Cadmus.

 

The inside of the box was lined with a white silk. It contained a single item. A plain black mask, such as might be worn as a masquerade ball.

 

“Perhaps it is magical? Let me see.” Zolis looked carefully at the mask and started chanting softly to himself in a language Val had never heard before. Concentration was carved in every line in his face. Suddenly, Zolis let out a shriek and collapsed, a thin rivulet of blood running from his nose. Cadmus quickly moved to his fallen companion. “He is still breathing. I am going to take that as a sign not to touch the mask.”

“Agreed. Can you wake him up?”

“This is not the kind of injury my magic can heal. I think given time, he’ll wake up on his own though. Or…”

“Yes?”

A broad smile broke on Cadmus’s face. “I could try pouring some cold water on him. The shock might bring him back. It would be a slight misuse of my gods’ gifts to make the water cold, but I think it would be worth it. Besides, he is fond of the odd practical joke himself.”

With a throaty laugh Val agreed and produced her water bottle. Cadmus prayed to his god, and Val felt a chill as if she was standing in an icy cold wind. She could feel the water bottle getting colder. “It’s ready, go ahead Val.”

She uncorked the bottle and tipped it out over the prone form lying sprawled at their feet. Zolis immediately awoke, coughing and spluttering. It took him a second or two, to get his bearings but as soon as he did and before either of his companions could stop him, he dived for the chest, picked up the mask and put it on his face.

 

Cadmus and Val were too shocked and surprised to do or say anything. Before their shocked eyes, the mask seemed to sink into the impetuous wizard’s face, disappearing.

Zolis’s hands ran over his skin trying futilely to grab at the material. As the mask disappeared completely, Zolis sighed and collapsed again.

 

Val and Cadmus exchanged glances, shrugged their shoulders and grabbing a leg each, dragged the supine mage from the bedroom to the kitchen. Cadmus took a quick look through the second door, “Ah, the privy. I don’t think we need to search in there. If he hid any treasure down there, he can keep it.”

“Well then, the only place left to check is the barn outside. Unless we want to try digging up the fields.”

Dragging the still unconscious Zolis along behind them, the other two headed out to the barn. Although the barn doors were closed, there was a hole in the door from the ground to a foot or so up. Getting closer they could also see something had dug under the hole, creating a gap certainly large enough for a gnome or halfling to get through. Or a large dog. Pieces of wood scattered around seemed to indicate something had broken the door getting out, rather than getting inside. Listening carefully Val said in a low whisper “I can hear things moving about inside. Sounds like dogs. No surprise there.”

Both pulled out weapons, preparing for combat and forgetting about Zolis lying behind them. He sat up and loudly asked “Huh. What is happening?”

Alerted by the voice outside, the animals inside snarled and barked. Val could do nothing more than shoot an angry look at Zolis before one of the dogs came scrabbling out of the hole. Before either of the others could react, Zolis found himself struggling with a dog, its teeth sank deeply into his arm. He grabbed his dagger with his other arm and flailed at the beast assaulting him. Normally, Zolis was completely ineffectual in a melee, however the bared teeth worrying at his arm seemed to inspire him and he managed to stick his blade deep into the dog’s stomach and then ripped the blade back up towards him, spilling the guts of the dog over him.

This display of bravado complete, Zolis felt the waves of pain washing over him and sank back into unconsciousness with a soft sigh. Seeing the wizard bleeding heavily yet again Cadmus shouted at Val to keep the dogs at bay. She stood in front of the hole as a second tried to worm its way out. Cadmus again called on the power of his god, invoking the healing powers to stop Zolis bleeding to death.

Val was slashing and stabbing with her rapier at the dog and it had taken some severe slashes but was ignoring its wounds and had managed to get out. A third dog was working its way out. Cadmus finished his prayer and seeing the wounds knitting back together, left Zolis in the care of his god, then gripping his iron mace moved over to help Val. Cadmus crushed the skull of the dog Val had already wounded, killing it, while Val’s rapier found the heart of the third beast.

No more flesh-eating hounds came out of the barn.

“These ones look as emaciated as the others” said Cadmus, examining the corpses.

“Huh?” replied Val. “Is there any chance you could stick to speaking the same language as the rest of us?”

“They look half starved. No wonder they have been attacking people.”

The pair of them looked around at Zolis again. He was still lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, although the worst of his injuries had been healed up. His once fine robe was tattered and torn in several places. His eyes were open.

“He going to be ok?” asked Val.

“Physically yes. I have my doubts as to his mental state, but that has nothing to do with the dogs biting him.”

“I guess we should check inside the barn.”

Grabbing the edge of a door each they pulled them open, dragging the poorly maintained doors through the dirt. Although the interior was dark, streaks of light from the ill-fitting boards on the wall letting enough light to see by. A litter of four pups came yelping over to the intruders.

“Ooh so cute!” exclaimed Val.

Camdus stared at her, one eyebrow raised but said nothing. The four puppies ran out into the day light, playing with each other and mock fighting with Zolis, pulling on his robe and tearing it more. Zolis just groaned and lay there, letting the dogs play with him.

“This is the worst day of my life ever” he groaned.

 

Zolis picked himself up, looking sadly at the remains of his ripped and bloodstained robe. “Showing a bit of flesh there Zolis old boy. Might want to cover up a bit if we are going to return to the village.” Val snickered.

Looking down at himself, he intoned the strange language of magic. The well of arcane power he held within him came forth, surrounding his robe in a purplish aura, streaked through with bolts of a dark green. When the light show faded, some of the rips and tears in his clothing had been repaired. At least enough to enter an inn and not cause undue comment. “I will repair it a bit more tomorrow before we reach Karlston. I don’t want to exhaust all my magical power before we are safely back there.”

“Given how useful your magics have been so far I see no reason why you shouldn’t just use it all right now. All you’ve done is collapse on the ground and been carried by me and Val.” Cadmus’s voice was harsh, and the already crestfallen wizard seemed to shrink further inside himself. In a small, sulky voice he replied “Hey that isn’t fair. You are wearing metal armour. I just have just these robes. YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO STAND BETWEEN THEM AND ME!”

Val jumped between the two, “Hold on you two. Let’s just see if we can find the girl first and then get back to the village.”

Cadmus glowered at the mage but walking into the barn leaving Zolis to deal with the pups. “I do not like the idea of travelling back through the dark, but I don’t like the thought of staying here either.”

Val nodded “Out of the two, I’d rather sleep here. At least we can fortify the bedroom. We wander through the night and get attacked, then we have a real problem.”

“I’m with Val. I need a good night’s sleep to recover my magical energies. And you can count me out of keeping watch. I nearly died twice today, and I deserve a good night’s sleep!”

They scoured the barn but found no trace that anything, but the dogs had ever lived there.

“Well, if this is a wild goose chase the villagers have certainly fooled us. I see no sign of any missing girl, dead or alive. Nowhere nearby looks as if it has been dug for a grave recently. Zolis, what are you doing with those pups?”

“They won’t leave me alone.”

“You petting them isn’t helping.”

“Well I can’t just leave them here. Either they will starve to death, or if they survive they’ll just end up attacking people when they get bigger!”

“He has a point Cadmus.”

“Fine, but you are carrying them. I am not sure how much of a welcome they will get at the village. And if we are staying here overnight they are sleeping in the barn.”

Zolis’s face broke into a broad smile and he gathered up the pups, taking them back to the barn. He called back over his shoulder “I’ll plug up the hole in the door, so they don’t wander off.”

“Damn,” swore Cadmus. “I was hoping they’d get lost during the night.”

 

While Zolis dealt with the pups, he and Val returned to the shelter of the farmhouse. Cadmus started poking around the burnt part of the kitchen, while Val sat on one of the unbroken chairs. “Cadmus, I was just wondering… why doesn’t Zolis use his magic to heal his own wounds?”

“That is actually quite an in-depth question. I can only heal injuries the way I do because each morning when the sun rises, my god grants me a tiny portion of his power. Other gods share their power at times sacred to them. I can do other things too with that power other than healing, but that is what I choose to do with most of it. The kind of magic that a mage uses comes from another source, one that does not come from the divine. As healing is reserved for the gods he cannot do it. I could go on and explain the differences between the different types of magic, and how some rare people can master both types, but I think this answers your question without getting lost in the theories of magic.”

“And why are you both out here in the wilds, rather than somewhere warm? I mean I guess I can see you wandering the world, but Zolis seems so… unprepared for being anywhere outside a library.”

“Ah, well that is much easier to explain. For Zolis, it is like a strong man. The more he uses his muscles, the stronger he becomes. Thus, Zolis wanders the world to use his magic. The more he does, the more he will come to understand it and the greater his mastery. He will learn to perform things that to your eyes will seem miraculous. Well, if he doesn’t accidently walk off a cliff or something. He could improve his powers by staying home and practising, but actually using magic in practical situations works much faster. For myself, the more I use the Lord Solar’s power to help people, the greater the share of his power I receive will be and the more good I can do out in the world. Like Zolis, I could have stayed home and helped people in my home city, but I felt there were already enough priests there. Ah, this might be interesting.” Said Cadmus, pulling a charred object from underneath a pile of burned wood.

“What is that?”

“A book,” he flicked through a few pages. “Much of it has been destroyed, but it seems to be some kind of diary. Perhaps if I study it, we might glean some useful information. I’ll go sit in the bedroom and see what I can find out. Can you keep a look out for Zolis, make sure he doesn’t do anything more stupid than usual.”

Val sighed heavily. “It isn’t that he is an idiot. He seems highly intelligent. He just doesn’t think things through.”

“I am sure some time in the world will work wonders for him.”

With that, Cadmus disappeared into the other room.

Val got up and wandered over to the doorway, gazing out towards the barn where she could see Zolis rolling around on the hay playing with the puppies and feeding them some of his hard rations. Sometimes it was hard to believe the man had the rules of nature wrapped around his fingers and could easily tug them loose. Still, it would be nice if he’d occasionally do some tugging while they were fighting for their lives, earn his share of the treasure.

 

If we ever find any treasure she thought unhappily. She watched as Zolis finally finished playing with the dogs, closed the barn door and piled some sacks of feed up to cover the hole. As he headed back over to the farmhouse, she returned to the table, digging some food out from her backpack and uncorking a bottle of wine. She took a swig from the bottle and then passed it to Zolis as he entered and sat down on the edge of the table. The wine was thin and vinegary tasting, but it had been free. Zolis gulped down some of the wine himself, and then coughed.

“Cadmus is in the bedroom. He found a book mixed in with the bonfire. He is giving it a read in case it throws any light on the situation. We’ll make sure the door to the bedroom is shut tight in case there’s any more dogs out there and hit the road in the morning.”

 

The pair drank the rest of the bottle in silence before moving through to join Cadmus. Val dragged the chest of drawers over to the door while Zolis ambled over to Cadmus. “Find anything interesting?” he enquired.

“Well most of the book is ruined. I got bits about how the so-called warlock was an adventurer in his younger days but retired to devote himself to the study of some mask. I get the impression it is an item of unusual power. Good job no one found it and it anything really stupid with it then eh Zolis?”

The mage had the good sense to blush and stare at the threadbare carpet as Cadmus continued.

“Most information he had on the mask has been burned. In some way it makes the wearer stronger. I did get that he is hiding it from something, although I don’t know if it is a person, or some organisation and that there are other masks out there. I still have more to look through. How have you been feeling since you put it on?”

“Oh, uhm, well, me?” Zolis seemed startled by the question. “I guess since I put it on I have been feeling a little different. I have an urge to sneak around quietly, and for some reason I seem to know how to hide really well and… ok watch this. Val, can you lock that chest again?”

“I can, but why would I?”

“Please just indulge me.”

“Fine.” Val finished with the drawers and turned her attention to the lock. “I’ve never had to redo a lock. Normally when I open one, it stays open and we were too busy taking whatever was inside and running away to relock it. Once had to open a safe while two fellow guild members kept an angry pig at bay, but I’ve never had to, ah hah got you!”

With some pings and clicks, Val quickly had the lid resealed. She attempted to lift it back up just to show it was definitely now locked.

“Can I borrow your lockpicks?” She arched one crimson eyebrow at this request but handed them over. “You break any Zolis, you be buying me a new set.”

He cast a critical eye over the assorted tools, selected a few and then went to work. It took him considerably longer than Val, but eventually the lock clicked open again.

“I’ve never seen a set of lockpicks before, but suddenly I know how to use them.”

“Not very well though,” said Val, snatching her precious tools back and checking them for even the slightest trace of damage.

Zolis beamed with pride.

“So, the mask has taught you how to be a thief? Well, that would be incredibly useful if we didn’t have one already.” Said Cadmus, and then in a harsher voice “I hope much like out esteemed companion you will of course not use these talents save in the service of our adventuring. I will not have you randomly stealing things every time we enter a town or city.”

“Noo, of course not. I would never even think of such a thing. Although the extra mon.”

“ZOLIS!”

The mage decided not to press the issue.

 

Cadmus awoke first the next morning. Long years of waking up before sunrise had ingrained it as a habit in him. He avoided stepping on his sleeping companions, stripped to the waist and went outside to perform his daily ritual of greeting the rising sun and then praying to his god to renew his spiritual strength for the day ahead. Arms outstretched he felt the warmth of the new day as the first rays of light touched his torso. He felt his gods power reinvigorating him and preparing him for another day. Cadmus thought back to his time as an initiate, seeing the senior clerics, their eyes glowing with the glorious power of the sun god. By the time he had finished his morning worship the others had awoken and were breakfasting. Cadmus pulled his shirt on and then mail hauberk on top, grabbed a hurried meal of hard rations then declared himself fit for the day ahead. Val leaned back in a chair, her scrappy and well-worn leather armour contrasting with Cadmus’s highly polished mail. Zolis announced he was just going to the barn to collect the pups. With a sigh Cadmus said to Val “I was rather hoping he’d have forgotten about them overnight. Not that I want to leave them here to starve, but it is hard enough looking after him, never mind him and four pups.”

With a mischievous grin, Val put on a matronly voice and said “Well, you should have thought about that before you decided we should have a child.”

“Hah! Can you imagine if that were true? Only time I’d ever have wished my order were celibate.”

There was no real malice in his voice, just friends mocking each other.

Zolis returned. He had wrapped the four pups up in his cloak and was trying to carry them in his arms. The pups for their part appeared to be doing their level best to wriggle out the cloak (with some success it must be said) and climb up his arms to lick his face.

“He certainly seems to have a way with animals” noted Cadmus.

“Yeah,” said Val “If we meet a hungry bear we can run away while he makes friends with it.”

“You read my mind.”

 

Despite the diversions provided by Zolis attempting to hold on to four squirming puppies and their occasional escapes and recaptures the group were making good time on the road back to Karlston. Val was ahead of the other two, not really scouting just in the lead, when she stopped suddenly, crouched down and motioned for the others to stop. She slowly inched forward, looking through the greenery at the side of the road, trying to see what lay ahead around a bend in the road. After watching for a minute, she moved back to the others, still crouching over. “Goblins”, she hissed “I can see eight of them, might be more around. If we wait a while perhaps they will move on.”

The others nodded and they all moved into the cover of the trees, far enough in to be invisible to anyone passing by, while being able to keep an eye on the road. After over an hour had passed, Val’s keen ears could still hear the Goblins chattering away.

“I don’t think they are planning on moving anywhere” she told the others.

“Could we try circling around them through the woods?” asked Cadmus.

“Possibly, but if there are more of them around I’d rather fight them in the open than risk an ambush in the trees.”

“A stand up fight it is then.”

“One second, I just need to wrap the puppies up and tie my cloak, so they can’t go wandering. Now Bertram, Michelle, Little Val and Little Cadmus, you all behave yourselves. Daddy has some work to do and he’ll be right back just as quickly as he can, oh yes he will.”

Val didn’t dare to look at Cadmus’s face as she suppressed a fit of giggles.

“Ok, we go around the corner. Me and Val will hit them without crossbows while you fire some spells. When they get close we’ll take them hand to hand. Zolis, use your spells as best you can and just try and keep yourself upright. I need a moment. There is a trick of my god’s I wish to use.”

Cadmus intoned words again in the language of the gods which neither of his companions could understand. The air just over his shoulder shimmied and started to glow as a shape began to form. Indistinct at first, it quickly coalesced into a brightly glowing flail, with numerous spikes protruding from the head. “This is an aspect of the weapon the Lord Solar uses in battle. It will fight independently and help us, but it will not last long so let’s be quick.”

He strode off towards the bend in the road, crossbow in hand and floating weapon following closely behind. Val jogged to catch up, while Zolis strode along at the rear, his hands glowing with a purplish arcane energy in preparation for unleashing it on the unwary Goblins.

 

“Press your hands down on his wounds as hard as you can, it will slow the bleeding while I heal him. I just hope I have enough left!”

Cadmus words were quickly spoken and sounded harsh thanks to him still being out of breath from the fight. The bodies of the dead lay strewn around them, and the yellow ichor that passed for blood in these creatures stained Val and Cadmus’s weapons and armour.

The fight had started well. The Goblins had either not noticed the group or been too surprised to react as they’d walked around the corner. Both crossbows had found their targets, leaving the first pair of Goblins gurgling their last in the dirt of the road. The power held in Zolis’s hands had taken the form of a flight of arrows and flew into the midst of the small throng, killing and injuring several more. To their credit, the normally cowardly creatures had turned and charged their attackers.

In hindsight that should have been a warning they had more fellows nearby. Goblins never stood and fought unless the odds were heavily in their favour.

They’d even managed to get a second round of bolts off while Zolis had melted the face off another of the foul creatures by summoning a ball of some corrosive liquid and throwing it into the few survivors on the road. Then, more of them had come running out of both sides of the forest. Cadmus stepped forward, crushing bodies and skulls alike with his heavy iron mace while Val was more like a lithe dancer, her arm and rapier extending delicately, but leaving a still deadly wound behind. She felt a warm glow enveloping her as Zolis surrounded her with an additional layer of magical protection. The Goblins tried stabbing at the pair with crudely made spears, occasionally finding a hole in their defences and leaving a minor wound, but the worst of the damage was taken by their armour. Zolis lacking any such protection himself stood back dagger in hand and ready to use his magic should more Goblins appear. So, intent was he, however in watching the trees and fight in front of him, he was completely unaware of the Goblin creeping up behind him until he saw the point of a spear suddenly protrude from his stomach. His fingers fumbled at the sharp tip, and he muttered “Oh dear”, before collapsing into the dirt.

Val had saw him fall and cried out his name, distracting Cadmus. He turned around to look at what was happening and very nearly had a flint spear thrust into his head. Luckily it was slightly off aim and instead tore open a deep wound along his cheek. In reply he lashed out with his mace, crushing the ribs of his foe who fell to the ground coughing up blood. A second blow to the creatures head caved its skull in and finished it off.

Val charged the creature that had snuck up behind Zolis. It had pulled its spear out of the prone mage and was waving it victoriously in the air, droplets of bright red blood scattering around as it did so. Val felt as if time had slowed down to a crawl as she closed with it, plunging her thin blade deep into the Goblins chest, piercing its heart and killing it before it even knew it was under attack. At this, the surviving Goblin’s broke and fled, their high pitches voices chittering and laughing as they ran. Cadmus struck at some of the cowardly creatures as they routed, killing a few more, and then ran over to Zolis. Val was holding his him, trying to reassure him. Cadmus ignored the blood streaming down his face from his torn cheek and ripped the mages robes away from the wound, so he could better treat it. The spear had punched a hole the size of a gold coin clean through his back and out of his guts, but if there was life still in him then Cadmus could stop him dying. He concentrated, praying silently for his god’s intervention and calling on the power granted to him, he channelled more healing power than he had ever used before, forcing Zolis’s body to heal itself at an accelerated rate. The raged edged of the hole started to knit itself back together. Zolis’s breathing became less ragged and his eyes fluttered open. “I hurt,” he moaned.

“Relax, Zolis. You did well. I’ve healed as much as I can just now, but you are going to have to take it easy for a little while. Not many men can survive the wound you just took.”

“My robe is torn again.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can get you a new robe.” Cadmus told him in a soothing voice. “Just rest a while, get your strength back.”

While Cadmus was reassuring Zolis, Val opened her pack, collected some firewood and started a fire to brew up something hot for them to drink. They prepared a quick meal, Cadmus reading more of the badly charred book, occasionally reading out an entry. “It seems our so-called warlock sought the good Father Morgan’s help with the mask he had found, but the man rebuffed him. Anton thought perhaps he was jealous of his superior learning.”

“Are you thinking he used the girl going missing to raise a mob against him?” asked Val.

“Ah yes… the missing girl. She had slipped my mind. We still need to find her. As to your question, I might be adding two and two to make five, but things are not fitting in place the way they should be. I found three mentions of Father Morgan being increasingly hostile to the writer. Nothing is conclusive, but when you put all the little pieces together…” His voice trailed off into silence.

After an hours rest, Zolis declared he was fit enough to walk again, although he seemed weak on his legs. Still, it was safer to travel with him this way than wait on the road. He tried to gather up the pups, but his legs seemed rather wobbly, so Cadmus offered to carry them for him. The Goblins might return and if they did it would be in greater numbers. It was slower going than before but spending the night in the open did not feel right to any of the group. As the light started to fade the group could see the welcoming lights of Karlston not too far away. Val noticed Cadmus was frequently touching the wound on his face. When he was talking his jaw seemed to be a bit stiff. He’d had no power left to heal his own injuries or Val’s, after saving Zolis’s life. The wound was already swollen and angry looking. He would have to treat it, or an infection would set in. Goblins were hardly the cleanest creatures out there and had been known to deliberately use poisons and other less palatable methods to deliver wounds that would weaken or kill their foes long after the wound had been dealt. She figured he would know the dangers and since none of them could do anything about the injury right now, to leave it for the moment.

 

As they entered the village, they could hear voices raised in song coming from the temple. The villagers here might have little to be thankful for, thought Val, but they certainly do sound grateful for what they do have. “How are we going to handle this?” Val asked in a low whisper.

“Well, I think it is fairly obvious a lynch mob killed the old man. If he was some demon dealing warlock, then I am the First Dawnbringer and High Priest of the Lord Solar.” Cadmus’s face had an expression of righteous wrath, made all the more terrible looking by the angry wound on his face.

“So, you are just going to storm in there in the middle of their evening service and call out the village holy man as a liar and the entire populous as murderers.”

“Pretty much!”

As he spoke the last word, he kicked the temple door hard, slamming it open. The whole congregation stopped mid song, save for one elderly man who being hard of hearing continued singing the words to a devotional he had learned the words to as a child and sung thousands of times over the years. His eyes were closed as he sang slightly out of tune, his head swaying from side to side.

Father Morgan stood behind an ornate stone pulpit, obviously a relic from the older origins of the temple as carved into it were the holy symbols of the Master of Coin.

“FATHER MORGAN!” exclaimed Cadmus, as he stormed up the aisle, followed by Zolis (his arms full of squirming dogs) and finally Val, her crossbow held loosely in one hand.

If Cadmus had hoped to catch the man by surprise and gain an advantage he was sorely disappointed. The man rallied magnificently, drawing himself up to his full height. Having spotted the dogs being carried by Zolis, he pointed at the group with one outstretched accusing finger and thundered “They are in league with the demons! Look, they have brought the spawn of the devil dogs into this hallowed place. You must immediately destroy them!”

“There is but one demon in this place false priest,” retorted Cadmus “and I have come to cast you down.”

Morgan made some arcane gestures, and a gout of flame shot from his hands, aimed at the pups cradled in Zolis’s arms. The mage spun around, protecting the animals, using his body as a shield for them, and knocking Cadmus out of the way where he landed heavily on a couple of seated villagers, before tumbling to the stone floor. The congregation screamed and panicked, attempting to flee the temple by climbing over pews and each other. Val brought up her crossbow, but Morgan saw her attempting to aim at him and came running at her, intoning another spell. His hands glowed with a dark green, almost black energy as he attempted to grab a hold of the thief. She ducked and swayed, avoiding his outstretched hands and whatever magical mischief he had planned for her. Stepping back, she pointed her crossbow at the man’s face, twisted in anger and pulled the trigger.

The world seemed to freeze in place for a few seconds as with a twanging noise, some vital component of the crossbow snapped inside, and the bolt merely rolled off the side to clatter on the stone floor.

She dropped her now useless weapon and fumbled for her dagger as the magical energy in Morgan’s hands seemed to fade and die. He too unsheathed a dagger and swung wildly at Val. Cadmus picked himself up, shaking his head to try and clear it. He had banged his head quite hard on the floor and his vision was swimming and blurred. He could see the black, crow like figure of Morgan attacking Val, his robe billowing out behind him. Forcing himself to his feet he gripped his heavy mace and swung at the back of Morgan’s head. Unfortunately, in his slightly befuddled state, the weapon missed and slipped out of his hands, crashing through a stained-glass window and landing somewhere outside. Alerted by the breaking glass he spun around, and seeing the unarmed priest before him, jumped at him, plunging his dagger deep between Cadmus’s ribs with a maniacal cackle. A gasp of air was forced from Cadmus’s mouth as first fell to his knees and then toppled over slowly. Val scooped up Zolis’s crossbow and fired it at Father Morgan, but fired cautiously, not wanting to accidently hit Cadmus and her shot went wild despite the almost point-blank range. Morgan kicked out at her backwards, catching Val in the solar plexus and driving the wind from her lungs. Unable to breath, she stumbled and fell against someone moving behind her. Morgan, the focus of his attention still on Cadmus raised his dagger above the prone priest, the lit candles of the temple reflecting off the polished metal blade. He arms started their downward plunge, inevitability to the priest’s chest. Morgan’s head jerked violently to the left and the dagger went flying from his nerveless fingers as he slumped sideways. As Cadmus’s vision swam and faded he could see Sillas standing behind the priest, heavy cudgel from the bar in hand.

 

Cadmus blinked as consciousness slowly returned. Light stung his eyes forcing him to close them for a few seconds and open them more slowly. He tried to move, but quickly discovered his hands and feet were bound. Looking around him he could see his companions in the same condition, although with Father Morgan, who in addition was gagged. His eyes bulged, and veins stood out on his bright red face. Light filtered in through the dirty windows.

Several villagers stood around, looks of concern on their faces. Someone spotting Cadmus stirring nudged Sillas. Turning around he walked over to Cadmus and squatted down beside him.

“I have no idea what is happening around here. I am told you walked into the middle of the temple, denounced the most respected man in the village and then started a fight. Father Morgan has been apoplectic with rage. I’d to have him tied up with the rest of you, and then gagged him to stop the stream of curses.”

“Your most respected man in the village had a man killed simply because he was jealous of him. We checked the farmhouse and it was pretty obvious what really happened” retorted Cadmus.

The villagers in the room suddenly seemed very interested in staring at their shoes. A couple headed straight for the door, trying to leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

Sillas recoiled slightly from Cadmus, even though the latter was securely tied up. “You come into our village making these accusations. I really hope you have some kind of proof.”

“The temple! When the girl went missing did you check the temple?”

“We looked all over the village and the nearby farms. We might be simple country folks; don’t mean we are stupid.”

“When he spoke to us Morgan told us it had been built on top of some older temples. Did you check the cellars?”

The innkeeper looked round at the remaining villagers who muttered into their beards. Morgan, on hearing Cadmus increased the ferocity of his struggles and seemed to be trying to chew through his gag. “I think it might be worth checking out below stairs, just to be on the safe side.” Sillas said this quietly, almost to himself. Morgan heard it though and tried to lash out with his feet to kick Sillas. “I’ll be keeping your hands bound for now, but I’ll free your legs, so you can walk. We’ll go check the temple and if the girl is there then you and your friends can go free, but if we find nothing, then well… I guess I’ll have to deal with that when we get there.”

Sillas untied Cadmus’s feet and helped him stand up, then collected a lantern from behind the bar. “I use this when I go down into the cellar, I’m sure it’ll work just as well beneath the temple.”

The pair headed out, followed sheepishly by a couple of the villagers. They entered the now darkened temple, lit only by Sillas’s lamp and the moonlit windows. Although the building was empty now, it still held the traces of scorched wood in the air. Sillas headed straight for a door behind the pulpit. “There is no direct way to get from the Father’s rooms at the rear to the main temple. I’ve always wondered if the rooms were added later” explained the innkeeper.

Behind the door lay a set of worn looking stone steps descending into the darkness beneath the earth.

Sillas raised his lantern higher and carefully started down the steps, followed by Cadmus. The air down there quickly chilled and felt clammy. It looked like centuries of random detritus had just gathered and been stored down there. Wooden crates and barrels were mixed in with broken farming equipment and stone statues. Some misshapen items could not be guessed from the grotesque shapes they presented.

“I’ve never been down here before” said Sillas. His voice had a slight shiver to it that may not entirely have been down to the cold.

“Me neither” replied Cadmus laconically.

None of the peasants who followed them to the temple seemed to want to enter the underground. Both Cadmus and Sillas separated and started looking around the cellar, although with his hands still tied, Cadmus was unable to move things without great difficulty, but he did shout out when he peered behind a stack of crates and saw a young girl tied up and gagged.

Sillas darted over and taking the dagger from Cadmus’s belt he cut the girls bonds. Tears streamed down her face, rivulets running through the smudged dirt on her face. She threw her arms around Sillas and sobbed. He lifted her speaking to her soothingly and carried her back out of the temple. Cadmus guessed her age as being in her late teens. She looked like she needed a good meal, but if he was any judge there was no serious physical damage as far as he could see, and she should make a full recovery, save perhaps for bad dreams.

 

Sometime later, when all the fuss had died down the three adventurers sat with Sillas in his inn. Morgan was still tied up in one corner. No one was willing to untie him and risk him casting any more spells. Sillas had mentioned he had a pet familiar, a brown rat he called Jenkins, but no one had been able to find it. The four sat around mostly in silence, sipping at mugs of ale with short conversations occasionally breaking out.

“How did you know she was down there?” asked Sillas to Cadmus.

“I didn’t. Well, not for sure. Something just didn’t feel right about the whole situation. I was pretty confident he was up to no good though. If I’d have accused, him right out at the beginning we’d have been ran out of town. I had to get some proof something was wrong. When there was no sign of the girl at the farm I just had to think where would have been a good place to hide her? If she was still alive, the only logical place seemed to be in the temple. Hiding her in the woods or a nearby farm would have had a high chance of being seen and him dragging a young woman around would be commented on. My guess is he saw the girl as a means to get rid of someone he viewed as a rival. The dogs were an… unexpected complication. What will the girl do now?”

“She is staying with friends. Her parents died a few seasons ago. The bigger question is what do we do with him.” Sillas pointed at the still struggling form of Father Morgan. “We have no lord to try him for his crimes, he was our leader and no other village elder to judge him.”

Zolis eagerly piped up “We could take him to the nearest city and hand him over to the watch.”

“Well,” exhaled Cadmus “I can’t imagine anyone being interested in taking on someone else’s criminals, but equally I can’t think of a better idea.”

Val involuntarily shuddered. “I think something just went badly wrong with the whole world.”

“As for the town leadership, Sillas I can think of no finer man here to take the reins than yourself.”

Sillas’s eyes widened in shock “No, I can’t. I am no leader. Besides I think I have other plans. These people murdered an innocent man. Even if I wanted to lead them I wouldn’t want to. No, they can pull themselves out of this mess. I’ve spent my entire life here. I think it’s time for me to move on. I’ll guide you to Yavroa if you don’t mind the company and then decide what I am going to do with my life.”

“Oh, is Yavroa a city? It has been a while since we were last in one. Maybe I can get a bath there. Perhaps I can study some new spells. Wine! I hope they have good wine. Maybe they will have a magic store. I’d like to buy some items.”

Zolis just seemed unable to stop talking once he started. Neither Cadmus or Val interrupted him to point out that since their adventures had brought them no financial rewards and they wouldn’t be able to afford any of those luxuries. All they could hope for was that the authorities in Yavroa would be willing to pay some reward for handing Father Morgan over to them. Cadmus ran his fingers along the scar on his jaw. He’d rested enough and prayed to his god, then used his power to heal his face. The new flesh was still shiny and raw looking. It would settle down into an impressive looking scar.

Zolis’s outburst had thrown everyone off their train of thought but Sillas remembered what they had been talking about first. “I have a cart we can use to transport him. It will cut the time it would take us to get to the city in half.”

“Then it is settled,” said Cadmus. “We should leave as soon as possible. I suggest tomorrow morning.”

Val nodded her head in agreement while Zolis just beamed vigorously. Black Adam had evidently picked up on his masters excitement and cawed loudly, spreading his wings and causing Zolis to sneeze as his feathers tickled the wizards nose.

 

The next morning, Sillas awoke the rest of the party as the first touch of daylight was on the horizon. “I think it would be best if we left before the rest of the village woke up” he whispered. Val wasn’t quite sure of who he was worried about overhearing a conversation in his own inn but complied. Sillas had prepared a breakfast for everyone, even spoon feeding the still tied up Father Morgan, removing his gag with a stern warning that at the first hint of magic being used, he’d pummel him into unconsciousness and would do the trip without food. Once they had finished eating, Morgan was bundled into the back of the wagon. Sillas and Cadmus sat up front while Val, Zolis and Morgan were in the rear. The wagon was designed to carry barrels of ale and was roomy, although the trip was less than comfortable thanks to the uneven road. With a crack of his whip the pair of horses lurched forward and soon Karlston was receding into the distance.

 

The first day’s journey was eventful. Father Morgan would lash out with his feet trying to kick anyone who got too close off the wagon. This got him more than one hard kick back and meant when the party stopped for meals they decided not to untie him, although they did ungag him, so he could drink some water. While they were eating however, they could hear some giggling from the nearby trees. Val and Cadmus went to investigate, but the sounds disappeared, and they could see no source of the noise. Shrugging her shoulders, Val turned back towards the cart, only to have a hail of acorns bounce off the side of her head and another fit of giggles erupted from the foliage.

Sillas and Zolis ran over, abandoning the still struggling Father Morgan, but no one could spot where the sounds or indeed the acorns were coming from. Cadmus was still rooting around in the undergrowth. Realising he had left Morgan with his mouth ungagged, Zolis turned to head back to the cart only for him to come under attack from another stream of acorns. Angered by this affront to his dignity, Zolis picked up and acorn and threw it with all the force he could muster. The acorn disappeared into a leafy tree, and a high-pitched squeal was heard.

 

All the giggling suddenly ceased.

 

For perhaps a minute the group stared intently into the woods, but no more laughter or acorns came hurtling out of the greenery. With a satisfied grin, Zolis announced that he had obviously scared their tormentors off. He smugly went to walk back to the cart, only to go sprawling and fall flat on his face when he discovered his shoe laces had been tied together. He rolled over and sat up with his back against a tree when there was a shuddering from the branches above and he was doused in freezing cold rain water that had collected in the leaves above. Cursing his luck, he untangled his lace before storming over to the cart. He gave Morgan a hefty kick for good measure as he passed and then squatted in the back of the wagon. It was all Val could do not to burst out laughing seeing him in a huff. She was interrupted by a further hail of acorns, all hurled with much more force and accuracy than the previous throws. Sillas, Val and Cadmus all retreated to the cover of the wagon, apparently out of range of their unknown tormentors.

“Should we fight back?” hissed Val.

“Whatever they are, I think we are outnumbered. They haven’t done us any real damage. Let’s just get the Hel out of here.”

As he spoke Cadmus climbed up to the front of the wagon, took the reins and shouted for everyone to jump on board.

They beat an ignominious retreat, riding off into the afternoon sunshine, to a chorus of high-pitched tittering, answered only by Zolis’s yipping puppies.

 

The cart rumbled off down the dusty track, fleeing their mysterious ambushers. Over the sounds of the cart creaking and the hoofs beating a tempo, Sillas yelled that he’d always heard stories that the woods were haunted by fae spirits, although he had never before encountered them. He wondered if they were attracted to Zolis’s magical powers.

Zolis merely sat in silence, his robe still soaking wet.

A couple of hours later it was agreed to stop and make camp for the night. Everyone busied themselves in making up a campsite. Zolis took a deep draught from his water skin, only to spit it all out, and fall the ground retching. The others dropped what they were doing and ran over to check on him.

“Urgh, my water… disgusting.”

Val picked up his water skin and sniffed, wrinkling her nose as she caught the smell rising from it. “Where did you fill this Zolis? It smells like horse p**s!”

“I filled it back at the inn, the same as the rest of you.”

The others checked their water, finding it perfectly drinkable. “What did I do to deserve this?” he wailed.

“I think you better check everything in your pack,” Cadmus informed him. “Make sure they haven’t destroyed your spell book.”

With a yelp, Zolis dived into his pack and pulled out his prized possession, flicking reverently through its pages. “Well my spells seem fine.”

He continued digging through the rest of his gear. Most things were still ok, but all his food had decayed seemingly in just a few hours leaving a noisome black fungal mess. The smell made him throw up again and he’d to find a nearby stream to wash the taint from his pack as best as he could. The others shared some of their rations with the disconsolate mage.

Morgan was dragged out of the cart and unceremoniously dumped on the grass, his back against a tree. He seemingly had ceased his attempts to wriggle free, although his hate filled eyes glared at them fiercely.

Val and Sillas agreed to split the night watch between them. Cadmus offered to take a turn as well, but the others said they would rather their spell slingers got a good night’s rest. Val took the first watch and the others quickly settled down into a deep sleep. She found herself chuckling about how Zolis had set up his bed as far from the treeline as possible. Their journey so far had certainly been a learning experience for him.

Some while after the others had fallen asleep, Morgan started kicking his feet and trying to speak through his gag. Val walked over to him and tugged the gag loose from his mouth. The preacher breathed deeply. “Thank you for that small mercy my child. I apologise for my earlier behaviour. I may not deserve it, but could your kindness possibly extend to giving me some food and water?”

Feeling wary but deciding that even Father Morgan didn’t deserve such treatment she recovered her waterskin. For a second, she wished they hadn’t emptied out Zolis’s water. Seeing Morgan drink that would have improved her mood considerably. She then fed him some rations which he thanked her for profusely. When he had finished she went to replace his gag, but he moved his head to one side and said “I am afraid now I have broken my fast, that I have one more favour to ask. Alas my bladder demands relief, unless you want me stinking up the card for the rest of the journey.”

Val nodded, “You can go behind the tree if you need privacy.”

Morgan blushed as he spoke next “Erm, I am afraid unless you ahem, want to hold things for me and shake afterwards that I need my hands freed.”

“Hold on one moment.”

Val went over to her pack, retrieved a length of rope and tied it firmly around Morgan’s leg. “Can’t have you disappearing into the woods now.”

“It’s ok my dear,” he replied with a smile as Val untied his hands. Morgan stepped around the tree and Val turned the other way. At the exact moment she heard chanting coming from behind the tree, she realised she had made a huge mistake. She tried to turn back around, but she was overcome with a feeling of incredible lethargy and tiredness. Her vision swam, and she felt her muscles be overcome with fatigue as she fell into a deep sleep.

 

When she next awoke, Cadmus was shaking her roughly “What happened? Where is Morgan? Are you ok?”

The stream of questions confused Val initially, as her brain adjusted to being awake. She rapidly recovered her wits though

“That bastard Morgan! I let him have some food and go for a pee. He cast some spell on me and I passed out.”

“Well, he has taken all our food and water. I guess we should be thankful he didn’t cut our throats while we slept.

Val’s face reddened with anger, directed partly at Morgan but also at herself for falling for his trick. “If I ever see him again, argh! I can’t believe I let him fool me.”

“I guess you can chalk this one up to experience and learn a lesson for the future. Sillas, how long before we reach the next settlement?”

“One day, maybe two. We’ll go hungry, but we won’t starve, and we can drink from some streams on the way.”

“Which way did he run?”

Val looked ready to chase after him and ran a finger along the edge of her blade.

Cadmus signed sadly “I have no idea. I am no tracker. If he heads back to the village I can’t imagine he will receive a warm welcome. If he continues along this road we should overtake him, and I think he is smart enough to know that, but it is either those or go into the deep woods. A man could easily get lost in there for years and never find his way out. Can’t imagine a man like him has much in the way of survival skills in the wilderness. We might have to rely on Mother Nature to serve justice in this case.”

With nothing for breakfast, or indeed for any other meals short of reaching the city everyone tightened their belts and climbed on board the cart as Sillas hitched it up to his horse.

“Seems odd that he didn’t take old Bess here,” he said, affectionately slapping the horse’s rump.

“He might have put Val to sleep magically, but he couldn’t be sure it had affected the rest of us and that we wouldn’t wake up if he made too much noise I’d imagine.”

Zolis cried out, a heart wrenching wail of despair. “He has taken the pups! If he has hurt them, I swear I’ll stake him out in the middle of a desert and slowly burn the flesh from his body and then I will rub salt into the wounds and then, and then, well I will think of something that hurts even more to do to him.”

Val walked over to the distraught mage and gave him a supportive hug, not even protesting when a sobbing Zolis blew his nose loudly on her cloak. Cadmus could see her expression though and thought to himself that at some point in the future, Zolis would no doubt pay for that.

“Well, there is alas nothing we can do right now. I think that somehow, someday our paths will cross with that man again.”

Cadmus felt that this was a lie, and that when their supplies ran out Morgan would most likely eat the pups and when they ran out starve to death himself, but that right now would not be the best time to point this out to Zolis.

Val helped Zolis onto the back of the cart while Sillas and Cadmus got up in front.

 

A few hours later, they spotted a few men on the road up ahead. A dozen or so men stood in a half circle around another figure with a massive dog standing beside him and a magnificent black stallion behind him. The figure with the dog and horse wore a wide brimmed hat and cloak, concealing wither it was a man or woman underneath. All the individuals had weapons in hand, and their stances suggested a fight could break out any moment.

Sillas brought the cart to a halt and Val told them, she’d sneak through the woods at the left-hand side of the road to listen in on what was happening. The right-hand side of the road held only a steep slope, rising up some twenty feet or so. So intent were the people up ahead on each other none of them had noticed the cart.

She snuck through the lush foliage until she was just a few feet away and could hear the conversation clearly. The lone figure was being menaced. The others, bandits judging by their filthy clothes and demeanour demanded that he hand over all his money or goods. She leaned forward for a better look at the cloaked figure when a twig went snap. For a second, everyone’s attention was on where the sound came from and they looked around. Everyone but the cloaked figure. This gave it the opening it was waiting for, and in an explosive burst of action the figure whipped out a long blades sword and plunged it deep into the neck of one of the men. Simultaneously the dog leapt at the throat of another. It’s slick fur coat bulged with muscle. The bandits stood slack jawed for a few seconds and the blade sank deep into the side of another of their numbers, but the rest quickly recovered from their surprise, defending themselves and striking out with their own blades.

It was clear that the lone figure was a superior swordsman to any of his opponents, but their sheer weight of numbers allowed them to land the occasional blow. Soon tiredness and cumulative small wounds would take their toll. Seeing this, Sillas cracked the reins of Bess, sending her running towards the melee. Two of the bandits plunged into the woods, looking for Val and she quickly found herself under pressure and desperately trying to stave off their attacks. Both men circled around opposite sides and it was all she could do the fend them off as she tried to make her way back to the road.

Sillas brought the wagon to a halt and jumped to the ground, standing with his cudgel beside Bess while Cadmus and Zolis ran over to the fighters, trying to help Val first. She already bore a number of light wounds, but blood was flowing freely from them and it was only a matter of time before a deadlier wound was inflicted. The strangers dog was tearing at the arms and neck of the man it had dragged to the ground. Even just a glance told Cadmus the man was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

One of the men Zolis was running up behind somehow sensed him coming and turned around as the mage attempted to grab onto him, seeing to cast some spell on him. The man’s arm came out to fend off the flailing wizard, and more by much then judgement the hilt of his short sword caught Zolis a meaty smack on the side of his head. Stunned, Zolis collapsed to the ground, the arcane power he had summoned dispersing into the ground in a shower of deep blue sparks. The bandit’s strike however left him open to Val and she sank her dagger into the man’s chest. A sigh of air escaped his lips as he fell with a look of horrified fascination at the hilt protruding from his breastbone. This however left Val weaponless. She retreated, dodging a hail of blows from her remaining foe. She retreated, dodging a hail of blows from her remaining foe. She missed one of the dead man’s legs as she gave ground, falling backwards as she lost her footing, her head smashing into the unconscious Zolis’s groin. For half a second, everyone fighting paused and gave an “Oooow,” of sympathy. Cadmus almost laughed when he thought “Well, I said he’d pay for blowing his nose” as he swung his mace and crushed the skull of a man doing his best to cut a hole in the priest’s belly. Cadmus found himself facing a burly looking individual next. His face was filthy, and his hair matted, but the reinforced mail armour he wore marked him out from his companions. It was badly fitting but serviceable. “If I am any judge you’ll be the leader” hissed Cadmus as he closed, swinging his mace in a broad arc.

With the bandits facing him being thinned out the stranger was able now to go on the offensive. The bandits now facing more than just him in his dog were rapidly losing confidence despite their greater numbers. Their original opponent flicked his blade out like a tongue of fire, reaping a bloody harvest. Every time his sword lashed out, it drew blood. Cadmus meanwhile was finding the chief of the outlaws was no easy fight. He was strong, and if he managed to get through Cadmus’s defences he would do serious damage. Cadmus though was the more experienced of the pair and kept the pressure on, swinging his mace and forcing the big man to back up. He deliberately aimed for his sword, the ringing clang of metal on metal sounding out over the battlefield. He knew he was leaving himself open for a counter attack, but his opponent appeared not to be an experienced swordsman. Too used to using his size to bully others into doing his fighting for him thought Cadmus. The chief’s arms were soon tiring under the priests assault, his movements getting slower and when Cadmus saw an opening, he switched tactics, from swinging the mace in front of him to an overhead strike bringing the metal head down heavily on the bandit’s shoulder with a sickening crunch of bone. His sword dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers and he dropped to his knees, his mouth open in a shocked and silent scream. A second strike from the mace hit him full on in the side of the head which burst open like an overripe water melon.

Soon there was but a single bandit left. Seeing his companions dead or dying, his spirit broke and dropping his weapons he turned to run away. The man growled a command at his dog and it left the man it had been worrying to chase after the last bandit. It caught him before he had made ten yards, ripping a chuck of flesh and muscle from the back of a leg. The bandit collapsed howling in pain and fear, cries that were cut short by the dog shortly afterwards, his throat ripped out.

 

The stranger wiped his blooded sword on the clothes of one of the dead men. In a deep voice, he simply said “My thanks” before checking his wounds. Satisfying himself none were serious he sheathed his blade and whistled. In answer his dog came running, its muzzle soaked in blood. He petted the dogs head, and then after tearing some cloth from a dead man’s clothing, used the rags to wipe as much of the gore from his pet as possible. Slightly nonplussed about the man (for Cadmus could now see his face beneath the shadowed brim of his hat), and perhaps expecting more talk, he introduced himself to which the man nodded and replied “Kano” before continuing to clean up his animal. Further attempts at conversation were met with answers that did not invite further questions. He managed to get out the man that he was hunting and travelling east although when Cadmus had asked him about where he was travelling to, he pulled out an ornate looking compass and looked at it before answering. Even Val who prided herself on getting any man to talk was unable to get any further information.

Finally, Cadmus asked the man if he had any supplies to spare that they could buy from him perhaps.

“Nope. The bandits might camp nearby. Try them.”

It was the longest reply they got from him.

He thanked them once more for their aid, tipped his hat and then mounted his horse and rode off. The group looked around at each other and with a collective shrug of their shoulders, split up to go look for the bandits camp. Sillas and Zolis went to the left-hand side of the road, while Cadmus and Val climbed up the steep slope to the right-hand side.

Evidently these particular bandits saw no need to put a safe distance between their camp and the road. Cadmus and Val found their encampment as soon as they reached the top of the slope. With an unspoken agreement that they would search the camp and then shout the other two, just in case they found something Zolis shouldn’t touch.

The camp consisted of a few cut down logs scattered around a campfire (currently unlit), and a rough wooden cover over a hole dug in the earth. The cover was perhaps four feet in diameter. Heaving the cover out the way, the pair expected to uncover a small treasure trove, or at least the supplies.

What they saw was a man, bound hand and foot lying at the base. He had a nasty bruise on his forehead, and a muscular build. He had been struggling against his bonds but ceased when he saw Val and Cadmus standing there, waiting to see what they would do. A worried expression crossed his face when Val pulled out her dagger and jumped down into the pit. His expression changed to one of relief when she cut the ropes holding him. They helped him out of the hole, hollering for the others to come join him. The captive man had been stripped down to just a loin cloth. He bore a number of minor bleeding wounds and bruises over his torso. Evidently his captors had not been gentle with him.

“Thank you, strangers. I owe you my thanks and my life.”

The stranger spoke, rubbing his wrists to get the circulation going again where he had been tied up. Sillas and Zolis climbed up the hill and looked quizzically at the stranger as he and Cadmus spoke to each other.

“No problem at all. We had disposed of this human refuse and since we lost our victuals earlier we were hoping to replenish them from the bandits own stores, but I am alas not seeing anything.”

The stranger had a short coughing fit, then replied “They have a cave nearby. They took me there when they first captured me. Took my sword and armour from me and were arguing over who should get them. Then they took turns kicking me until I fell unconscious. When I recovered, I was in the hole you found me in. Oh, my name is Zagan. I’ve was working as a sell sword in the south, but an outbreak of peace left me without a job and I’ve been traveling on the lookout for a new employer.”

“We are traveling to the city of Yavroa. I think my companions would agree that you are more than welcome to accompany us.”

Val and Sillas nodded. Zolis scowled somewhat but didn’t say anything.

“I think that would be a good idea. It is hard to keep a watch when you are sleeping alone. Follow me and we’ll see what loot these thieves had gathered!”

 

The cave was more of an overhanging rock. Inside was a disappointing collection of stolen goods, but not a surprising one. No one had passed any merchants traveling along the road, so it was no surprise to find a lack of treasures. “Those men must have been truly desperate to try and make a living off this road” Val mused, then let out a squeal of joy as she found a small bag of coins. It turned out to be full of brass pennies with a few silver coins. Not enough to retire on, but it would serve for a few nights room and board. Zagan found some equipment he claimed was his, some clothes and a heavy looking two-handed sword. He cursed at not being able to find his armour though. Zolis cheered him up a little when he suggested that perhaps one of the bandits they had killed on the road would be wearing it and they could recover it from the body.

They recovered enough usable food to last a few days, took anything they thought might be usable or sellable and returned to the road. The dead bodies had already attracted scavenging birds. Black Adam cawed loudly in Zolis’s ear. The wizard looked shocked and spoke to the bird “No, you cannot go and peck out some eyes! I don’t care how tasty they are.”

The bird flew off regardless, landed on a corpse and spread it wings. The other birds did not like this new intruder, but Black Adam was significantly larger than a normal raven and after a show of protest, flew over to other bodies for easier feeding. He then started pecking at one of the dead man’s eyes.

Zolis turned a shade of pale green, and valiantly tried not to lose his last meal, but it was a losing battle.

Val ran over chasing all the birds away, including Black Adam. He however he managed to fly off with victorious, gripping an eyeball by the optic nerve. He landed in a nearby tree and continued his meal.

“They will just return when we have left Val, unless you plan on digging them all graves” yelled out Cadmus.

“I was going to strip them of their gear. We might not get rich from their horde of coins, but I am sure we can get something for their gear. We can load them on the cart, save us from heaving them around with us.” was her reply.

“Hmm, good idea.”

Cadmus, Val, Sillas and Zagan set about stripping the bodies. Zolis tried to look in any direction where there weren’t dead people lying around.

“That man can blow a hole through another person, and yet at the first sign of blood and gore he throws his guts up. Well he’ll get used to it soon enough. I remember the first time I’d to look after the sick and dying during my Initiate. First thing we priests learn. Some of the diseases those people had… I was sick a few times myself.” Cadmus chuckled at some memory of those days.

Zagan shouted out that he’d found his armour. The man Cadmus assumed was the leader appeared to be wearing Zagan’s missing suit of mail. Although he was happy to have his armour back, he was less enthused about the gore he’d have to clean out of it.

Having stripped the bodies of anything the group though sellable they were unceremoniously dragged to the side of the road and left for the birds to return to. Zolis called over to Cadmus “Are you not going to say some words over them?”

Cadmus spat in their direction and barked “Good riddance!”

And with that the wagon rolled on into the day.

 

As the day progressed a smoggy haze became visible in the distance. Sillas told them that was Yavroa. Between the escape of Father Morgan and the assault of whatever woodland sprites Zolis had offended and the fight against the robbers they had been delayed enough that it would be another day before they reached the city walls.

 

The woods they had been travelling through had gradually been getting thinner since leaving Karlston and now ended completely revealing a wide-open vista of rolling hills. They passed the occasional sign of civilisation, distant farms, shepherds and even the occasional traveller, who would cast worried glances at the armed group. Cadmus done his best to reassure them with welcoming smiles and wishing them a good day.

 

Eventually they reached a small town. Compared to Karlston it was a bustling metropolis. Val noticed that Sillas kept glancing enviously at a large inn, its outside obviously freshly whitewashed. The buildings had a certain uniformity of design and all bore bright red roof tiles, the people looked healthy and for the most part healthy. Sillas stopped the cart and suggested they rest here for an hour or so and have a meal. They had hardly gained a fortune off the bandits, but a hot meal was certainly now within their reach along with an ale or two. Since it was a pleasant day it was decided to sit outside and eat. They were served a thick stew along with some freshly baked bread. A dozen or so riders, each wearing a bright green cloak rode past. “Road wardens” explained Sillas through a mouthful of bread. They patrol out to half a day’s ride from the city and keep the peace. If Yavroa comes under attack, they are the first line of warning. They’d all be called in from patrol to make up the core of the army along with whoever they get force to hold a sword and whatever mercenaries happen to be around.”

The conversation moved on to wither they should just get rooms here for the night or press on as far as they could and arrive in Yavroa as early as possible. While the thought of a soft bed and good food was tempting they very reluctantly decided against staying the night, reasoning that they’d need money for the city. Their finances would however stretch to another round of ales.

 

Regretfully they finished their drinks are continued on with many a backward look at the picturesque town.

 

They travelled on through the afternoon and into the evening only stopping when the light started to fade. A few hours travel distant, the lights of Yavroa blinked on as the group set up camp. Zolis immediately announced (as he did every night), that his arcane powers demanded a full night’s sleep and that he would be unable to carry out a stint on guard. Privately, the Val and Cadmus thought this was a good thing as no one was quite ready to trust Zolis. If someone was going to fail to notice a rampaging horde of creatures of the night coming through camp and slitting everyone’s throats it would be him. Cadmus offered to take a turn at guard, but the others insisted he get a full night’s sleep. No one wanted to risk a healer not having his healing magic ready. Val and Zagan agreed to split the night between them and as the spell users drifted off to sleep, the last thing they saw was the pair talking quietly, illuminated by the flickering light of their campfire.

 

When Cadmus awoke, it was to Zagan shaking his shoulder. The smell of breakfast cooking filled the air as Val made a meal from some of the supplies liberated from the thieves camp. One of the pair had caught a rabbit which was even now roasting over the fire. Zagan asked Cadmus if he wouldn’t mind waking Zolis while he finished trying to clean out his armour. The mage was fast asleep, one hand clutching his ear while he slept, and the other hand had his thumb jammed in his mouth, sucking on it. Cadmus’s brow furrowed as he wondered (and not for the first or last time) if the mage was really cut out for the rough and tumble life of an adventurer. The side of his temple was swollen where he’d be hit the day before, an ugly greenish lump marking the spot where the hilt of the short sword had met skin and bone. Using the tip of his foot, he nudged Zolis’s leg until he someone dazedly awoke. He looked around, his eyes filled with sleep and mumbled “Sup?”

“Get your spell book out Zol. Grab some breakfast and be ready to move.”

In many ways mages were a drag on the resources of any adventurers. They rarely did guard, were hopeless at cooking or setting up camp. A lifetime of bookish study had done little to prepare them for the rigours of the outside world and travel. On the other hand, once sufficiently powerful Zolis would be quite capable of taking out the rest of the group with a few words of power. It was not a comforting thought.

Rise of the revanent destroyers.



It was without warning Szarekh, the silent king of the necron,  race received a missive from his agents in the triarch of most disturbing events on a small throneworld thought lost.

Triarch forces had reached the throneworld of the Ra' Mephis dynasty, a small one but still a world under the mandate of the triarch, To their dismay they found a gutted ork hulk in orbit, ork life signs on the surface and, curiously, readings that were unmistakably necron but did not comport with any known Necron forms.

With a sense of urgency, a team of praetorians was dispatched to gather data.Were these anomalous necron forms a threat to the race? Had the orks somehow with their vile ingenuity created an altered form of necron? Neither scenario could be allowed to continue.

Careful observation over time revealed the anomalous necron reading to be an apparent amalgamation of necron and canoptek construct, a horror and blasphemy in necron eyes. The forms had bodies similar to the wraith construct, tho with definite alterations. The wraith face plate bore a necron head, the scythes of a wraith were replaced with a weapon that appeared to be a pair of immortal gauss blasters merged into a single weapon that fired in a manner indistinguishable from a gauss cannon. The other scythe was replaced with a necron arm, apparently from an immortal and usually gripping a blade much like those normally mounted on immortal gauss blasters.

The anomalous entities were clearly not automata like wraiths, and showed intelligence and behavior that were near identical to that associated with destroyers.

Continued observation was ordered, and a pattern was found. The unknown necron units would wait until a new wave of orks emerged and had had time to spread their spores, then launch a calculated wave of attacks that resulted in the annihilation of every mobile ork on the planet's surface in an orgy of raging hate and cold calculation that left even the praetorian observers at least slightly shocked.

Orks were routed, allowed to retreat and regroup then assaulted again over and over in a clear effort to make the slaughter last as long as possible.

The strange necrons would withdraw, new orks would emerge from the ground, grow, spread spores, and the cycle would repeat. Evidence suggested it has been going on for over a century, as men reckoned time.

Eventually the praetorians were ordered to make contact with these mysterious necrons and determine if they were a threat or possibly a resource.

Messenger scarabs were sent. and destroyed on sight, more and more were sent until one was apparently allowed to deliver it's holographic communique'.

Not long after a new form of necron appeared, similar to the others but with the head of a high ranking necron lord affixed to it's fore, and approached the praetorians.

The Lord of the unknown necrons spoke, with some difficulty, and told the story of how the orks had assaulted his throneworld before it had awakened and wrought horrific carnage upon it before the defense batteries could open fire and rip the attacking vessel asunder.

But by then orks beyond number had landed, and the central tomb complex was overrun, the destruction of the still dormant necrons nearly complete.

But only nearly.

The phaeron barely survived despite much of his form destroyed, as did his greatest cryptek, likewise maimed. The two were driven by despair, hatred and thirst for vengeance.

The cryptek assayed the resources the orks left them and began to work with efficiently. Combining parts of necrons with intact mindcores with the forms of canoptek automata in a normally unthinkable operation he created powerful combat units that were as effective as they were abominable. To a necron, there was a sharp and unbreakable division between a true necron, even the humblest, most mindless warrior , and a construct . All necrons were at one time living, feeling beings with souls and minds. To merge one with a construct was a phantasm of horror and an unspeakable obscenity to any necron.

Perhaps thru pure hatred and need for vengeance the lord and cryptek ignited sparks of renewed sentience in the inert mindcores of the rebuilt necrons. Deathmarks were chosen first due to their intelligence and cunning to be the minds driving the metal chimeras that emerged, and the destroyer combat model was used as a template to imitate.

As the orks claimed ''their" new world they were unaware that the "junk" they had discarded was being reanimated in a new, twisted and deadly form driven by hatred and a need for vengeance that was both blazing and frigid at the same time.

The attack caught the greenskin filth unprepared. tho they rallied and fought with their customary speed and enthusiasm, it was too late, the enemy was upon them and their thirst for vengeance would not be denied.

Within a month the last functional ork was naught but carbon dust in the winds.

Within a year new orks were emerging from the ground, in an act that initially enraged the lord of the reverent necrons, but then intrigued him. The most stable minds at his disposal were assigned to study the situation and concluded the "orks" as they called themselves, were likely a seriously degraded form of the Krorks created by the Old Ones and, just as the silent king predicted, had degenerated and decayed over time to a far smaller, weaker, more anarchistic and less combat effective form that reproduced by spores with grew underground and produced a functional and so called "educated" individual capable of combat almost upon emergence.

A joy colder than the depths of interstellar space grew in the Lord's memory of a soul. they would allow these beasts to grow, spread their spores, then savor the joy of massacring them over and over.

And so it was.


To the horror mof the praetorians it was found the crypteks spent their time not involved in killing orks creating more of the revanent destroyer abominations and there were millions of wrecked bodies to continue working on.

The lord of the revenant necrons then, with great difficulty, asked the triarch to find out if other worlds of his dynasty still existed and if they could be saved from a fate like their throneworld. It was clear that to feel or express concern for the welfare of his former fellows was difficult for the wretched abomination before them, and the praetorians felt tremendous respect for him to be able to do so as he now was. Clearly he had been a leader of great nobility, once. Even as a warped perversion of a necron he retained some traces of his former self.

They assured him they would seek out his former fellows and do all they could to aid them, and made plans to destroy the entire planet to erase this horror upon the necron race.

Szarekh himself stayed their hand, recognizing that these atrocities were indeed unspeakable, yet were a useful resource to his race. In exchange for allowing them to continue to exist and create more of themselves, numbers of these revanent destroyers would be taken to serve other dynasties. Better such abominations be used and expended in battle, doing the killing which they craved so fanatically, than intact necrons.

There was no protest from the revanent lord, and the monsters he had created took their place fighting for the future of a race they were now an abhorrence to.

Yours, Sven? It's interesting. Keep writing.

Yes,  mine. Thank you. Background to justify a conversion i'm doing.

A keeper, Alex! Nicely done. Your tales just keep getting better.  :thumbup:

Reworked the story a bit, added an day before chapter. Still need to run a spell checker over the whole thing so it is still in a rough format.


A-Day -1.

Damn but the weather was f**ked up today. The sky was a dull reddish colour and tainted clouds sent big fat raindrops that looked and tasted like blood. Two guys on the car radio were arguing about how this had happened. I preferred the explanation the weatherman had given this morning anyway. He said some big storm had kicked up a whole bunch of dust from a copper mine and that is what gave the rain its red colour and why it even tasted like blood. I half-listened to the two jerks and their theories. Whole damn world gets f**ked up a little bit more each day. He’ll, the other day I’d swear I saw a small dog humping a cat. I’d seen a lot of messed up stuff in my life, but right now that seemed to take the biscuit. Everyone stood around filming it on their phones. I guess it would be the next big meme or whatever the f**k the kids were calling stuff these days. Beyond the guys at the bar the only human being I spoke to regularly was my woman Joanne. I have always been a loner and when your face has been punched and stabbed in more continents than people know exist you sort of end up expecting things to remain that way. I’d met Jo somewhere in Australia. I remember it was a bar, but I didn’t remember much about the epic three day drinking binge that had ended up with us both being deported and told not to come back for at least ten years.

Heh.

Must have been a good time. Anyway, we’d drank the plane dry and been arrested for disruptive behaviour when the plane landed. Got banned from flying for a while, but that didn’t matter too much. We’d been travelling with fake passports and assumed ID’s. Some poor smuck is in for a real shock if he ever goes to travel overseas. Stupid bastards getting there ID stolen anyway. Got to say I was impressed with anyone who could keep up a drinking session with me be they man or woman. We think we got married in Vegas six months later. Least that’s what one of our friends told us. We were both too drunk to remember and we don’t have any photos.

When we were told we were married we decided there was only one place we could take our honeymoon. So we got another couple of fake ID's and went back to Australia.

Anyway we took jobs together when we could for the next couple of years but mostly they were separate. That kind of annoyed us. We figured between us we’d had enough money to quit the game, but a house and settle down a bit. Still do the odd gig now and again, mostly body guarding. Keeps the bank account topped up and it does me good to keep the old skills fresh.

I looked at the newspapers, one of the nationals. The front page had some sex scandal while on page five was an article about how unusually large infestations of locusts were decimating crops in many countries, while in others unusual weather patterns were destroying all but the hardiest plants. Guess food prices would be going up then. Nice to see the papers had their priorities right then as per usual. I’ve met a lot of real nasty customers in my line of work, but none of them made me feel deep down dirty the way journalists did. If I had my way I’d take the lot of them and throw them in a deep pit with all the lawyers and politicians and let them all fight until only one was left standing.

Then I’d shoot that bastard. Make the world a better place.

Jo walked into the room carrying a plate with a steak in each hand. It was burnt all to hell as usual. She was one hell of a sharp shooter, but that woman couldn’t cook for s**t. Then again neither could I. I poured us both a generous Jack and Coke then sat down beside her. We tried a few bites of the meat, then looked at each other and then laughed. “Pizza?” She asked and I reached over for the phone to order a home delivery.

A-Day +0.

The apocalypse came while I was sleeping. I was awoken by the sound of Joanna screaming. She’d gotten up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty, went down to the kitchen. In the time since I’ve always assumed it was one if those damned demons that got her, but honestly it’s 50/50 wither it was one of them or a f**king angel. After a while it gets hard to tell the difference between the two when you are in the middle of a war between them.

Anyway I am not sure if it was really the scream or the crashing roar of the wall collapsing if I am honest. I jumped out of bed and came running downstairs still butt ass naked. Downstairs, everything looked normal until I got into the kitchen. The fridge door had been torn off and the light from it cast an eerie light over the rest of the chaos. Something had ripped half the outer wall off leaving the house with a gaping wound that showed me the moonlit hillside sloping down towards the port area of the city. At first I thought an earthquake had hit and Jo lay under the rubble that had once been part of our dream house.

It never occurred to me that it was odd how if the damaged wall was mostly outside the house that Jo could possibly have been beneath it. But then there was a lot strange going on that I never noticed at that point. I sobbed her name and ran over, tearing at the bricks and mortar lying strewn around with my bare hands. The only time I stopped was when a strange noise sounded. I have no idea what caused it, maybe some metal framed skyscraper it’s steel bones broken by the earthquake? It sounded like a long, mournful trumpet note, impossibly loud. I clamped my hands over my ears feeling a physical stab of pain from the volume. I looked around but I could see no signs of any of the towering buildings that marked the financial heart of the city were falling over and the skyline looked much as I last remembered it.

I returned to digging through the rubble but I never did find any sign of her there. Not a strip of torn clothing or smeared blood that might have given me some clue as to what had happened to her.

The signs had been there beforehand. Only the religious nuts took any real notice though. Anyway we spent the night cuddled up watching the news on the tv, but it was all the usual chaos on the Middle East and international tensions. Who’d have believed that funny guy with the stupid hair would have made it to being the president of the European Union and that he’d be the honest to God Anti-Christ? We got bored and made love on the carpet, then I carried her upstairs to our bedroom for a second round of lovemaking. Ten years of being married and I still couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I fell into a contented and happily exhausted sleep.

I don’t know how long I dug through the rubble, long after it was obvious she wasn’t there. The sun began to rise casting a ruddy red glow over the landscape and that is when I noticed something wasn’t quite right. My brain refused to accept it, wouldn’t let me look up at the sky. I noticed a lot of houses portside were smoking and fires burned here and there. The sounds of faint screams reached my ears. The quake must have been a big one could see something... things crawling and climbing over buildings. Some movement skyward attracted my attention. I tried to look upwards, but my body fought me, the muscles in my neck screaming against me. I forced my eyes upward.

I think I went mad then. It was a glorious and terrifying sight. Rank on rank on serried angelic figures hung in the air, somehow stretching off into infinity. Ever seen infinity? It isn’t something the human mind is meant to take. I don’t remember doing whatever I did next, but the next thing I knew I was walking down the street, one of my shotguns in my hand and as much weapons and ammo strapped to me as I could carry. The air was thick with the stench of sulphur. Some twisted perversion of the human form was running towards me lopping along in two misshapen legs and an overly large arm. I remember the eyes, those glowing sickly green eyes filled with hate. As it got close I fired my shotgun catching it full in the face. Half it’s head was blown off, and the other half was a ruined mess but it still kept coming. Took two more rounds to put it down. I put another five in it just to make sure it stayed there and mechanically reloaded thinking that I’d better stock up on more ammo if I was going to use that many rounds. I don’t know what the angels were doing all this time. My body still refused to look skyward and this time the brain agreed with it.

I recognised my surroundings. My feet had taken me towards the local mega-church. Not a place I had ever stepped inside, but I knew it was a big thing in the tellyvangilist scene. It was impossible to completely hide from its influence with its pastor, big s**t eating grin plastered to his face on billboards or advertising his services on the radio. Funny how they all came with a $ sign attached. Well right now I might just need some Jesus. It was a Tuesday morning and outside his regular business hours but you had to think that On a day like this he’d make an exception.

The preacher man was standing outside the open doors to his church. Bat winged creatures were swooping down on him and he was fending them off, bible in one hand, heavy golden crucifix in the other. A gaggle of terrified looking parishioners looked out from the shelter of the doorway at the holy man fighting off the beasts of Satan in their behalf. His southern drawl impeached them to “Get back ta hell!”
As I watched I found something was off. The skinny flying demons didn’t actually seem to be trying to attack the preacher. Sure they were diving towards him, but they seemed to be trying to attack the crowd in the church rather than the man himself. One of the creatures noticed me at the edge of the plaza, wheeled in the air and swooped towards me, the rapidly becoming familiar hatred burning in its (quite literally) hellish eyes. I dropped my pump action and grabbed my trust sawn off, giving it both barrels as it’s cruelty taloned hands reached out for me. The body crashed into me, splattering me in the foul smelling ichor that ran out of the smoking hole that had been its chest. The momentum of the thing hitting me knocked me off my feet. It was surprisingly heavy as I heaved the body off me, it’s wings twitching as the news that the body was dead filtered through. The shotgun blast had attracted the attention of everyone and everything else. The preacher man called out to me in that huckster voice I’d heard a thousand times “Oh my son, guns will not save you on the day of judgement.”
His southern drawl stretched the save into something that sounded more like “Sayahved”.
“For just $10,000 I give yah shelter in mah church and my personal guarantee that when the rayhapture comes, you my son will be one of those sayahved!”

I have to admit, right at that second his pitch sounded pretty persuasive. I was about ready to throw down my weapons and write him a personal check. Right at that moment the plaza was filled with a beautific light. No, it was more than that. It was an aura of peace and love. The demons screeched as if it’s very presence caused them agonising pain. One of the angels flew down. Seems so simple when you put it that way. How to describe the feeling when a being of perfect love and beauty enters your presence. My legs felt weak and I struggled to stand. The parishioners certainly fell in prostrate worship if it. The flying demons circled around and dived at the angel. In its hand appeared a flaming sword and it lashed out at the hellspawn, cleaving them in twain. I’ve used a sword a few times in my life and I was awestruck by the artistry the angel moved with. It was impossible not to be. If the demons were lumpy and misshapen then the angel was perfection incarnate. Every move was the perfect blend of grace and masculinity.

Just like Patrick Swayze in Road House really.

Then I noticed the angel had been wounded. Bright silvery blue blood dripped from a cut in his chest. It didn’t look deep or serious but it shocked me that anything could even think about hurting something so loving. The angel didn’t quite land. It seemed to float an inch or two above the ground, fresh grass breaking through the concrete beneath where its feet walked just above the earth. It walked over to the preacher who like the others was on his knees. With one hand it helped him to his feet, embraced him and with a couple of powerful beats of his wings it bore them both skyward. I heard the preacher call out to his flock “Ah told you it was the rayhapture and ah have been sayahved!”
His followers cried out to him to come back, to save them too. I wondered if I should have led a better life. Being a retired mercenary might not be the best way to get to heaven.

Then the body of the preacher came crashing hard down onto the hard plaza. His body burst open like some overripe fruit splattering blood and gore in a wide circle. A few of the faithful picked that point to throw up noisily.

I looked upwards and could see the angel hovering there,his beatific face twisted in disgust and anger. It occurred to me that if an angel was created to have perfect love for God then it would have all the other things that went along with that. Like hating anyone who disrespected the object of their love.

I had a chilling and unshakable feeling that I knew what had happened to Jo, but I had to keep looking. If she was alive (and I sobbed at the thought she might not be). Would she have headed to the church for shelter? I moved over that way, retrieving my pump action as I did. My hands felt like they were burning from where the demon blood had splattered on them, even after I’d done my best to wipe them off first on my tee shirt and then on the remnants of the preachers fine suit. The crowd were literally shaking with fear as I approached. Some of the slightly more together members started pulling the doors shut, and I broke out into a run, jamming my gun barrel in the narrow gap left just before they closed on me. In a loud growl I roared that if they didn’t open the doors I’d ram my shotgun up their ass and pull the trigger. The door didn’t open, but they did stop trying to close it. I took the opportunity, grabbed the door with one hand and wrenched it open, then almost fell inside and closed the doors behind me.

The faithful gathered inside backed off from me, forming a wide semi-circle. I am a pretty big guy, and my scars don’t make me any prettier. My hands were all messed up from digging through the bricks at my house and the demon blood. Damn but my hands still burned. Anyway, you put all that together along with the weapons I was carrying (the two shotguns, a fire axe I must have picked up somewhere, an eighteen inch skinning knife, a couple of pistols and every pocket seemed stuffed with rounds as well as the bandoliers of shotgun rounds around my chest), and well I look pretty intimidating. I pushed my way through the crowd roaring Joanna’s name but there was no answer. Heading deeper into the church I found it pretty crowded. I wondered if they had all paid the ten grand or had the preacher only thought of the money-making scheme later? Still a church was holy ground and if anywhere was safe it had to be here, right?

Right?

I spotted the baptismal font. Perfect. Making my way through it I plunged my hands into the water to wash them. If I’d to put my money on anything washing demon blood off, that should do it. The cold water stung my hands, but it felt good and cleansing. My hands still burned a bit when I took them out though. I looked. at the altar with the statue behind it of Jesus on the cross. Thanks for nothing big guy I thought. I thought you guys were all about peace and love.

Word of their leader and personal saviour (for $99.99 an hour) demise at the hands of an angel was spreading through the assembly and I could feel the rising tide of panic. Give it a few more minutes and things were going to get damn ugly in here. Either they’d riot or they’d go all Old Testament style and start looking for someone to sacrifice.

I don’t normally get to move through a crowd unnoticed but today everyone had other things on their mind. I climbed up on top of the altar and at the top of my voice, struggling to be heard over the people shouting at each other called out “QUIET!”

That didn’t get much of a reaction so I fired off the pump action over everyone’s heads.
“Your preacher man might be spread over the ground like a watermelon that’s just been tackled by a tank, but you are all in here safe and you are going to stay safe while you are in here ‘cos their ain’t no hell beasts gonna come in to your God’s holy ground! So why don’t you folks just get down on your knees and keep it safe by praying... or what ever the hell it is you do.”

That got me two maybe three seconds of quiet while they thought about it. I’ve never been much use at much that wasn’t fighting. Certainly public speaking is not something I’ve ever felt overly talented at, but I thought all things considered it was a pretty good speech all things considered. ‘Course the big ass demons that came flying through the goddamned stained glass windows spoiled it and everyone was panicking and hollering again, spoiled the effect.

With a “f**k it”, I unloaded into the back of one of the monsters as it landed on a parishioner. It’s back rippled and exploded and it collapsed on its would be victim. I had no idea if he or she was still alive or not, and I had no time to check as dozens of the creatures came pouring in, tearing through the other windows all along the hall. We were caught in a trap and they only way out was on the far end with a whole mass of people and demons between me and there. f**k it I thought again. I’d made stands in worse places before this. I fired off both shotguns. The demons were so thickly clustered I couldn’t help but hit them. I might have hit some people too, but a shotgun is hardly something you’d perform surgery with.

Also firing a shotgun one handed is a seriously stupid idea. Firing one in each hand is moronic. I thought about that as the recoil took the guns from my hands and I fell backwards off the altar, landing heavily on the floor. One of the bastards saw me fall and in a second was trying to bury his teeth in my throat. I clamped my hands on his head, one on his jaw, the other grasping its forehead and desperately tried to keep its jagged teeth from chowing down on my jugular. My remaining weapons were out of reach even if I had a spare hand and the straps were catching in things making it harder to fight back. I managed to keep ahold of its jaw and work my other hand down its face enough to grab its upper jaw. “Got you now you dirty f**ker”, I thought. Gripping tight I wrenched my hands damn near tearing the jaw clean off. The creature rolled off me, it’s hands fumbling at its jaw while a thin blackish tongue loiled around wondering why it had so much freedom and exploring its new surroundings. Since I was still on my back I lashed out with one booted foot catching it full in the chest with the crunch of breaking ribs. It disappeared into the swirling mass of people and demons.

Getting back on my feet I glanced at my hands. The wickedly sharp teeth of the demon had lacerated the flesh. I’d need stitches. The demons were wreaking havoc on the other humans who seemingly could put up no resistance. A woman was screaming as one fiend clawed at her. I ran up to it and wrapped my powerful arms around it, crushing it in a bear hug. I’d pinned its arms, but it still had its feet and kicked violently catching me more than once in the shins which hurt like a b***h as I held as tight as I could and shook it like a rag doll. I could hear its ribs cracking as it tried a backwards headbutt. It had tiny twisted horns protruding from the top of its head, one of which caught me on the forehead tearing a deep cut over my right eye. I heaved the body up then slammed it down hard on the ground, letting my hold on its chest go. I put one arm under its chin pressing on the throat. I had no idea if the things needed to breath or not but I figured it was worth a try. It’s sharp fingernails attempted to claw at my arm, but only left scratches on my leather jacket. My other hand went over it’s face, pulling the head sharply to one side. I heard the satisfying snap as it’s neck broke.

The church was quickly turning into a cathedral of carnage. I smiled at the woman I’d just saved, pulled out my knife and waded into the morass. If these creatures really were demons then they really weren’t none too smart. I was the only threat to them in the whole damn place but only the ones who got in my way tried fighting me. If they’d worked together I’d have been overwhelmed in seconds. As it was I used my blade to carve a bloody harvest, cutting and chopping. My arms were soon elbow deep in blood and ichor, and my muscles were quickly aching but I fought on. One tiny demon barely the size of one of my hands came flying through the air and grabbed my hair from behind, distracting me as I tried to shove my knife deep into the chest of what looked like a humanoid shaped mass of warts and boils. I reached behind and crushed the life from it with one hand, feeling the agony of its life juices running down my back, blistering the flesh. Meanwhile Mr Warts n’ all was raking me with his claws, opening up parts of my chest that had never been designed to see daylight. I pulled him in close overbalancing both of us. As we fell I plunged my hunting knife deep into its side and ripped it out. Must have stabbed it three times before we even hit the ground.

I really needed to stop falling over. Climbing back to my feet I found myself in the middle of a slaughter, a tiny spot of calm in the middle of chaos unleashed. The floor was slick, wet with blood and unidentifiable lumps of stuff that used to be people. For all the dozens that had died there seemed to be no shortage of fresh targets for the demons to tear to pieces, but the screams and cries of battle were a kind of music to me and this was a dance I knew well even if I was a little rusty. It was a place I’d always felt I belonged like no other until I’d found Joanna and the simple joy of just lying in her arms. The thought of her felt like I’d just been electrocuted and a cry of agony ripped loose from my lips. I plunged back into combat, losing myself to the bloody red reign of battle. Every move I made was as near perfection as it could be. Demons still poured through the windows, those with wings flying through while others climbed or slithered. I stamped on one that appeared to be nothing more than a foul, pulsating bag of pus, but whose touch I’d seen melt flesh like candle wax. It burst open splattering noisome innards all over. At this point though my reactions were all purely mechanical, the conscious part of my brain a mere spectator watching as I killed and saved and killed again. Part of me knew I could never defeat all this seemingly endless horde, but I’d die fighting and at one point in my life that was all that had ever been important to me.

From nowhere and everywhere all at once the church was filled with what I’d have to call a cleansing light. It felt like when the angel had came down earlier, but stronger. It brought me out of my bloodlust and I suddenly felt in a lot of pain, exhausted and old. I never felt like this after a fight when I was young. The light got brighter and a heavenly sound like a choir of angels filled the air.

Oh. f**k.

The demons had ceased their riotous massacre and gave voice to a mass howl of despair. With the opposite of an explosion a circular hole appeared in the roof as it was sucked upwards. A beam of painfully intense light shone down and a winged figure descended down. All eyes were fixed on the figure, human or demonic even though it was painful to look on. The angel reached not quite the ground and looked up. It’s movements were quick and sure, but not jerky. Much like the other angel it presented an image of physical perfection. It looked around at the demons and prostate refugees then slowly raised one arm so it had a clenched fist in front of its face. Then the fist was snapped off to the left and down causing a ring of silvered fire to sweep out, coruscating throughout the church. Where the fire touched demon it burned them hideously. Flesh popped and sizzled and the demons writhed in agony until the silver fire consumed them completely leaving only charred dust. Me and the other folks seemed unharmed by the fire and mighty glad of that I was.

The congregation looked at their saviour in adoration as it turned in a slow circle gazing at each and every person in the crowd.

“Know all ye that thou have worshipped at the house of a false prophet and shall all be called to account.”

The voice was pure and made every listener want to beg for forgiveness. A flaming sword, shaped like one of those bent swords he’d seen in old films set in the Middle East. Scimitars?

It raised its sword to deliver the final judgement.

“OY a***ole!”

The angel floated around until it was staring right at me, staring curiously and moving its head from side to side. Maybe it was trying to decide what my good side was?

“Thou does not belongst here. Thou are no follower of the false prophet.”
It cocked its head to the opposite side before continuing. “And yet you are no follower of the One True God either. Thoust must choose a side in the coming conflict and thoust must choose quickly. The time of thy judgement has come. Be either exalted in his eyes or cast down like offal. Bow down and through me thou canst receive his blessing and be saved.”
The words didn’t come from his mouth which stayed closed the entire time but seemed instead to emanate from everywhere around me.

I can’t deny that his words had power. He made a tempting offer, but here is the thing. All my life I’ve stood on my own two feet (well except for the times I’d fallen over I thought ruefully) and I had never bowed to any man or woman. Didn’t feel like the end of the world was the time to start. “How about I make you a counter offer. You pull some trousers on so you can die with some decency and then I take this sword and cut your holier-than-thou head off?”
For a moment or two the angel seemed puzzled.
“Foolish mortal. Which sword does thou speak of?”
“This... one... Oh bollocks!”
I reached for the sword only to discover it wasn’t there. My hand slapped my side a couple of times as if expecting to find it, but it stayed stubbornly where ever it had fallen out.
f**k it.
I spat on the floor and unlimbered the axe I’d strapped across my back. “This will do instead then.”
I leapt towards him swinging the axe in a powerful blow designed to cut its perfect head in two. It simply floated back and up into the air as the axe dig into the wooden floor embedding itself deeply. With a grunt I yanked it loose. Damn, I was in trouble now. I’d seen one of these things fight and even fresh and uninjured it would have been a challenge. As it was I was feeling exhausted, carried multiple wounds and as much as I had enjoyed the fight with the demons it had taken a lot out of me. Laughter drifted down from the rafters. “Thou hast done well to slay so many minions of the great adversary, but know this mortal, that they are amongst the lowliest of his servants. Doest thou truly seek to battle an Angel of the Lord?”

Oh hell yeah. Just his way of speaking made me want to hurt him badly. I briefly thought about running the hell away, but then I thought of Joanne’s face and how sad that would have made her if I left these people to the angels tender mercies. I was still filled with doubt. Could an angel ever be hurt or killed?

Then I remembered the one that had killed the preacher. It had been bleeding plenty. And if it could bleed then I could kill it. I set my face in a grim smile, gripped my fire axe tight on both hands and called out “Come and get it ya big shiny bawbag.”
Sometimes I can’t help my Scottish heritage from coming to the fore.
He floated down gently, his sword dancing as he swung it around in a impressive display. “Moan nen!” I said giving the traditional Glaswegian battlecry. Besides this guy was a prick and I wasn’t going to admit to him that he was good with a blade.

As he got closer I knew I was going to have to take the fight to him. A fire axe isn’t designed for fighting and I didn’t trust its wooden haft to block many blows from that sword. The other angel had cut right through several bodies with no problem. This one had killed dozens of demons with even less effort. As usual I figured my mouth had gotten me into slightly more trouble than I could handle. He came swooping down towards me swinging that blade in a way that would have cut me from my right shoulder to my hip. I threw myself to one side, spinning around and lashing out with my axe, hoping to catch him with a lucky blow, but no such luck. He sailed on through the air unscratched. It was actually quite disconcerting fighting a naked man with wings. Wonder if I could turn that to my advantage?
“Hey pal. How come if you guys are so perfect you’ve got such a tiny dick?” I called out as he swooped up into the rafter, preparing for his next attack run. “Let me guess, it’s just that it’s cold outside?”
I thought I saw the tiniest facial tick twitch the corner of his mouth. I hoped so. If I could get him angry then maybe he’d make a mistake. He started his attack run, coming down at me like a bird of prey.

Or should that be a bird of pray?

If he was going to be predictable then I could figure out how to bring this bird down. As he neared I got ready to dive to the side again, but at the last second he changed his course and I felt a line of fire draw along my back as the tip of the blade cut effortlessly through my jacket and the skin beneath. Holy crap that stung. Guess I should have thought a bit more about being less predictable myself.
Gritting my teeth I called out “I guess with a pecker like that you don’t get much action with the lady angels. Or are you more into boy angels?”
Oh that definitely got to him. I could see anger marring those oh so perfect features. The voice though was still smooth and calm. “To mock the perfect creation of our Lord is to mock our Lord Himself and that I shalt not abide! To suggest that I engage in an unnatural act forbidden by our Maker’s word hast made thou and abomination in mine eyes. I shalt cleanse these earth of your existence and consign you to the lowest pit!”

Oh yeah, I had him rattled now. He came diving down straight at me, sword pointed straight at me, looking to spear me through the chest. This much much easier to dodge than his swipes, and I sidestepped like a matador avoiding a bull. Instead of flying off this time he stopped a slashed out at me. By instinct I put up the haft of the axe to block the sword and as expected the blade cut straight through it. Figuring the axe was useless now I dropped both halves and grabbed onto the angels wing. He’d left himself dangerously exposed. I started swinging him round and sent him crashing against the church wall, scattering the surviving worshipers. The angel didn’t tumble to the ground, but picked himself up and hovered there in mid air. “Truly thou ars’t a troublesome mortal.”
My childish giggling interrupted him and in a voice that was starting to lose its cool edge asked “What does thou find so amusing, pray tell?”
“You said arse!”
Confusion and anger warred on that perfect face for a few moments and I took my chance. I picked up the top half of the axe and sent it spinning through the air using all my strength. My aim was perfect, but my grasp of the aerodynamics not so much. The axe smashed right into his face and the fight would have been over right there if it had been one of the sharp edges that had hit him. Still the impact of the top but unfortunately flat edge dazed him. I charged in bull rushing him back against the the wall, then grabbing him by the throat and groin (urgh! I felt his junk touch my hand! I’d been touched by angel dick), heaved him up over my head before slamming him hard down on the ground. I figure I must have hurt him badly there because the serene light that had filled the room suddenly went out. I pulled the semi conscious body upright, his eyes swimming and growled “Can yon Holy Ghost fellow sew? Cos you are gonna need tae get this stitched!”
And with that I slammed my forehead against the bridge of his nose feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. His face wasn’t quite so perfect looking now and that silvery blue blood flowed freely from his ruined face. I head butted him a second time for good measure, seeing a few stars swimming around this time from the impact. “You know what pal, I am not going to kill you after all. See I want you to go back upstairs and give the big man a warning. Let him know I am coming for him.”
I let the angels sagging body fall to the floor. He groaned and rolled onto his back. I picked up his sword. The fire had went out but it seemed sharp enough to be useful. I turned my back on him and went to head out through all the shocked onlookers. “You know pal, I’ve changed my mind again. I am not quite finished with you yet after all.”
I turned back around, took a good long run and kicked him square in the nuts. It couldn’t have been any better if I’d been scoring a penalty against England in a World Cup final. Pretty sure that howl of agony would have been heard in the heavens. “Tell the big man that is exactly what is going to happen to him if anyone has hurt my Joanna!”
Then looking around at the survivors who looked back at me totally shell shocked I figured I couldn’t just leave them here. “Look, you lot might want to leave before he gets back up or some of his pals arrive.”
They just stared at me like frightened rabbits caught in headlines. I raised my hands up and shouted “BOO!”
That broke the spell and they all ran outside screaming. I collected the rest of my weapons, packed them up a bit more carefully than I had before, gave the crowd outside a minute or two to disperse fully and then followed them out leaving the angel moaning in his own private world of hurt.

Where the hell was Jo and where would I even start looking for her? I wandered the streets. Bodies lay everywhere, but none of them looked like her. Dawn was coming and I figured I would need to find somewhere to rest up for a while, clean up my wounds. There was a hospital maybe ten kays. Seemed like as good a place as any to head.

I walked through the skeletal remains of the city. I’d loved there for what then years now? It wasn’t ever a place I thought of as home, it was just the place Jo was and that was where I wanted to be. Hardly a window was unbroken giving the place the feel of a tomb. We are all dead, the city seemed to say to me. Come join us. It would have been so easy to give in, peaceful even. It was the thought of her that kept me going. The red lit sky overhead, mercifully empty of the gathered hosts of the heavens hung threateningly above. Had I just imagined those heavenly ranks. Thinking back it seemed to be unreal and have all the qualities of a dream. Maybe I’d saw a few and with everything else going on my mind had played tricks on itself.

I’d to fight a few times on the way to the hospital for all everything looked desolate. A couple of packs of wingless demons attacked me. I tried out the angel sword against them. Worked like a charm. Nicely balanced, felt light in my hand. I wondered if the angel would have to explain losing it to some heavenly quartermaster and admit a human had kicked his ass? I certainly hoped so. When I’d been regular military I’d misplaced a rifle. My sergeant had found it before me and he tore a strip off me. No idea the punishments he’ll gave out, but if the bible was anything to go by it would be a doozy.

I regularly saw angels flying overhead, mostly in large groups. Sometimes the clashes with opposing flights of demons. I was pretty glad that they all seemed more concerned with each other than me. I hadn’t lost enough blood to kill me, but I was feeling a little woozy. One angel had been tough, a whole gang of them might be more than I could handle.

Damn but I wished I had a few grenades.

It seemed as if this was a war where the opening act was just open season on anything, but things had settled down and the two sides were busy with each other rather than humanity. Mind you, if the damage I could see was widespread it wouldn’t be long until we ran out of food. Maybe both sides were going to let starvation and in-fighting take care of us. I’d seen before what happens when people go crazy. Whoever said civilisation is one missed meal away from collapse was a smart man. Or woman.

Occasionally I stopped and watched one of the aerial battles, looking to learn as much as I could about the fighters. If it came to even numbers then the angels had the advantage, but the demons had strength in numbers and sought to overwhelm their enemies by sheer weight of numbers. From my viewpoint the victory of the angels hardly seemed guaranteed. Sometimes they won, sometimes the other guys. Neither side were much for running away while a single enemy was still standing, or being merciful to the wounded. Let me know what to expect if I was on the losing side. Fair enough, no reason to play nice myself.

I think it was evening when I reached the hospital. I’d stopped to watch the dog fights too many times. My watch said it was evening time, but the sky was still the same sodden dull red. I couldn’t remember the name of the hospital, it had always been nicknamed the suffering general hospital. The front had been all glass and although I had hoped it would be untouched by all the fighting, my heart sank when I saw barely an intact window. Unlike the rest of the city though, the lights were still on. Makes sense that they would have some kind of backup generator. I climbed through the shattered main doors. Bodies were strewn everywhere, living and dead both. I wonder which side had hit it? At this point I was still prepared to believe the angels weren’t total a***oles and it had been the other side.

The foyer had became a massive open treatment area. Doctors and nurses, too few for the seething mass of humanity pressed inside did their best to treat the worst of the injured.

As an experienced fighting man I could tell a losing battle quickly. One of the women, a pretty looking thing in scrubs and a smoke stained white coat stopped when she saw me and came over. “You? Your the man from the church aren’t you?”
“Might be. Might not. Depends on the church you are talking about.”
Felt silly saying that. Not many people look like me with my roadmap of scars or walk about festooned in weaponry. Then again these were changed days. Maybe they did now?

“It is you,” she exclaimed. “You saved my life and I never got the chance to say thanks.”
Her face dropped down slightly, and she smiled coyly at me.

“Your welcome. I am not sure I saved you though. Might have just been a temporary reprieve. Looks like this place got hit pretty hard”

“They hit everywhere hard and then forgot about us.” She shrugged her shoulders. Her face was smuggled with sweat and dirt. Brown hair tied back in a bun, maybe five six tall. I didn’t recall seeing her at the church, but then again I’d been busy. I shifted the load slung across my back, sending a fresh wave of pain coursing through me from wounds on my back reopening and blistered skin from that demon blood ripping open. I guess I must have winched a bit because the pretty girl said “Oh you’re injured! Come let me have a look.”
I tried to say no and searching for Jo, but she grabbed my hand and dragged me. I figured I might as well go along with her. I didn’t know what medical supplies would be like in the future and if my injuries got infected I’d be no use to Jo even if I could find her. Besides I was sure I’d need stitches in my back and they were impossible to do yourself.

Although maybe that hooker in Bangkok... She was pretty flexible. I chuckled at the memory. My companion looked at me quizzically but didn’t ask. Just as well really.

She took me to an office down one side corridor. The strip light hung down at one side but still cast a humming and flickering light. In a voice that reminded me of my mum she commanded me to strip to the waist. I’ve had drill instructors who would have been proud of that voice. I did as I was told, stacking my remaining weapons on a desk, noting that I’d have to strip and clean them next chance I got. My leather jacket had seen better days but was still wearable if barely. My tee shirt though was a blood soaked rag that I let fall on the floor. If you think the scars I’ve got on my face look bad, then you should see the network on my chest. Some places I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins never mind remembering how I got them. The woman was standing behind me and the sharp intake of breath told me all I needed to know about how that looked. I looked down at my chest myself and sucked in some oxygen myself. In some places was the jungle of scars I recognised, but in some places there is what I could only describe as splashes of red scaly skin. In other places the skin looked as perfect as a new born babies. Smooth and no signs that it had ever been damaged. He’ll, even the burn marks from the time I got set on fire down in South America were healed in those places.
“My back look the same as my chest?”
She walked around me looking at me critically. “Yes, and your arms too.”
I had been too preoccupied looking for Jo and avoiding angels to take that much notice of what was happening to me. My hands were a strange mixture of scrapes, wounds and perfectly healed skin. “When the demonic blood hit me, it burned like a son of a b***h. Maybe the angelic stuff healed me?”

“You could do with some more. The cut across your back isn’t deep enough to kill you, but it it isn’t healthy either. I can sew it up, give you some penicillin. The bites I’ll clean out. We are already running short of supplies though.”

I could detect the faint aroma of cigarettes from her. The slightly yellowed fingertips confirmed she was a smoker. Guess that was something else that wouldn’t be happening much any more.

“I want you to wait here while I go pick up a few things. I’ll stitch you up as best as I can. Can’t spare any anaesthetic, so you are just going to have to be a big boy for me. Can you do that?”

I felt like we were having two different conversations. I often felt this way when talking with other people. Like there was some hidden subtext I could sense but not figure out. I couldn’t help but feel like this was one of those situations.

“Not my first stitches lady. Sew away.”

I am pretty sure she deliberately stuck the needle in a little deeper than she needed to just to see if I could take the pain. She got a sharp intake of breath, but I sat like a rock, not budging and refusing to show any sign of pain.

Funny how men do stupid s**t like that in front of women. Idily I wondered if gay men did the same thing or if they’d only do it in front of other men?

Just one of those questions I supposed I’d never learn the answer to and wasn’t important anyway.

After she’d finished, she looked at her handiwork and told me that normally she’d tell me to do nothing strenuous, but in this case it didn’t seem to be an option. So she sewed a second set of stitches to give it some extra strength and less chance of tearing. She still dug the needle in further than I thought was needed though.
After she finished, she walked around and looked me in the eyes directly.
“So what now? You going to stick around?We could do with a man like you, help keep everyone safe.”
Her eyes were bright and hopeful and she bit her lower lip slightly as she waited for my answer. “I have someone I need to find. If she is here then here seems as good a place as any to survive.”
“Oh.”
She sounded a bit crestfallen at my reply. Normally women couldn’t wait to get away from me.
“Is this someone your wife?”
“Yeah. She’s been missing since all this started.”
My words went unheard as once again the same hellishly loud trumpet sounded. Long and mournful just as before. The woman threw herself into my arms and buried her head in my chest trying to hide from the noise. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds but it felt like hours. “What was that?” she cried out.
“I don’t know, but if I find him, he is going to be blowing that trumpet out of his ass.”
“Look, I can stay here tonight. Make sure none of those bastards attack and find out if Joe took refuge here. If she isn’t though come tomorrow I’ll be off. I’ll try and check-in, make sure you are as safe as anyone can be right now.”
We went back to the foyer where she got lost in the mess of people trying to save each other or lying on the floor waiting to live or die. The later was going to seriously outnumber the former.

I helped out where I could. I’d had some medical training after all, although mostly what I did was taking out the bodies of those who had died. It was quickly obvious Jo wasn’t here and I had a horrible feeling I would never find her alive.

Once it got dark things seemed to calm down a bit. I wandered the hospital until I found an empty bed and climbed in. The smashed window let the cold night in but I’d slept in worse places. Before I’d drifted off to sleep I heard someone enter the room. A familiar fragrance of smoke told me who it was. I wasn’t surprised when she climbed into bed, completely naked beside me. I thought WWSD (what would Swayze do?), but somehow the advice that gave me didn’t seem the right kind. I just lay there and pretended to be asleep. She cuddled up against me and I was acutely aware of her breasts against my back as she held onto me. I just kept thinking about Jo and that I wasn’t going to cheat on my wife the day she had vanished.

A treacherous inner voice said, “But what about the next day?”

I knew in the future I’d wonder why I hadn’t taken advantage of the offer, but I was sure I’d feel good about not doing it.

A-Day +1.

I was gone in the morning long before she awoke. Couldn’t resist taking a long look at her naked body though. Never claimed to be a saint.

I left via the front door. The medics were busy with the injured. I heard several cries for various medicines, most often answered with “We’re all out!”

It occurred to me that I could do something to help there.

The only place I could think of now to check for Joanne was back at our home, and besides I’d need some supplies if I was going to carry out the plan I had in mind. The house was still empty with no sign anyone had been home since I had left. I had spent thousands on an elaborate home security system. Will one wall missing it was all useless. 100% of all intruders stopped guaranteed my ass. When all this was over I was going to get me a refund!

The house seemed like a dead thing, soulless now without Jo. I collected a few things from my secure basement and a backpack to carry most of them. I’d need to pick out the perfect spot and have a lot of luck if what I was planning was going to work. When I’d put all this stuff away I had hoped I’d never have to take it out again. I also grabbed a fresh shirt and a different leather jacket. I have a simple wardrobe. About 30 very similar outfits. Only the tee-shirts really changed. I left a few notes scattered around the house telling Jo to check the Suffering General if she was looking for me, then signed and dated the messages so she’d know how recent they were.

Outside I could hear a cacophonous wailing, getting louder as it got closer. I figured it had to be demons. You know what? Right then I felt like getting in a fight. I took my shotguns and angel sword and stood in the middle of the road waiting for whatever was coming to arrive.

Didn’t have long to wait either. When I first saw what was coming though... At first, I couldn’t tell if it was a small army of creatures or just the one thing. It was like a mass of roiling limbs. No body that I could see, just endless arms and legs reaching out and pulling itself along.

Boy, what I wouldn’t have given for a chainsaw right then and there. Mouths would form for a few seconds, give out some fingering scream before sinking back down into the noisome mass. I didn’t think my guns would do me much good here, so I pulled out the sword. Shame I didn’t have the trick of making it burst into flames. Wasn’t really one for selfies but damn a picture of me fighting with a sword with flames leaping from it would have been cool. That’s the kind of s**t they should make oil paintings of, not some boring f**ker no one remembers the name of twenty years ago, or some Dutch police wannabe’s on the night shift.

The mass kept on coming towards me. I wasn’t sure if it even knew I was there, but I stood there like a rock until it got close enough.

By the time I’d finished with it (and it turned out it was just the one creature), there were a lot less limbs attached. The sword felt like it weighed nothing in my hand and the thing's limbs offered no resistance to the blade as it cut through the mass. Every time I cut a part off it would fall to the ground and shrivel up, a stinking green gas would come pouring out. I don’t think I managed to kill the thing, but it looked a lot smaller. The air just got too hard to breath around it. I kicked open the door to a half-destroyed house and jumped inside. What ever it was I’d been fighting was still too big to follow, or maybe it couldn’t tell where I had went. I hadn’t seen any any eyes. It just continued rolling along the street just as it had before we fought. What the hell it was and what it’s purpose was I had no idea.

Well so much for a good old fashioned ass-kicking. I’d gotten a good workout though and my back was slathered in sweat. Time to get back to my original plan though.

I reached downtown and found it was intact enough for me to carry out my plan. I needed a couple of tall buildings and a flat roof on one of them. It took me the best part of the day to rig it all up, but when it was done all I had to do was sit and wait.

You have yourself a good story going, Alex.

A-Day +2.

It was an uncomfortable night in the roof. We had a light rain which soaked me through and stunk like fresh blood. Copper dust my arse. I made a mental note to have a word with the weatherman if he’d survived and I ever came across him.

I drank sparingly from my canteen aware that I could be here for a long time waiting on the perfect conditions for my plan. Normally I’d have set up a collection point and lived off the rain water but even as savage as I am drinking blood just isn’t my type of thing. Did have an ex that liked to cut me while I was sleeping as lick the blood.

f**king psycho b***h.

Watched a few aerial fights, but none of them were close enough for me. Heard cries from the streets several times as people were caught by something. Maybe angels, maybe demons, maybe other people. Normally I’d have helped out one way or another but I decided what I was doing was too important. No signal on my phone. I figured sooner or later the power would go out and I wouldn’t be able to charge it again, so I plugged in my headphones and let the music drown out the occasional screams of the dying city. I kept myself from getting bored by thinking about Jo, and when I’d been over every memory of her I thought about the other women I’d been with. I’d went back as far as a one night stand called Tanya (man, I wished we’d had a few more nights to finish exploring each other’s bodies) and then I started wondering what they were doing now.

It got depressing though to think that every lay I’d ever had might be dead now so I stopped.

A-Day +3.

Only my watch tells me if it is day or night. Glad I have a digital watch. Behind the clouds I can see cold circles marking where the sun and moon both hang in the sky and they never move. Has the earth stopped spinning? Or is this just one more f**ked up thing about the apocalypse?

Drank too much water today. Been too long since I’ve did a stakeout and I’ve gotten rusty. Might have to pop downstairs, see if I can find some fresh water. Food I can go without for long enough. Sleep for a few days, but water not so much. Kept listening to my music. Battery was down to 60% so I stuck to the classics. Highway to hell made me laugh out loud. The mood was spoiled by the deafeningly trumpet noise sounded again. My ears were ringing after that so I switched the phone off to save power.

I had one thought that was kinda disconcerting. What the hell had done all the damage to the city? I mean it looked like it had been the target of a major bombing campaign and nothing I’d seen looked like it could cause that kind of damage. Not even the angels. What was out there that I hadn’t seen yet?

A-Day +4.

Took three days before I found what I was looking for. A lone angel flying low over the city. Another day and I’d have been out of water. I could only tell the passing of time by my watch, the sky cast its unyielding ruddy glow over the landscape. A few times I heard refugees making their way through the city below. Some even noticed my trap, but none cared enough to investigate it. Good thing too, I might have ended up having to kill them if they had. Less screams than yesterday. That’s could be a good or bad sign.

I stayed hidden under a piece of tarp, lasso’d rope held loosely in one hand. When the angel flew overhead I jumped up like a fuel bunker suddenly blowing up, spun the rope around and caught the bugger by the ankle, then pulled hard on the rope as I tried to reel in my fish. Caught by surprise and travelling at a fair pace the angels trajectory started to arc downwards. I felt the rope go slack as he hit the net I’d strung between the buildings and moving before he could recover I ran to the edge of the building and threw myself over the edge.

I had hoped to land on top of the angel as he started to recover his wits and take him by surprise. As it was I figure I was lucky to hit the net at all. He was shakily getting to his feet as I landed. The shock of the impact at least knocked him back down and he tumbled off the edge, falling the twenty odd feet to the ground below. I heard the thump of impact and figured, well I had hoped to take one alive but I could still use a dead angel. I tied the rope it used to catch the angel to the net I’d made and climbed down it to street level. I’d be leaving a lot of good rope behind, but that s**t was heavy to carry anyway. And besides I had enough left for the last part of my plan. I checked the angel, it was bloodied and bruised but breathing. Bonus. Dragging him by the lasso’d ankle (which I was fairly sure was dislocated and going to hurt like a b***h when he woke up) I took him inside.

When he woke up the world must have looked damned funny hanging upside down like that. I noticed him struggling and walked into his field of view and crouched down a bit so we were sort of looking at each other eye to eye.

“Well hello there. I figure I’ve got a whole lot of questions to ask and you look just like the kind of fellow who can do some answering. Now you can either answer willingly or I can see if I can find out how much torture an angel can take. I already know you boys can feel pain and die so don’t try lying to me.”

“How art thou who wouldst interfere with a messenger of the Lord?”

“Glad you asked. The answer comes in two parts really. The first part is that I am one of the motherf**kers caught in the middle of your war going on out there and I am kinda p**sed off about that which incidentally leads us on to the second part. I am the man with a very large, very sharp knife. Now are you going to answer my questions or do I start cutting things off? And I want you to know I really do not want to cut a single part of your body off. I’d much rather leave you in one piece.”

“What knowledge dost thou seek?”
“Well first off just what the hell is going on?”
“Thou hadst answered thine own question. Hell. It has come to pass as was prophesied. Yay the false prince has arisen and then end of days has arrived. We have come to smite the forces of darkness, save the worthy and punish the guilty. Surely thoust knows enough of thy bible to see this already.”
“Yeah about that. I’ve been killing folks all my adult life and maybe a few before that and yet one of you guys went to slaughter a whole bunch of church going folks for being impure, but told me I had to choose a side. What gives with that?”
“Not all who dwell in Gods house are holy. To put it in a fashion thou mightst understand, if your house we’re plague’d with rats and vermin wouldst thou not have such creatures exterminated as being unclean in thine eyes? The angel you saw was simply cleansing His fathers house of the unclean and untrue.”
“Ok, I can get that but why bother killing them? I mean a bunch of demons were going to do that. Why not let them do the dirty work for them?”

The angel looked genuinely surprised and confused. “But this is the way the universe works. How can thou not know this?”
“Yeah, well just imagine I skipped that day in Sunday school. In fact let’s just pretend for the sake of argument I skipped every day.”

“If a demon kills a servant of Heaven his soul is denied to us. Likewise if one of us shouldst destroy a follower of the Fallen One then his soul cannot then enter hell and become a demon. Both sides hath been harvesting each other’s chosen souls to prevent them becoming soldiers for the other side. Indeed, it was the opening day of the war.”

“So one of you f**kers came down and took Jo to stop her being recruited and kicking some arse.”

“I know not this Jo of which thou spake.”

“Uh huh. Well you just lost a reason for me to keep you around. Might want to make sure you don’t run out of those. Ok then if you can’t tell me about Jo then I surely do hope you can tell me about the next most important person to me. How about Patrick?”

“Saint Patrick, he who did chase the snakes from Ireland and brought the word of Our Father unto the heathen therein?”

“No you twat! Patrick f**king Swayze. He who brought ‘Steel Dawn’ and ‘Ghost’ forth into our world and did provide us with the finest in entertainment.”

“I doest not knowth of this Patrick.”

“Well in that case I guess I am all out of reasons to talk to you.”

“In that case thou must release me and sendeth me on my way as thou promises.”

“Now just hold on there one second. I don’t recall saying I would let you go. I told you I wanted you in one piece and that is true. See if I’d had to cut you, well you’d have bled and I just happen to know some people who desperately need the kind of help your blood can give them so I didn’t want to waste a single drop of that precious stuff. See while you’ve been hanging upside down, all that pure blood of yours has been running to your head. Makes it easier to collect it when I do this.”

With that I dragged the sharp edge of the blade along the perfect skin of his throat cutting it open from ear to ear. The shining blue blood poured out running down his face and dripped into the bucket I’d placed beneath him. That blood could heal people and a lot of folks back at the hospital could get better than that. Some folks might have thought it was just plain bad gutting and angel like that but the way I saw it, they had brought this war to us and this was just helping to fix the damage they had caused. I left the body hanging and dripping gore while I went to find something to eat and drink. After that I’d get some sleep. I’d been awake a long time now and if I made a mistake and got killed, well that precious healing blood wouldn’t be helping anyone.

Good story, Alex.

A-Day +5.

I had expected to get more than one bucket of blood from the angel. Guess the bastards ran light. I’d dipped my hands in and gone over my wounds, then carefully scraped as much as I could back off my hands. I’d gotten lucky getting one angel as easily as I had. I wasn’t sure I would get another with as little fuss.

On the walk back to the hospital various scenarios kept playing out in my head where I’d get back there and find everyone dead. That last angel had really gotten to me and cracks were appearing in my belief that Joanne was still alive. If she wasn’t... well I’d make whoever was responsible pay even harder. And I was already planning on making them pay pretty damn hard. I’d had plans for this weekend and these selfish bastards had really messed them up for me. It was distracting me and that was dangerous. I had to concentrate, avoid any fights. Not that I was scared of a ruckus but I had a cargo that might get spilt.

I wondered about the two angels I’d encountered. That first one had been a right hard bastard. The second, a walkover. Were there different types of angels? I recalled the second mentioning he (or was it an ‘it’?) was a messenger. I might not be able to take the fight head on against an army of angels, and for some reason my head swam here, unwelcome images my mind was trying to reject wanted to break through. I staggered a bit and only just managed to put the bucket down before I threw up the little I’d eaten recently. Took me a few minutes to get my s**t back together and get back on my train of thought about a guerrilla war against the angels, hitting their messengers, and if they had supply lines taking them out.

Jo had been great at that kind of planning. She still is I corrected myself and tried to insist was what I believed. She’d also been (IS dammit!) a fantastic tracker. Surely she’d have been able to track me down. Of course she’d be tracking me down, it just had to be that something was stopping her. Maybe she was looking after a bunch of injured kids. Or, a treacherous voice in my head insisted, she is too badly injured, or dead. Some angel would have her pretty head mounted on his wall.

Remember that old Superman movie where he fights his evil side? If I could have ripped that other part of me out and fought it I would have right there and then and to damnation with anything else hearing the fight. My brain has always been like that, putting thoughts in that I hated and right now I’d had all of it I could stand. I pushed the thoughts out of my head and kept on towards the hospital.

But would anyone be alive there, once again came an unwelcome intrusion into my thoughts.

It was going to be one long ass day.

It was late in the day when the remains of the hospital came into view. It looked no better or worse than the last time I’d seen it. Entering it, things looked much the same, although it smelt a whole load worse. I knew from dozens of battlefield hospitals what those smells meant, infected wounds, dysentery, gangrene... each had its own particular odour and none were good.

Figured this was going to be a tough sell, persuading a bunch of doctors that I had a bucket of a magic elixir that could heal all wounds. Words really weren’t my thing. Then again given everything going on, maybe they’d be willing to believe in miracles.

I stood there like a dummy trying to figure out what to say. She saw me first though, the woman who is saved and who’d tried to sleep with me. Ok, well she had slept with me, but nothing else had happened even if she had wanted more. I really had to remember to ask people’s names more. She looked haggard and exhausted, but her blue eyes were bright enough to almost be glowing. I guessed she needed a good meal and two weeks r&r before she collapsed from exhaustion. Not much chance of a rest for anyone. These guys and girls looked like they’d been on campaign for months and it hadn’t even been a week yet.
“I thought you’d abandoned us!”
She ran over, throwing her arms around me and planted kisses all over my face. I blushed, unsure of what to do but enjoying the feel of her body against me. I thought of Jo and gently put her down. “No, I just went out to get something I thought might help. Didn’t want anyone else coming with me, hard enough to survive on my own never mind watching out for anyone else. And I didn’t want anyone trying to put me off. I’d have went and did it anyway so it would just have been wasted breath.”

“Did you find it? The thing that would help us?”

With a smile I tapped the bucket with my foot. “This here stuff will cure any injury you put it on.”

She looked doubtfully at the sparkling blue liquid. “What is it?” She asked me, confusion warring with doubt in her eyes.

Damn but those eyes were nice. She must have had her pick of men with those peepers. Normally a woman like that wouldn’t look at me twice. All it took to get them to come running was the end of the world.

If only teenage me had known that, hah! I’d have brought on the end of the world aged fourteen and a half.

“It’s something I, uhm stole from the angels. Keeps them alive. Just put it on the wounded and see what happens, but use it carefully.”

I hadn’t exactly lied there. Didn’t want to have to explain how I’d gotten it, at least not until after they’d seen it in action.

“Can you get any more?”

The question was asked hesitantly. I had no idea why and was sure there was something in the question I was missing.

“Maybe, but it isn’t easy. Take it, go start healing people.”

She still stood there just looking at me so I shucked my jacket and peeled my tee-shirt off and showed her the healed wounds on my back that she’d tended just a few days ago. “No way those could have healed up this quickly normally right? That blue stuff did it in a flash.”

She picked up the bucket and struggling a bit with the weight carried it over to the nearest beds. I watched as she dipped an almost clean cloth in and started rubbing it gently on what looked like a burns victim. The flesh started to heal up pretty much instantly and a whole crowd of medics gathered around excitedly. Other patients who saw what was happening started shouting for then to get healed as well while others clamoured wanting to know what was happening. I got worried someone would knock the bucket over so I quietened things down by firing a couple of rounds from one of my shotguns into the ceiling. That cowed them some. I roared a bit telling them to behave and they’d all get seen to. I hadn’t taken ten minutes since this whole thing kicked off to sort out what was happening or what I should be doing. I’d been keeping thoughts and feelings at bay and all of a sudden it all overwhelmed me in a rush and I shouted at the gathered crowd, taking it all out on them until I felt out of anger. After I’d let it all out I felt exhausted, drained and empty. My legs started shaking and I’d to grab onto a nearby desk to stay upright.

And I knew with an absolute certainty that my Jo was dead and with that I stumbled and fell, collapsing into unconsciousness.

A-Day +6.

I think it was the next day when I awoke. With that damn red sky though it could have been night, a week or a month later. The stubble on my face told me it was around a week since I last shaved. I hated being unshaven. A real man doesn’t need a beard to be a man.

She was sitting on a chair beside me, fast asleep. I figured she needed the rest and let her sleep on. I chuckled and thought she’d be mortified if she ever found out she’d had a bit of drool running out her mouth while she slept. I’d seen her naked and she looked good that way but dressed up in a doctors outfit like that, wow she was even hotter. I quietly got up and slipped out of bed. My clothes were nearby. There were several other occupied beds in this room, a variety of snores making an unpleasant mix, but as far as I could tell, no wounded. I guessed this room was where the medics crashed when they needed sleep. Moving carefully as so not to awaken anyone I crept out into the hall. Plenty of people were up and moving around. I guess the angel blood worked as advertised. I just hoped if it was needed (and I had no doubt that it would be), that I could get more just as easily. I hadn’t pulled on my jacket or weapons. I felt naked without them. Everyone stopped and clutched their ears as the impossibly loud trumpet sounded once again, strident and demanding this time.

I was really going to go to town on whoever the hell was blowing that. Next angel, I catch I am going to ask about it. If it tells me how to get the bastard, I might even let it live.

Big emphasis on might. Wouldn’t want anyone to start thinking I was going soft on them. They were more useful to me than the demons, but that wasn’t saying much since they were only useful dead, while so far the demons weren’t even that.

Maybe I’d find a use for them later though. If their blood hurt other creatures then maybe I could make some kind of weapon out of it although the angels didn’t seem the type to obligingly line up so I could dip them one at a time in a big ol’ vat of demon blood.

I guessed I should try and find the entranceway since that seemed to have become the hub of everything. It hadn’t occurred to me as being odd before that they had abandoned the wards are were treating people in the main hall. I mean from a military point of view it made sense, and even though it was packed with people, it was no where near capacity. Were there really that few of us left that only a few dozen people had came here for help? It was a good choice of place to come first. Surprising really that there hadn’t been gangs of looters hitting it for medicines. From the sounds I’d heard when I’d been waiting on the roof I knew we’d started preying on each other.

Typical really. Whole damn race is swirling around the pan ready to get flushed and rather than coming together and working to survive we just try to grab whatever we can off whoever else has got it. He who dies with the most toys still dies.

It occurred to me that instead of just randomly wandering around, that I could just follow the signs and get to the entranceway that way. That didn’t help stop me feeling like I’d been taking stupid pills. Maybe it was just the shock of everything that had happened finally taking its toil. A couple of more minutes and I got to where I wanted. One thing my wandering had shown me was that some of the areas of the hospital had collapsed. I guess that explained why everyone was clustered near the doorway. Easy to get out if the place was attacked again. Also said to me that someone wasn’t playing by the Geneva rules. Fair enough, I found they got in my way more than anything. The place was still a mess, but very few people were in bed. They looked hungry and dirty, but alive and well. My appearance caused a bit of a stir, everyone crowding around me, thanking me like I was some kind of messiah. I wondered what they’d have said if they’d known what had healed them. Looked like there had been enough to go around though and certainly deal with the worst injuries. Of course she was front and centre in the crowd. I let this go on for a couple of minutes, everyone shouting questions over each other, then put my hands out and said “Whoa folks, I am just a regular guy like the rest of you let’s calm things down a bit. I’m sure you’ve all got plenty of things to do so how about I talk to whoever is in charge and they can pass on the info.”

Took a bit of work to clear the crowd a bit but eventually, we got there and half a dozen of us went off to a large room together. Of course she made sure she was part of that group, clinging onto my arm like a homesick turd. That was maybe an unkind way of putting it, but I wasn’t used to dealing with people and they were starting to get to me. Hanging around them made my skin feel itchy and my brain irritable. I decided to try and get things over and done with as quickly as possible. I had a plan and I wanted to get working on it. All these people were just in my way at the moment, stopping me from getting things sorted and that irritated me too.

“Ok, I got some idea about what you’re going to ask me, so let me try and cut through all of that and answer what I can. The stuff in the bucket was 100% pure angel blood. I found out by accident that it heals one, so I caught one and bled it dry. Sounds nasty but it saved a lot of people. I reckon I can get more but it isn’t easy. As far as I can tell we are having the whole biblical apocalypse. God is p**sed at us and decided to clear the board. Or maybe him and old Scratch declared war on each other. The angels are clowns, the devils are jokers and here I am stuck in the middle with you.”

No one got that reference. What followed was exactly what I’d tried to avoid. Fifteen minutes of being asked questions that all I could reply to was “I don’t know.”

Stuff like why were we being attacked, cries that they had been good people, why had God abandoned them?

f**ked if I know, now what was the question?

One older guy told them God hadn’t abandoned them and that they were just surely being tested. From his garb, I took him to be the hospital Chaplin (did they even still have those?). I was glad he was there ‘cos he took the focus off me and the small group paid him more attention. The others turned on him, the conversation getting louder and shoutier. Fair play to the old guy, he held his ground not too bad. Seemed a bit crazy to me under the circumstances, but not only had the guy held onto his faith, but he claimed recent events had only strengthened it. I did find out from the argument that it had actually been angels that had hit the hospital. Sick and healthy alike had seemingly randomly been cut down while others had been ignored. I thought about telling them what the angel had told me, but didn’t want to become the focus of conversation again.

Besides the shouting was getting on my nerves than I could tolerate.

“ENOUGH!” I yelled, smashing my fists down on a metal trolley. The sudden harsh noise quietened everyone down. “Look, none of this is going to get us anywhere, and no offence preacher but ain’t none of us really knows jack s**t about what is happening. So how about we concentrate a little more on what we do know and how we keep on surviving. Once we get out of this mess then you can debate endlessly on what the hell is happening. Right now it seems to me that you got a whole building full of folks relying on us to help keep them alive and that raises a whole load of questions about the practicalities.”

You know, I think I’ve spoken more words in the week since the world went to s**t than I have in the previous six months. Jo was the social butterfly out of the pair of us.

Heh, if she heard me calling her a butterfly I’d get kicked right in the nuts.

Everyone was standing around staring at me. f**k, are they expecting me to lead them now? Bollocks to that idea. “Look, just concentrate on the important stuff. For the moment I guess you are ok medicine-wise. Shelter is sorted, so you look at water and food. You make plans for the stuff you can. The rest... Well you just sort of deal with that as it happens.”

That was the best speech I could give for inspiring someone else to lead.

One of the medics, an older man who for some reason I figured was a surgeon replied: “And what are you going to do?”

“Me?” Suddenly, the vague plans I’d been making to do something came into sharp focus, crystallising in my mind. “I am going to go out, find some weapons and train you lot how to survive. You’ve got the beginnings of an army here and that is what we are going to have to become if any of us are going to make it out of here alive. And by us I mean the human f**king race.”

If by some chance Jo was still alive out there I bet she’d be doing the exact same thing. In fact one of the things my inner voice kept tormenting me with was that if she was alive I’d have seen signs of the fightback by now. I was starting to hate sleeping because I’d dream about what might have happened to her.

Damn, but I wanted to get drunk and get laid.

I looked at the group in the room. Her eyes were on me and I thought well, no problems on the second part I thought. Pretty sure she wants a piece of me. Yup and I knew exactly what piece too.

She spoke up. “You are missing a weapon,” she said. Her voice was husky from a lifetime smoking, but I was pretty sure she was deliberately making it sound more so. She disappeared out of the room, the doors swinging in her wake.

The older man spoke up again. “The kitchens and cafeteria were well stocked to feed a few thousand people for days. We have no problem with tinned food and the like. As long as the power keeps up, we have frozen food. Without fresh produce though people’s health will start to suffer in the medium to long term. The faucets are still working, so we have water.”

“Right ok. So is there somewhere nearby we could get seeds and such from? You must have like a hospital garden or something you could plant... plants in. Work on things like that. Gather up anything you can use as weapons, guns, knives, whatever. Get inventive. You’ll need to defend yourselves until I can get back. Not expecting to be gone more than a few hours so you should be fine.”

As I finished talking she came swaying back into the room, holding something behind her. “The first time I saw you, you had one of these. Seems strange to see you now without one.”

And with that, she revealed a fire axe she’d kept hidden behind her. I took it with a smile and told her “Thanks em, ur...”

“Amanda. Amanda Price.”

“Well, I guess I should go grab my gear and get started. You people have some organising to do and I don’t want to be getting in your way.”

My throat was feeling dry from all this damn jawing. “See you back in the lobby.”

With that I walked out the room. I expected Amanda to follow me but she didn’t. Despite everything I felt a little sad that she didn’t. Someone did follow me out though, the old preacher. Old, he’ll the guy looked no more than twenty years ahead of me. Before I could tell him that I really didn’t need a sermon right now he jumped right in. “I am sorry you find it impossible to have faith right now, but I have enough for both of us. I won’t ask you to share my beliefs but I hope you don’t mind if I pray for you. I can’t explain why I still have faith in God, I just do.”

Right now I figured I could do with all the help I could get. “Sure padre. Go ahead.” Thinking about the angel I’d killed and the one whose arse I kicked I wasn’t sure if getting skyward was even an option for me anymore. If it all went (even more) tits up, someone putting a good word for me with the guy upstairs might be desperately needed. “What’s your name? Can’t keep calling you padre all the time.”

“Call me Lewis. Guessing you are ex-military since you called me padre.”

“Good guess. Army.”

“Ex-Navy man myself.”

I knew how these conversations went. We’d start swapping war stories. “Look pad... Lewis. I hate to be rude and if we get a chance later I’d love to talk more but I need to get moving. The more time I waste the bigger the chance someone else will get the stuff I am looking for.”

With that, I smiled an awkward smile and walked away. Maybe Lewis was a bit crazy, but if holding onto his god helped him get through then I wasn’t going to try and take that away from him. Finding my way back to the communal room I’d woken up in wasn’t easy, but I got there. I made sure I picked up my jacket and loaded myself with weapons, being careful to pack them so that either I could drop them easily or they wouldn’t get in my way in a fight. Funny how little slip-ups like getting caught in my webbing showed me I was too out of practise when I needed to be razor-sharp. Figured I’d be nice to Amanda and be carrying the axe she’d gifted me when I entered the lobby. If it came to a fight, chances are I’d be using the angel sword but she didn’t need to know that. I might be an a***ole, but I at least had manners.

I opened the door to the large entrance hall, great big smile plastered over my face and being all Mr Nice Guy, axe in one hand, shotgun in the other. Just a second after someone kicked open the main door and a bunch of what looked like Hells Angels came pouring in, all of them festooned with weapons. The first guy in screamed “Everyone one of you muthaf**kers get down on the floor. We want your drugs, food, weapons and most importantly your women! If you do exactly as we say we might just.”

Whatever he was going to say, the words were lost as my fire axe came spinning through the air. My throw was better than last time and split his dirty bearded face in two. Before he even knew he was dead, my pump action roared. At a short-range like this my gunfire was very democratic. Everyone got an even share. The bikers might be carrying for a fight but they sure as shut weren’t expecting someone to bring one to them. Hell, I’d reacted before I even knew what I was doing. Dropping the shotgun I barrelled into the group grabbing the axe handle as I did so. It made a sick 'sluck' type noise as my momentum tore it free. I had to try to keep them surprised and off-balance. I grabbed my knife and from then on in it was bloody butcher work. I kept thrusting out with the blade of the knife in one hand and slashing with the axe, feeling the impacts as they cut into the living meat. Must have taken me less than a minute to carve my way through the gang, somewhere around a dozen men. I got up on my feet, looking at the bodies at my feet, one man his leg twitched like the rest of his body hadn’t told him he was dead. I must have looked like some ancient, primeval god of war standing there, blood-soaked. The room was almost completely quiet, with just the drip of blood from my weapons breaking the silence. I’d fought Hells Angels before and they could be pretty hardy guys. Some of my favourite bar fights had been with them. These losers had to be wannabes. They should be grateful it was me they met and not the real thing. I at least made it quick. Looking through the glass doors I could see the bikers had one man left. An enormously fat guy who must have seriously strained the suspension of any bike he’d ever ridden on. Guess he was the lookout. I opened the door and stepped outside. He stood there, sweat pouring down his face. I noticed a dark patch forming at his groin and spreading downwards. At first, I thought he was unarmed but with a shink noise a blade popped out of the toe of his boot. That thing had to be eight inches long. How the f**k was he supposed to walk with something that impractical. Unless you took out your opponent with the first kick you’d be f**ked. Damn thing would get in your way every step and forget trying to run away. I gripped my knife and stride towards him and his nerve broke. Can’t say I blamed him. He’d just seen me take apart all his buddies and while I was breathing heavily I was sure I could take him. He tried running away, limping as the stupid boot knife got in his way every step. He had the weirdest most f**ked up back patch I’d ever seen on a denim jacket. His name was picked out in silver studs between his shoulder blades and read “Sven”. Below that was a picture of a guy with a bag filled with monkeys while other monkeys ran about his feet. The guy was reaching out to grab one of the wild monkeys.

No idea why anyone would collect the monkeys, but there you go.

I watched, bemused as he limped off down the street every second footstep marked by a trail of metallic tink, tink, tink noises as the blade tapped against the ground. Yeah, I could have taken him out with a throw of my blade, but it seemed like a total waste of effort. Pretty sure something out there would take care of him for me.

Looking back at the pile of bodies inside I figured that was a good start for my arsenal of weapons I needed to turn these refugees into warriors. By the time I got this mess sorted out, cleaned up and so on, I’d need to rest up. Finding weapons would have to wait until tomorrow now, but a good start had been made.

working on something that entered my head while walking this evening where i'm not supposed to walk at night, being night blind...my "bat senses" still work, but what if the bats decided to take them away?  :lookingup: ...hhhmmm....

A-Day +7.

I woke up with a three second existential crisis wondering where the hell I was and what was going on. The events of the last week came back to me in a rush. Man had it really only been a week?

Yeah, well when I get my hands on God he is going to put everything back exactly the way things were.

Well maybe with one change. Trash cans would be emptying themselves. f**k doing that s**t anymore. Ok, wait one second. Two changes. I’d get Swayze resurrected and we’d have a sequel to Steel Dawn.

The man was robbed of an Oscar for his performance in that one.

I ran over a mental list of our store of firearms and other weapons that we’d looted off the bikers. It had been a little surprising just how little panic there had been over the pile of dead bodies. Maybe people were still in shock. I had a funny feeling that more than one person would pay for this s**t later. Combat stress hits people in funny ways, sometimes immediately, sometimes years down the line but once that bug had bit you it never really let go. Some folks learned to live with it, others got all broken up inside.

Anyway, we had half a dozen shotguns, all sawn off double barrels and maybe a dozen shells for each. One handgun, a generic automatic that I wasn’t familiar with the make or model, enough ammo four full clips on fast loaders and an assortment of knives, some combat style ones, others some of the heavier types of kitchen knives. It wasn’t much but it was a start. I didn’t want to strip my home arsenal, but as uncomfortable as it made me I was starting to think I’d need to. We had enough to fend off an attack I guessed, but if a second one came... it would be down to hand to hand. I reckoned the demons, despite their blood would have to be taken with the blades. The angels were much more dangerous close up so the shotguns would be saved for them and since they didn’t have much of a range they’d have to be fired when the angels were as close as possible, like a second or two before they could gut you with one of those swords.

I really hoped I had some people with military experience in the group. Fire discipline would be vital if they were going to survive. We were fine for food for a while, but water might be a problem especially if blood kept raining from the sky.

I got up and made my way to the foyer. Most of the survivors were all in there including her, I mean Amanda. Lewis was sitting at a strangers bedside no doubt spreading the word of God. I asked if I could speak to them and got everyone gathered around in a wide circle. It felt incredibly uncomfortable standing there as the focus of attention, but it had to be done.

“I just wanted to chat to everyone. The world is in the crapper, been flushed as we are just swirling around. We have a pretty good base here, one we can defend from and maybe even grow our numbers and take our country, maybe even the world back. What I’d like to do is train you all up to fight back. We’ve got a few weapons and I can get us more, teach you how to use them. Maybe others can sort out stuff like growing our own food.”

That was as far as my pitch went. Someone shouted out “So you want to train us to be your private army and expect us to go out to fight for you!”

Another voice, a woman’s this time called out “What if we don’t want to learn how to fight, who the hell do you think you are?”

I was taken a bit aback. I had thought everyone would want to learn how to fight, if only to be able to defend themselves. A few people shouted out in support of my idea, but the majority seemed to be against me. Some of them very pretty ferocious about it too. How dare I expect them to fight for themselves I guess.

f**k ‘em then. If I’d had an HMG on me at that point I might just have sprayed it into the crowd. I turned my back on them and walked back to my room, the sound of their jeers ringing in my ears. f**k this for a game of soldiers. I’d leave them the stuff I’d taken off the bikers and let them figure it out on their own. Anyone who wanted to could come with me, but the first time anyone rolled through here I figured it was game over for the rest. Didn’t matter if it was demons, angels or raiders. I’d never been overly troubled by a conscience and wouldn’t have even a twinge of guilt about leaving them.

About half way to my room Amanda caught up with me. “You are leaving aren’t you?”

“Sweetheart, I can’t protect everyone here myself. Group is too large. And I am not going to train a few to defend the rest who are too damn stupid to learn to fight their own battles. You can come with me if you want. Anyone else who wants a fighting chance can come with me too.”

Her eyes lit up as I mentioned coming with me. Crap, she might have taken that the wrong way. Well that was something I’d have to deal with when it came to it. It was either that or leave her here to die with the rest.

“Go pack anything you can’t live without, meet me in my room and we’ll be on our way.”

She smiled and practically skipped off. I watched her go thinking that damn but she had a cute butt. Then I chuckled and continued to my room. It wouldn’t take me long, I didn’t like taking more than ten minutes to pack and be ready to go when on ops. You just never knew when you’d have to evac in a hurry. I figured though Amanda would take longer than me so I forced myself to slow down and relax. Well I suppose they hadn’t asked me to save them. Everything I’d done for them had been off my own bat, so they didn’t owe me anything.

Gratitude would have been nice though.

I was only half way through sorting out my kit when there was a soft knock at my door. I was shocked that Amanda could have got ready before me, but when I shouted come in, it was Lewis the preacher who entered. “So you are off then?”

“No point in staying for people who are lining up to become sushi. I’m leaving them in a much better state than I found them. Guess that is all the chance you want. You can come with us you know.@

“Thanks but I am going to stay with them. God will provide. My place is here with them.”

I shrugged as I pulled my backpack on. “If that’s what you think is best padre then it’s what you need to do. The way I heard it told though your god says he help those who help themselves. I wish you the best of luck though and hopefully we’ll meet again someday down the line. I don’t know you well but I get the impression you are a good man. I hope you make it through this.”

“You too my friend. I’d try and persuade you to stay but...”

He let his words drift off into nothingness. We shook hands and with a regretful look left my room. I just couldn’t understand how he could keep his faith. I mean ok it was pretty much proof that God existed, and I guess Satan for that matter, but it also said to me that one was as big a bastard as the other.

I waited for about an hour before Amanda arrived. If there had been a side exit I’d have left that way, but as it was I was going to have to leave by the front doors. I guess Lewis had spread the word about me leaving. Everyone was gathered in silence and stared at us as we walked into the foyer. I looked at them and said “Anyone wants to come with me is welcome but you’ll been to keep up and learn how to pull your weight.”

There were a whole mix of different expressions on the faces gathered around. I wasn’t any good at reading people in situations like this and couldn’t tell if anyone was wavering or not, but none of them, even those who had supported my plan broke ranks.

f**k ‘em.

I headed to the door, holding it open for Amanda to go through. Someone in the crowd yelled “Coward”, then threw a flattened tin can at me. It bounced off my left shoulder and clattered onto the floor. I felt my anger rising and I grubbed my shotgun tighter, but Amanda put her hand in my free one and pulled me outside whispering to me to just walk away.

We headed off into the ruddy lit streets, hand in hand like that.

“It just occurred to me that other than you are a mad axe man I know nothing about you. What is your name?”

“Jackson,” I replied, “but everyone usually calls me Jacks.”

“Mad Axe Jacks,” she mused. “Well it rhymes.”

Well I guess I’ve been called worse things.

A-Day +8.

We had ended up spending the night in the ruins of my old house. We slept separately, although both in the same room. I slept on the floor while she was in the spare bed. I think Amanda had wanted sex still but I still wasn’t ready for that, especially not in the bed I’d shared with Jo. My mind kept swinging between believing that Jo was out there looking for me and accepting that she was gone.

I wasn’t ready to move onto another woman though which was funny because both me and Jo had hardly been totally exclusive. We both accepted that things happen in combat zones but we also left those things there and didn’t take them any further and hell, sometimes things happened when you kicked back on R&R and we’d both been fine about that too. That brought back memories of the two weeks we’d spent blowing a years wages in an Eastern European brothel. Jo could match any man for debauchery. Getting involved with Amanda though, that felt like something different and while I might have been fine with bringing a third person into our bed (or as I recalled six extra people for one particular orgy that had broken the bed. Afterwards we’d given the bed a fitting send off with a drunken Viking funeral. As fine a see off as any bed could hope to have and I have no doubt it was witness to much shagging up in Valhalla even now), that felt like I’d be bringing a third person into our marriage. The only way I’d ever have been fine with that would have been if me and Jo had, had any kids. Not that her body pressed against me wasn’t all kinds of tempting.

f**k, maybe I’d get put up for a sainthood for saying no. Pretty sure no one ever had the last words “I wish I’d had less sex.” Then I thought of the fleeing biker,with the name Sven on the back of his denims. Maybe his parents were the exception. They should definitely had sex at least one time less. I blamed the Catholic Church and it’s anti contraception stance for the existence of a lot of a***oles out there.

Then again maybe God agreed with me and that’s why the whole s**t storm we were engulfed in was just him cleaning up the mess. I’d had the same dream again, the one about all those people I had known waiting for me. It was a bit disturbing that most of them were dead or were people I hadn’t seen in years, nor since I’d stopped working regularly as a merc. A lot of guys liked to call themselves independent military contracted. Seriously what kind of f**ked up p***y calls them self that? Meat Loaf never sung a song about Rock & Roll independent f**king military bastard contractors. Deadpool wasn’t know as the independent military contractor with the mouth y’know.
Bunch of jumped up pretentious twats. f**king sounds like they provide office supplies to second line soldiers. A man shouldn’t be afraid to call himself what he really is. Unless he is a kiddy fiddler or a rapist. Then he ought to be terrified. Especially if I got my hands on him. Never could stand those types. Spoils of war my arse. Any grunt I caught pulling that s**t never got a second chance.

I slipped out of bed silently. For a big guy I’ve always been quiet on my feet, even as a kid. I replenished my ammo and picked out a few lighter guns I figured would be suitable for Amanda to learn how to shoot with. I figured maybe I could work up to something she could spray and pray with like an Uzi. I stripped all the weapons down, cleaned them and rebuilt them. Always paid to keep everything in working order. Unless you are given a piece of s**t weapon of course. All you can do when you are issued one of them is hope.

I heard someone moving around upstairs and figured Amanda was up and I should go see her, and if it wasn’t her moving around then I really needed to get up there. I almost charged the basement door, worried that I was going to lose two women in two weeks.

She isn’t your woman though. Not unless you decide you want her. If Jo was alive she’d have been back here for weapons, you’d have seen her taking the fight to those bastards. People would have listened to her if she had offered to train them how to fight.

And if they hadn’t she’d have punched a few of them out until the rest fell in line.

Damn those treacherous inner thoughts. They never seemed to stop p**sing me off. And people wonder why I am always so angry.

It was just Amanda moving around. I’d known it wouldn’t have been Jo. She’d never have made that much noise walking around, but hope had still built itself up in my chest that she’d be standing there, her sexy, wicked grin on her face. Of course, I’d have had to explain why Amanda was here. I hid my disappointment, set a smile on my face and explained to her that we’d have breakfast and then I’d teach her how to shoot a bit. Enough of the kitchen was left for me to put something together. I set a camp fire in the middle of the floor and boiled up some ration packs. They weren’t exactly tasty but we could survive on them for as long as we needed.

We were both distracted by a roar from the skies about. For several moments I wondered what fresh hell was coming and then I saw them. Three jets, soaring through the skies, long contrails forming behind them. Hot damn, the human race was still in the fight. We watched as a pair of angels flew out of the clouds to meet them. They fired off a couple of missiles but they avoided them easily enough and then closed on each other. I could see the tracer rounds, a bright fiery red against the dull red of the sky as they opened up with their cannons. One of the angels came tumbling out of the sky, ripped apart by the heavy rounds. The other angel dived at one of the aircraft and I watched in amazement as it’s flaming sword cut along the side of the plane, separating one wing completely. The remaining two aircraft flew on and soon disappeared from my sight, while the surviving angel plunged earthwards presumably in search of his fallen companion. Well I guess they had one thing going for them over the hellspawn. Couldn’t imagine one of them looking for a fallen friend. Well I’d seen them crawl over the dead and dying from their own side trying to get to me.

Well soon enough I was pretty sure I’d have them crawling over their dead and dying to get away from me. I was going to teach them to fear me.

Anyway it was good to know someone else was fighting back. Hell if they could get jet fighters in the air that meant they had supplies, fuel and all sorts of organisation. Not to mention a permanent base. It cheered me up inside no end.

Just then the loud trumpet type noise sounded. I wished I’d asked the angel or even Lewis what the f**k was making that noise. It was angry and strident this time and filled me with rage until it faded away leaving our ears ringing. I could see Amanda was similarly affected, and I roared defiantly at the uncaring red sky, joined by her unholy scream.

There we were howling at a moon we couldn’t even see (and hadn’t seen since this whole thing started). My anger drained away like a bath of water with a hole blown in the side and was replaced by uncontrollable laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. Amanda looked at me quizzically at first and then joined me in a wild abandon. We rolled on the ground, clutching at each other’s arms and giggled like school kids.

As our laughter subsided she looked right at me, her eyes staring deep into mine. Then she leaned forward and kissed me deeply. My first instinct was to shove her away, but I didn’t, returning her kiss with equal passion. I don’t know how long we kissed each other for, but when it finished we stood up, brushed ourselves off and I spent the rest of day teaching her how to use and care for a variety of guns. She was a quick learner but then again she was a doctor so had to have some brains about her. I kept wondering if the kiss had been a mistake and if it had out an end to whatever it was that had the potential to happen between us, but when I was heading through to bed she took me by the hand and led me to the bed, stripped off and climbed into bed and lay there invitingly. She pulled the cover up so it was just covering her nipples and no more, all the while smiling at me coyly. I shucked my jacket off and practically tore my tee shirt in two getting it off. My boots (black Doc Martins with steel toe caps, sadly not easy to get for the past few years), were a bit harder to get off. In my excitement, my fingers fumbled with the knots like an overeager teenager getting laid for the first time, but eventually I got there.

Hardly the most romantic moment in history.

I stood up, letting her see my muscled chest and the network of scars across it. For some reason women liked to see them, running their fingers along them like they were tracing some route on a map. It looked odd though now where angel blood had healed parts up, leaving new skin that felt baby soft.

I slowly unbuttoned my trousers, doing my best to look sexy while doing it. This stuff is a lot harder for men than women. A woman wearing nothing but tights is sexy as hell. A man wearing just socks and suspenders (or garters as they call them in the US. Seriously what is with that? Garters are something women wear), ridiculous looking. Pretty sure even Fabio on his best day couldn’t carry that look off, so ladies if your man makes an effort there, remember he is trying and be kind. Or at least try not to snort with laughter. Real buzz kill that one.

I peeled my jeans down my legs, but left my boxers on. I was acutely aware that I could do with a good clean, but then Amanda was in the same state. I climbed into bed and she wrapped her slender arms around me bringing me in for another kiss, deeper and longer than our first one. My hands wandered over her body, stroking her softly. I disengaged my mouth from hers and moved my lips down to embrace her nipple, teasing it lightly with my tongue and teeth and enjoying the feeling of it hardening in my mouth. Then placing kisses from her breast up to and along her neck I found her mouth again, our tongues searching each other out. Part of me was surprised we hadn’t just torn our clothes off and went straight for it, but we both seemed content to just go more slowly. I moved slightly away from her and whispered to her to lie face down then cracked my knuckles, getting my fingers ready. I placed my hands at the base of her neck and started massaging her gently. I kneaded the hard, tense knoted muscles feeling them melt. It surprised many people how good I’ve always been at doing them. Never had any training or anything, just a natural talent. Anyway, from there I worked my way out to the shoulders and in again.

I could tell Amanda just wanted me right now, but I’ve always liked a bit of foreplay, teasing out the moment.

After easing her arms I worked my way down her spine, my fingertips darting in and out of the lumps that marked the spine and was rewarded with her moan of pleasure at the feeling. I’d learned that particular trick from an ex who had been otherwise a total b***h and a waste of space but I did at least learn that trick from her. I worked on her back, side and hips, my hands working in circles. Shame I didn’t have some skin cream to rub in. Or scented candles come to think of it.

Hey, no one ever said I couldn’t be romantic.

Must have rubbed her back for at least two hours before I decided she was ready.

What happened next? Well that’s between me and her. Did you think you were going to get your jollies reading about my sex life did you? I don’t bloody think so! Let’s just say it was better than anything you’ve ever had and it went on for several hours.

Realised I'd written a couple of days worth of stuff without posting them.

A-Day +9.

I suddenly sat bolt upright in bed as the bedroom door was kicked open. There was Jo standing and boy did she look p**sed.

Kinda understandable really.

Still what held my attention wasn’t the return of my beloved from the dead, but the flame thrower she had in her hands and pointing in my direction. My mouth flapped open and shut as I tried to think of something to say, but I’d never been great with words as I tried to cover Amanda with the quilt as if it would either hide her from Joanna’s view or shield her from Jo’s vengeance.

With a completely blank expression she pulled the trigger and time seemed to slow right down as I watched the gout of flame emerge from the nozzle, growing and spreading. It was terrible and terrifying but as the same time strangely beautiful. I tried to roll to the side, grab Amanda and throw us both clear of the oncoming wave of death about to wash over us but I just couldn’t move fast enough and I felt the heat start to blister and burn the skin from my back, spreading and enveloping me in its deadly embrace. Amanda began to shriek and scream and the flames reached her oh so soft skin, causing it to blister and blacken and her hair caught fire. My vision went as my eyeballs popped or melted. All I knew then was screams and pain.

I awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. My torso was bathed in sweat. A sense of deja vu came over me and my heart raced in my chest as I looked over at the bedroom door, fully expecting my nightmare to be a prophesy, but the door stayed obstinately closed with no revenge seeking wife out for my blood.

A semi awake Amanda murmured “What’s up?” Her voice sounded strangely childlike when she was sleepy. “Nothing baby, just thought I heard a noise, but it was nothing.”

“Make love to me again” she said and pulled me down to her soft, warm body.

Despite my nightmare it seemed rude to refuse. I couldn’t sleep afterwards though. Thoughts of what I would do if I was wrong and it turned out Jo was still alive raced through my mind as Amanda’s nude form lay curled up beside me, her head on my chest.

We spent the night like that. She would wake up a bit, we’d make love. It would start off slow and gentle and end up a wild thrashing of limbs and screams of passion. Then she’d sleep some more. In the end it took an urgent need for the toilet to get us out of bed. I let her go first, watching her bum as she walked out of the room. I once had a girlfriend who came in and used the toilet while I was in a bath. Never known anything to kill the passion in a relationship as quickly as seeing someone take a pee.

Mind you, I’ve heard some people get turned on by that kind of thing. Seriously, when the hell does that become sexy or erotic? Urgh! And don’t get me started on two girls one cup. I’ve always tried to be open minded about trying new things, but no way in hell... Although these days hell seemed to be exactly where we are.

I tried to spend the rest of the day in weapons training but given the choice between shooting guns and sex, well sex won out every time. It was as if all the pressure and tenseness of the past days were all being released in a bout of frenetic love making.

Gee, I hoped we still had running water for the shower or bath.

I had the best nights sleep that night since this whole thing had kicked off. None of the previous nights lying awake plagued by internal monologues. Possibly I was just too damn worn out for anything else.

A-Day +10.

I dreamed of Jo again, burning us both as we lay together.

My eyes shot open and I sat bolt upright in bed again. The room door was shut and no avenging angel stood there ready to kill us. I’d seen some pretty bad ways to die and being burnt alive seemed to me to be one of the worst. Amanda was still sleep, curled up beside me, snoring gentlyMy body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. I wiped my forehead, sighed and lay back down. My heart was hammering in my chest as if I’d been through a hard fight, or speaking in public. I knew there was no way I was getting back to sleep but I put my arms around Amanda, cupping my hands over her breasts and her still hard nipples. We just lay like that, me holding her. I could feel myself getting hard again with the closeness of her nude body but decided against waking her up for more sex as tempting as the thought was. I’d have to guess that we lay like that for a couple more hours before she awoke.

And then we had more sex.

I lay in the afterglow and wondered how long we could survive just on my stores at the house. I had months worth of rations for two people. We’d bought them just in case without ever really expecting to have to use them. Of course the sensible thing to do would be to figure out where those planes had came from and make our way there. I however was thinking about another idea. Back when I’d been on the building, looking for an angel to ambush I’d noticed they were all flying in from the same direction. What if we were to head off that way and find out where the angels were coming from. Hit them back. Then find the demons base and hit that too. Teach them we could hurt them and badly. Maybe they’d take their war elsewhere? It was a slum hope but I could think of anything better. I figured I would need a few more days to make plans and either decide on leaving Amanda secure here, or actually get her trained up and take her with me where I could protect her better.

Of course the day didn’t quite work out that way. She’d been leaning over the table making breakfast and I couldn’t resist tearing her pants down, taking her bent over the table. No sooner had we finished when I heard a roaring outside. A couple of demons were out on the street. One had two faces on the front of its head and flesh that roiled and ran like boiling wax. Other than that it looked fairly humanoid, although no one I’ve ever seen had quite this many muscles or bright red skin. At a guess I’d say it weighed in somewhere around 300 pounds. The other one was stuck figure thin and half the height of its companion. Jagged spikes grew out of its head and joints. It moved in a jerky, marionette like way. The noise came from the big one. I pulled my jeans up and quickly buttoned them, grabbed the angel sword then went outside bare chested and letting out a roar of my own as a challenge to them. The big one came lopping straight at me, while the smaller one moved in a semi-circle, looking to outflank me. I got the impression despite the size difference that the smaller one was the greater threat. Big red came in swinging and I dodged a punch that broke the paving slab it hit instead. A single punch like that would take my head off at the shoulders. My sword lashed out like the flame of a candle in a sudden sharp wind, cutting through Satanic flesh, muscle and bone. I hadn’t quite severed the arm, but it hung there useless by the remains of a few tendons. It roared again, all four eyes staring with a hate filled gaze at me. It grabbed the crippled arm with its good one and tore it off, swiping at me with its own arm.

I was not going to be beaten to death with the soggy end of someone’s arm.

Ducking under the improvised weapon and feeling the burn of a thousand drops of burning blood splashing on my chest and back. I rise up like a tsunami nearing the coast, the tip of my sword straight up and took the thing between its two chins, digging deep into its head. With a grunt of effort I shoved the sword up again and with a noise that was oddly reminiscent of the sound of someone biting into a crisp apple the sword punched through the top of its skull, a chunk of it falling loose with a clump of black matted hair attached. I put my foot to its chest and pulled the sword back to be, separating the two faces. A cry of pain escaped me as a feeling like a thousand fish hooks being raked across my back exploded. Damn, that second demon was fast and wiley.

I jumped forward away from its reach, turning around and almost stumbling on the rubble. My blade swung out, more to keep the demon back than any serious attempt to hit it. It looked at me curiously with thin slitted eyes on its triangular head and made a dry rattling noise. It took me a few seconds to realise it was laughing. My back burned hellishly and I could feel the blood running freely down my back.

What did these thing have about ripping my back open? I feinted left and slashed right, but the creature dodged avoiding my blow adroitly as I watched my blood drip from its raking fingertips. It moved to my side and those fingertips inscribed four lines of agony down my side.

Damnation, this thing was just toying with me. I switched tactics, going on the defensive and hoping to fend it off. I couldn’t believe it when faster than I could react it stepped inside my guard, stood right beside me and with one outstretched finger tore a gash in my forehead. Blood would run down from that and blind me. Was it going to take me apart piece by piece? I staggered backwards, trying to wipe the blood from my face with my free hand, but with its incredible speed the thing barrelled into me. I felt it’s protrusions pierce me in more places than I could count and fell backwards. Breathing was hurting now. From the jagged, stabbing pains it was clear some ribs were badly broken. I had enough presence of mind to keep a grip on the sword although with bits of me that were never designed to see daylight poking through to the wrong side of my skin already I wasn’t sure how much good it would do me. Grit dug into the already lacerated skin of my back, just one of what felt like hundreds of pains assaulting my body. One thought seared it’s way into my pain soaked brain, undeniable and unchangeable. I was losing this fight. I could hear his dry rasping laughter. “Did you really think you could beat a Duke of Hell mortal? You have cost me my favourite servant and for that you are going to pay.”

Well at least he didn’t speak like one of those damn angels with the thee’s and thou’s. I vaguely wondered why that was. Maybe they met more humans than the other side. Yeah, that sounded about right. My leg exploded in pain as what felt like ten thousand soldier ants bit into it. I arched by body and swung my foot around hoping to catch my tormentor but finding only air.

What would Swayze do now? Kicks rained down on me, and stamped on my chest. I coughed up blood. My stomach exploded in pain as I felt a hand sink into my guts and rip a handful of innards out. I tried to move but my beaten and broken body wouldn’t, or just plain couldn’t obey me any longer. I’d lost fights before, but I’d always made sure the other guy knew he’d been in a fight. This one was shredding me and I hadn’t been able to even lay a finger on him.

It finally got through even my thick skull that I might not get up from this fight. Something grabbed my other foot and wrenched it violently to the side popping it right out of the socket. Then my entire body was dragged to the side as I heard a wet, tearing sound. Fresh pain overwhelmed me and I finally went into a numb shock as I realised my right arm had just been ripped off. As I sank rapidly into blackness my last thought was “Gonna need more than a bucket of angel blood to fix this.”

This chapter is going to be a bit longer than the others, but here is it so far.

A-Day +11.

I can tell you I was pretty surprised to open my eyes again. I had no idea where I was or how I’d gotten there but I seemed to be at the end of a dimly lit cave. I couldn’t see where the light was coming from either but something was providing a dull light, just enough for me to see around myself and the walls of the tunnel I found myself in. The walls were smooth and straight. Seeing only one direction I could head in and no reason to stay put I headed on down the tunnel.

I have no idea just how long the tunnel was or how long it took me to walk along it. The light never changed or wavered and I felt no hunger or tiredness with the passage of time so I guess it couldn’t have been as long as it felt. At some point though I found myself standing at a crossroads. The the left I could feel heat coming down the corridor. It felt like the kind of heat that would quickly get very uncomfortable. Was I in a network of caves in a volcano? It was a wide path but it turned sharply off to the left preventing me seeing very far along it. Yeah, that route was out. To the right, the tunnel slopped upwards steeply. It was much narrower than the opposite path, but as far as I could see it was a straight as a ruler. If I continued on the way I was going the tunnel seemed to go on just as it was. Mentally I shrugged my shoulders and continued straight ahead. The air grew damp. A volcano with a lake or underground river? The air itself became slightly misty, something I’d have thought impossible in such a confined space. Quite quickly I found my vision down to only a few inches as the mist swirled around me. The thought of turning back never occurred to me and I pressed on through the mist. Or was it a fog? I could never remember the difference.

There must have been some funky mineral deposits in the rock. Occasionally I’d see a flash of brightly coloured light. I felt a strong urge to investigate... no that’s not the right word. I felt an urge to chase the flashing lights, one moment yellow and then somewhere else an unknown distance away a right red ribbon of light would momentarily flash and disappear. I didn’t trust this feeling inside to follow the blinking lights, fixed my view firmly forwards and pushed on ahead.

The flashes faded and at some point I realised that the cave walls had either widened or the cave had ended and I was in the open air. I had no idea when the cave had changed, only that it had. Sounds drifted through the opaque air, things that might have been shouts, screams or the cries of animals. Thinking back it seems strange the things that didn’t occur to me. I hadn’t checked myself for injuries, or to see if I was carrying weapons. Things like that I had been ticking off my mental check list every day of my working life. Waking up in a strange place, no idea where I was or how long I’d been out, s**t like that should have been the first thing I thought of, but all I did was keep heading straight on with no other thought in my mind. Neither Amanda or Jo crossed my train of thought. Then again I am not sure much did.

The mist started to thin a little I think. I could see something dark through it. Something big. It was straight ahead and as I got closer, it loomed larger and larger, taking the proportions of some monstrous mountain. One that would dwarf anything I had ever seen in earth.

We ain’t in Kansas no more Toto, I thought to myself. Where the hell was I though?

I started to hear more noises through the mist. It was hard to hell which direction they were coming from.

I reached the base of the mountain. And when I say base, I mean it. The mountain just jutted out of the ground. A monolith reaching higher than I could see. One step it was flat ground, the next it was climbing up. The mist had cleared as I reached the mountain. I spun around looking for the bank of cloud and saw only a flat grey plain reaching as far as the eye could see.

“Ah,” I decided. “Must be in southern Utah. Explains the weird weather too.”

The lower part of the mountain was covered in barns and spikes. People were trying to crawl through it, but were making slow, if any progress. This was the first time since I awoke that I could remember having any real thoughts of my own beyond keep going forward. Must have been tens of, if not hundreds of thousands of people trying to climb past those sharp rocky outcrops. It was like watching them trying to get through barbed wire. They wailed and cried in a way that if I could have felt pity would sure as hell be piteous.

“So I am having a weird f**king dream about being in southern Utah?”
Couldn’t think of anything else that would make more sense.

Having nowhere else to go I figured I might as well climb the mountain. Now here is the really f**ked up part. I could see clear paths through the twisted rocks that one could take. I called to the forsaken climbers but none of them took any notice of me.

f**k ‘em. I had, had my fill of ungrateful people unwilling to help themselves recently. I pushed on up the mountain past the writhing masses. I could see no sun, nor other source of light but I could see like it was the brightest day. It climbed up at steep ass slope for a couple of hours following a twisted and winding path, but eventually I came to a smooth high wall. It reached as far as I could see to the left and to the right. Some of the people who had crawled through the hooks and spires and had found freedom continued crawling and all in the same direction. With nothing better to do, I set off on the same path. I started to feel an incredible sense of peace and serenity. The same aura I’d felt before when angels were around.

Crap. My day was about to get even worse.

The crawling bodies around me were all joining a long queue. It stretched on for miles. Yeah well bollocks to waiting in that. I pushed my way past the crawling masses, suppressing a shudder at the touch of so many people.

Eventually I could see the head of the queue. Sure enough as I expected, there was an angel. It stood in front of an opening in the wall. Each of the crawlers would go up to it and the angel would do something to their faces and they’d pass through the gate. Whatever was further up the mountain, this seemed to be the way to get there.

As I got closer I could see the angel was holding one of those swords. With a fancy and intricate flourish it would run the tip of the blade over the foreheads of the crawlers and then they’d stand up and pass through the gate.

Yeah, f**k that s**t. I was going through the gate and I wasn’t going to stand there meekly and let it carve me up. I strode over, my best confident and purposeful walk on and went to talk past the angel. It reached out with one arm to block my path and with a confused look on its face intoned “If thou seeks penance thou must come on thy knees and present thyself to be marked. As thoust cleanses thine self of each sin thou approachist the gates of Heaven and only then can thoust ascend once thine sins have been washed away and be one with thine own Lord.”

Not in Utah then. Kansas maybe?

“Look I am kinda in the wrong place and I’m not really looking to get to heaven. So how about you just let me past. I’ll find where I need to be and both of us will miss a whole load of trouble neither of us wants.”

The look of confusion on its beatific face increased. “Hast thou foundest the wrong afterlife?”

“There is more than one?”

“Verily. As each region of the earthly plane has its own Gehenna so does the eternities have its own ending. As angels and devils ravage the lands you call western Europe and North America so the goddess Kali reaps in India and Ragnarok rages in the Scandinavian countries.”

So the apocalypse was happening worldwide but in different ways. Guess I’d need to kick more than one god's arse. Fair enough. I had plenty of boot to go round.

“Hold on, I thought God, like your god, was the one true God? You are telling me there is more than him but your holy books and priests lied?”

The angel seemed on surer ground now, the confusion vanishing and being replaced with surety. “No. He is thine one true and only God.”

“But there are other gods?”

“No.”

“What about Kali?”

“She is thine, one true god, also.”

“So this is like a father, son and Holy Ghost thing? The whole three in one right?”

“No,” he replied sounding slightly exasperated. “Kali is a separate god. Thoust mortal mind is not meant to comprehend godhood, only to accept this word of God with faith in your heart.”

Part of me really wished Lewis were here. He might have been able to understand what the hell the angel was talking about. I decided it was all a load of bollocks and that I should change tack.”

“Say, that’s an awfully nice sword you’ve got there...”

A little while later I was walking on the other side of the wall, carrying the sword over one shoulder with a jaunty stride. I even tried whistling, but although I’ve tried all my life it’s a skill I’ve never been able to master. I hadn’t killed the angel but if they bruised then he was going to have a black eye for a while. I don’t tend to kill people if I don’t have to.

Of course my definition of ‘don’t have to’ is a bit broader than most folks.

yes i have actually, i'm a poet of sort, Originally a girl i was into's boyfriend years ago wrote poetry and to get try and get her into me which didn't work sadly,
i thought to myself if he can do it so can i. so i challenged myself one of the RARE times i've done that in my life. so what i did was not to ask for help from anyone i went online and did some searching  and found a site that sadly just closed called the starlight cafe which as a fantastic site for poetry and i read a slew of them
and it slowly begin to sink in how to do it.

so i thought to myself my brother was getting married that year this is in 2000 by the way so for a present i'll try a poem that i can give him, but whatever i tried i was unhappy with and i recently found the one i was working on and it was awful pure awful. so i tried and this and that and where i would start one and was unhappy with it and threw it away. i gave up trying to figure out to write him and his wife a poem by the way as i never could figure out what to say or how to say it.

but at apparently at some point in October the 13th apparently i finally found one that i was happy with that i didn't think was very good at the time, but recently i read it 20 years later and it's not bad actually it's better than i thought it was back than. anyways this is one i wrote last week i was lying in bed before my alarm went off cause i had to go to work that day and the word Youth came to me and the first paragraph too.

though it doesn't feel finished to me anyways, here it is


The Lost Days of Youth 1-7-20

Youth
Youth Is something we have & Something we all lose


Youth is something we all Treasure when we have it and when it's gone
Youth is nothing but Memories both good and bad

Something that gives us pleasure and pain
something that we all wish had once we lose it and wish we had it when it's gone

 :thumbup:

1stly i'm glad you liked it, this one i wrote the other day and these days i dunno why but i'm more open to  more people reading my poetry. not that i had a problem with it before but lately i think i just am curious what others think of that's all. anyways here's a newer one i wrote the other day.

and it's called  "The Night Sky' date 1-21-20

I'm just a dreamer
a dreamer beyond the stars & the moon and the sun
A Dreamer forevermore

Forevermore  Shall i Be
I look high into The sky at the stars & The moon
And the Darkness surrounding Me

The stars seem to come alive & as I gaze at the constellations
They Seem to Awaken from a dead Sleep
I shake my head in disbelief and wonder and than like a  dream they are still once more

and i start to wonder if what i saw was my eyes playing tricks on me or were the stars in fact alive for a few brief moments.

--------------------------------------


what do ya guys think?

It has a strong push behind it. Like an ocean wave. I like that.  :smile:

i have tons more and thank you, i was listing to Ozzy's Song Dreamer and than a girl i know once called me her dreamer that's where the idea of it came from really and i was remembering her calling me that and that's where the poem came from really

this is an old one i wrote when i was in my 20's i'm 41 so that's how old it is lol

anyways it's called "If I had The Power" no date

If I had the power to make your everday happy than i would
If I had the power to give you the stars i would

if i had the power to take all the bad in the world away than i would
if i had the power to replace hate with love than i would

if i had the power to control the weather i would give you rainbows everyday
If i had the power to take away all the negativity the world has i would
If i could give you peace of Mind than i would
-------------------------------------------

what do ya think? a lot of these i don't remember even writing cause so many years i think has passed

this one i really like and i wrote this one recently. here it is

The Stage
dated 1-12-20 so I wrote this one recently.

Life's like a show when you are born the curtain rises & An Applause erupts louder & Louder so loud it's almost deafening

As You Get Older The Audience  Gets Few & Fewer until only certain people are left standing
When You Feel Alone the audience sounds so quiet you can hear the crickets in the audience

When you  Feel Loved The Audience is loud and deafening
By The Time You Die The Audience can go either way if you were sad and lonely  The audience feels dead and empty. 

But If you Feel Loved and are loved The Audience Erupts in Applause
You Take your Final Bow &  The Curtain Slowly very slowly comes down one final time

this one i just wrote and i really love it and consider it the best one i've ever done

here it is  The Dawn of a New Day 1-26-20

Arise my child it's the dawn of a new day
The Ghosts and goblins yesterday have gone away back where they belong in the shadows
Where The Ghosts and goblins Live
Where  Dreams are made and come true
Where Love is made and where love is broken

We live in a world of Dastardly Men and Dastardly Women
Where People steal & Rob things that don't belong to them

You Are our future and you are our past
A Future  where anything & a Past that is best left forgotten
You Are Part of our future and our past where anything can happen and does happen

You Are our dreams
You are my dream
A Dream Come True
A Dream That has a little piece of me into the world

a Little piece that can make a difference & Does make a difference
You Are part of love that was created by god
And Part of a love that was done through hard work
& Perseverance & Persistence

You are my world
You are my dream
You are everything i could hope for and did hope for
You are my future and you are my past
and i love you
------------------------------
how ya like it? i dunno if it's done yet but for now unless i can't think of anything else to say.
this one is unlike anything i've ever written and i think my best work. i dunno where it came from but i'm glad it came!

I liked reading it!  :smile:

i posted my new one on another site and they suggested i change the section where i put in god and change it to goddess what do you think?

I think you're the creator of the poem and it's up to you to go with your instinct.

i know that but i'm always open for what people think, for me i think it's perfect but they said i should phrase it with this

a Little piece that can make a difference and Does make a difference
You Are part of my Love

that's not bad but they wanted me to take the religion aspect out of it and said it would be perfect with that gone, i normally don't put any religion in my poems so that's a first for me. but to me it's perfect but than i was sending this to a friend of mine and as i'm typing it i notice it needed tweaked so i had it make more sense and added a bit to finish it off. this was before i posted it on here. it took me sometime to figure out how to actually end it in fact cause the more i wrote it kept saying to me it's not done yet.

To give a longer answer to your question, in life people are always going to be offering advice, opinions, counsel, veiled criticism, and when you write that goes double triple.

A good editor or mentor can be a good friend who can bring out the best in you, and sometimes suggestions are worth listening to, sometimes they are well-meant but don't offer improvement, and sometimes people are going to say things that are more about their own outlooks and prejudices than they are about anything that has to do with your writing.

What it all comes down to is what you write is your creation, and I personally feel a good original that comes from you is better than an alteration that reflects who another person is and what that other person is about.

To a certain degree writing is channeling from within yourself, reaching into your unconsciousness, and if your instinct guided you to choose a word, it's probably worthwhile to trust that the word arose for a reason, and unless changing it is something you are sure you want to do, then don't do it.

Writing is many things, it's telepathy when your words go out to your reader and enter another person's thoughts, but it can also be a mystical communion with yourself, and there is value in that.

Write what you feel and don't worry about another person's opinion that he or she knows what you meant to say better than you did. And besides, if the worry on another person's part is "religion" isn't mentioning a goddess as religious as mentioning a god? Sounds more like immature bigotry, to be honest.

Personally, I thought it was a pretty good poem!

thank you and them saying i should cut out the word god really caught me off guard to be honest. i don't mind asking for help i get stuck on a poem i don't often ask anyways. i often have trouble picking a good title as i can at times repeat the title of a poem so not wanting to use the same one i change it even though it at times feels it should be that one.

one i did recently the night sky i changed to the stars  cause already did one called the night sky apparently it fits with the poem either way.  i had that friend who suggested something and i used it cause i was stuck on how to finish it and i trust her. anyways i got stuck on a title once and i just could not think of one and she said how about this one and i forget what it was she said and i said what's that mean? she told me and after rereading my poem it actually fit the poem.

so i kept it. my gut is telling me not to change but i always am open to other peoples thoughts and also why they think i should change it if more than one person is telling me that. so far only that one person is and i'm not going by just one person since i posted it on a site i belong to. i do think it's kinda funny that of that entire poem they pick that one certain section.

and i did think about it for awhile but so far it just doesn't make sense on what i was trying to say. i asked about this one cause i think it's my best work i've ever done and i guess i want others to like it as well. i don't normally think like that but on this one poem i made an exception, really only cause i've never written anything this good in my life & i've never thought i could write anything like this & the fact that i did really caught me by surprise to be honest.

you see i'm my own worst critic i wrote a poem last week i forget which one it was and i didn't think it was one of my best but others i showed it to seemed to like it. i'm harder on my own work than others are to it actually. i've never had anyone say to me oh that one is terrible just plain terrible. i have said that about certain poems i've written before i threw it away though. there's one i found recently that i had tried writing to my brother when he got married 20 years ago

i had just started writing poetry and though i reread some of my 1st poems and thought to myself that it wasn't as bad as i thought back than. this one i had started, see it was going to be a poem about him getting married i tried about 30 different times writing him one and than just plump gave up cause all of them were just plain awful i think.

in fact i found the only one i had left and i still have it somewhere and it's unfinished but i still find it  terrible. but who knows maybe others will like it i dunno maybe i'll post it here at some point i dunno

It takes courage to be a writer and share something you've written, it really does, because you can get hurt that way, and once you share something, it's not longer just yours, but it also be nice when you get a genuine compliment that shows someone else got it and was touched by your words. (Occasional money ain't bad either.)

It terrifies me to this day each and every time to share something I've written. It probably still scares me as much as it did the first time I did that in 1995 when I was sixteen and trying very hard to be older than my years.

I was at this open mic night at a place in a college town where cool kids hung out----I was definitely not one of those---and the person I was there with had talked me into going up on stage and reciting a poem I'd written, and he said don't be scared, I do it all the time.

Well that didn't help much since I thought he walked on water anyway.

He went first and did a killer job of it, college girls were always wanting to be all over him and a couple seemed to really like his poem.

Great....

I was supposed to go up on stage about two people after him, and I was shaking. Playing tennis in front of a crowd never bothered me but reciting an original poem did, and he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Did you know that Jim Morrison was so shy on stage at first he used to sing at the Whisky A Go Go with his back to the audience?"

I said, "I can't do my poem with my back turned to everybody."

He went, "Why, not, I've always liked that view of you."

Well that earned one of my uncontrolled nervous laughing spells and after that I was okay and went up on stage and recited my poem, and to my amazement people clapped for me, and I was glad I did it.

(I also later saw someone there who may have been the devil or Desire, but that's another story...)

Point is, when the chance arises, go for it, and you'll probably do just fine.  :smile:

i'm glad you did man, it must be a woman lol.  for me i'd never get on a stage to do that and it's  not because i'm afraid of being booed i just don't like that kind of attention on me that's all.

here's one i wrote 1-30-20 called: Mind over Matter

Sometimes when the stars align with each other
Two People Find each other & connect
Their hearts align with each other

Their Souls Connect to one another
Their love connects to one another for each other

Their Minds Connect
Their thoughts connect to one another as if it's the same thoughts each other has
Sometimes even their wavelengths match
Their Love for one another becomes one
----------------------------------------


a decent one but not one of my favorites

here's one i wrote yesterday when i could not fall asleep hence the title and the subject lol
it's called: Waiting For Sleep dated  2-3-20

Here i am waiting
waiting to fall back asleep
waiting for sleep to overtake me

So i can dream of a world far different than the one i'm in
This world which chews  people up and spits them back out again
a world that kicks you when you are down &  continues until there's nothing left

when you dream you never know what you are gonna get
it's a lot like being awake you never can see what's ahead
you  never can see the future only the past
--------------------------------------------------

how ya like these?

The way you skillfully repeat words actually works well in those. You can use that in poetry to build up a rhythm that you can't in prose.

thank you, i try not to do the repeat this or that but i just go whatever i feel well comes to me, sometimes i say something and than i want to add it again in the same poem depending on the poem and where it's put so instead of doing that a i change it a bit.

here's one i wrote the other day and it's from 2-2-20  i have no title for it yet i asked a friend and they say i should call it Some Say but i dunno maybe a 2nd opinion can make me make it that. i don't mind asking people that cause it's not changing the poem at all.

anyways here it is:

Some Say  life is s**t when you look at it
Some say love fits you like a glove
some say patience is a virtue

but i have nothing unless i have you
Unless i have your love
unless i have your hope
unless i have your embrace
unless i have your kiss

But i have  nothing if i can't have you
---------------------------------

what do ya think?  here's where i got the 1st sentence Monty Python's  Always look on the bright side of life.
and than i felt like just being goofy and adding humor to it too, than at some point it hit me that if i keep doing it like that the poem not only can be quite long but than i would have to come up with something else to say instead of just joking around.

there's a couple that to me do sound like songs, there's one i forget which one it is that a friend at work says to me it reminded him of The Byrds Turn Turn Turn or was it called Turn of the season? i forget which.  to have someone say that about one of my favorite songs made my day

i just wrote this one today, though i was a bit depressed while i wrote it i'm not gonna lie about my state of mind. i've also been watching the twilght zone lately the Classic one withe Rod Serling so it was what gave me the idea of a good or a decent poem i'm not really sure which to be honest. anyways here it is

"Inside The Twilight Zone"  date 2-15-20 

Sometimes the world feels like it's in the twilight zone
sometimes  my life feels like it too with Rod Serling Serving as the Narrator
The Narrator of my life & everyone else's for that matter & over every aspect of the world too

The world at times feels like it sometimes & looks like an old Twilight zone episode
devoid of color
devoid of sound
devoid of Texture and of soul

Where every Character is in search of an exit
an exit to a better world and an exit to a better life than the one given to them
thrust upon them by fate or by circumstances that they have no control of
by measure or by means
-----------------------------------------

This one is an indirect sequel to Cold Water. It doesn't have any shared characters or locations, although it is set nearby and in the same world.




The night was still and deep. A full moon cast its pale light over an abandoned castle at the side of a loch. Occasionally the dark finger of a cloud drifted in front of the moon. Waters that even in the middle of summer held an icy chill lapped calmly at the steep, pebbled shore and around the old stone jetty that stuck out into the water like a lone tooth in the skull of a dead man. A slight breeze made its way over the water and through the gaping holes in the stone walls. The castle had been uninhabited for four hundred years now, and almost every night since its last human lord died, this had been the scene. Few birds or other animals called this desolate and almost forgotten place home, although there were insects aplenty including that most infamous inhabitant of the highlands, the Midges.
The wind blew over the surface of the water, touching it like a gentle lovers kiss and stirring it only a little. It was as if here in this place the world slept and life as we knew it had never touched this place.
                So, it had been for ages, and if anyone had been standing there watching they might have assumed that it would have remained so for untold ages to come. The last stone could have fallen and crumbled, leaving no sign that there had ever been the hand of man on this place, or so it felt. Mankind had spread across the globe like a virulent plague and yet here in this forlorn corner in centuries to come he might never have existed, safe for this once magnificent ruin.  
And yet where man treads once others are wont to follow. Rare indeed is the place visited by one.

An ungodly scream rent the night, tearing aside its silent veil. One could not tell if the throat that made the noise was male or female, or indeed if the screamer was even human. It was the kind of noise that one might suppose would be made if someone were to be hung upside down and slowly sawed in half. It went on and on, undulating and enough to chill the blood of any listener. Indeed, it is easy to suppose that any listener would flee in absolute terror least whatever gory fate had met the screamer take them too. Instead, though, a lone voice called out in fierce anger “CRAIG! IT IS TWO O’CLOCK IN THE DAMN MORNING, PUT THOSE BLOODY BAGPIPES AWAY!”  
 At breakfast, later that morning, Anthony (always Anthony, never Tony or heaven forbid, Ant), had not improved his mood any. “Craig, what the f**king hell? I know you want to be an authentic lord of the manor, but do you really have to practice playing bagpipes at that time in the morning?”
 Craig sat at the wooden park table, tucking into a platter of meat. A sly smile played on his wolfish face as Anthony complained. It wasn’t out unusual for Craig to do something like that just to wind other people up. I remembered that habit from our childhood. It got him more than one beating.
I’d known both men from high school, where Craig had been a nerd. Well, not just a nerd, he was THE nerd. Anthony, on the other hand, had been the captain of the school swim team. The pair had never been friends. In fact, Anthony had been the school bully and had made Scott’s life miserable. After school had finished Anthony had gone off to college and Scott had started his own business. By the time Anthony failed his course and dropped out, Scott was already well on the way to becoming a dot com millionaire in those heady days of the early ’90s before that bubble burst. And when it did burst, Scott had already sold his first company for an eye-watering sum of money to some search engine company. You’d recognise the name if I told you. He waited for the market to recover, then started up another new business and had gone from strength to strength. Anthony meanwhile had returned home in disgrace. Various rumours swam around him, that’d he’d sexually assaulted some freshman girl, or that he’d been caught dealing drugs. Whatever the truth was, by the time he bumped into Scott again, he was steadily crawling into a bottle, working his way to becoming an alcoholic. Scott had picked him up, offered him a job, got him cleaned up and turned his life around. He now served as Craig’s PA cum bodyguard and if he ever felt any resentment to him for their school days, he never showed it.
Me? Well, I’d lost touch with both men and was getting on with my own job. Of course, I'd seen Scott mentioned in the news and perhaps even felt a little jealous of his runaway success. I’d studied hard, picked up a degree and was struggling to make a moderately successful living as an architect. Indeed, it was in my professional capacity that Craig had looked me out. He’d picked up an interest in genealogy and had his family line traced back. Some of his ancestors had apparently been Scottish noblemen who had lived in this here castle. Calling it a castle in my view was being generous. Truth is, it was a good storm away from the whole thing blowing down, but Craig wanted the place rebuilt. This pile had long been forgotten about and had escaped becoming a listed building, so he had a more or less free hand in rebuilding it. My enquires to the local council, a far off and distant body to us, had been met with a polite disinterest as if they had no real care for what happened to a long-forgotten pile of rubble. I was given a name and address to submit my finalised plans to and sent off on my way. I had the distinct impression should I not submit my construction plans, no one would really have cared. Scott wouldn’t have cared either. Doubtless avoiding such red tape would have saved him money, but he could afford it and my own professional ethics forbade me from such actions. Besides, if I was found out then the chances were, I’d never work again in my chosen field. When the phone call had come out of the blue, offering me way over my usual rates for this job it had been a total surprise and not one I could afford to turn down.
Craig had assembled a full team to survey the castle. As well as the three of us he’d brought his personal chef, a structural engineer, a local (well as local as you could get to this place) builder and a technician to maintain all the technology he’d brought along to keep an eye on his various business interests while he was here, along with a satellite link. I wondered just how rich the man was? He seemed to be splashing out cash like it was going out of fashion. He’d paid for a road to be laid from the nearest town all the way to the castle site and each of us had our own trailer as well as one for his travelling IT suite and another with food supplies which only his private chef had access to. I was surprised at the amount of caution he seemed to show there. Was he afraid of some rival poisoning him? The whole thing amazed me that despite the recent market, crash, he still had this amount of money to spare. From the headlines, it seemed that every tech giant was on the verge of crashing out of business.
Craig always had a habit of throwing himself obsessively into every aspect of a new hobby or project, which he’d pursue until something else took his interest. So, it had been with restoring this castle. On the first morning he’d turned up decked out in full highland regalia, kilt and everything. He’d found it was uncomfortably warm to wear all day long though, but another part of his obsession involved learning how to play the bagpipes, using only an online guide.
I sat at the breakfast table, looking around at my teammates. When the weather was nice, we’d taken to eating our meals outside. When it was raining or cold, we’d split up into our little groups. Craig would eat with Bill and Barri in his trailer, Anthony would eat on his own while me and Jock would share our mealtimes with Mel, rotating between each of our trailers. Craig was not what you’d call a handsome man. He’d always reminded me somewhat of a dog. Not a pedigree, or the kind you’d display at a show, more some half-bred mongrel with a body full of bad genes. I’d heard that money was a powerful aphrodisiac, but Scott had never been married and indeed seemed to rarely date. Certainly, when we’d been at school, I didn’t recall him ever being able to get a girlfriend (although I did recall his obsessive behaviour around a few girls that bordered on stalking), and with his unruly shock of red hair, eyes that stared in different directions and collection of health issues like asthma and epileptic fits he was the poster child for lonely outcasts everywhere. He'd been nicknamed 'Beanpole' when the kids felt like playing nice and 'Matchstick' when they didn't. He'd been tall and rake thin back then. Frankly, his personal hygiene left something to be desired too. Looking at him, if you didn’t know who he was you’d never think you were looking at one of the richest men in the country. Most guys in his situation would at least work at  having a nice personality, but Craig was off-putting in every way. If I hadn’t frankly desperately needed the money, I wouldn’t have taken the job. I’d always found his habit of mocking the disabled ve,ry irritating, especially given his own conditions. At school he’d been rake thin, but in the years since he’d obviously been living the goo,d life a little too much and his body had become pudgy. Still nature had seen fit to compensate him for his physical condition with a brain that was razor-sharp and since I’d been skating around the verge of bankruptcy for a few years now, could I really judge anyone else? I had been surprised a few years back when it had been in the papers when he’d founded a charity to look after orphaned children, and I thought perhaps the years and changed him, but within an hour or renewing our acquaintance it was obvious he was still the same man. I figured the whole charity schtick was some kind of corporate tax write off or A PR stunt.
 Anthony, on the other hand, had been the archetypal jock. Tall, tanned and handsome, he’d been married at 19 and divorced before he was 22. I hadn’t seen him at his low point after being kicked out of college, but that time had evidently marked him. He still had a perma-tan, was slim and muscular, but he always had a slightly haggard look to his eyes. The way he acted though, you’d think he was Craig’s employer and not the other way around. He often ordered his employer around, directing him to carry out tasks you’d expect to be delegated downwards, not up the way. It seemed odd to me, but then again perhaps this was just a natural extension of their boyhood relationship. Craig was sitting at the head of the table, leaning over some paperwork Anthony was showing him and occasionally signing a sheet of paper.
The cook, Barri was the eldest in the group. I knew next to nothing about her, other than that she prepared all of Scott’s meals and evidently had been with him for a number of years. She was nice enough, although she kept herself to herself mostly. Craig was the only one I’d heard her exchange more than ten words with at any one time. Her accent placed her as being from the states and with her name I thought of her as being of Scandinavian decent. Her dress sense was somewhat eclectic. One day she’d be dressed like a hippy from the ‘60s with all the colours of the rainbow and the next all in long, trailing black clothes, making her look like a scrawny raven. She was a good cook though and I could see why Craig had retained her services. She had a ton of stories about working for the rich and famous, on film sets and sometimes just in humble diners and an easy laugh. Having served everyone, she’d taken a seat in the middle of the long table, close to Bill, the IT guy. He was too busy engrossed in his mobile phone though to engage in any conversation.
Speaking of Bill, well he was pretty much Craig twenty years ago personality-wise, although physically they were very different. Tall and thin, with a pale round face that reminded me of a full yellow moon, it. Indeed, my private nickname for him was Mr Moonface. My one conversation with him had revealed he suffered from seriously bad breath. Since then I’d avoided talking to him as much as possible. He was tall, thin and wore glasses making him look like even more of an archetypal nerd than Craig. He seemed to share his bosses sense of humour. Maybe it was something about computer geeks?
Jock was a highlander, from one of the small towns north of Inverness with a name I couldn’t figure out how to pronounce. I thought a project of this size was a bit outside his expertise and was much larger than his small company could handle, but Craig had full confidence in the man. He was large and beefy, with a permanently red face. I thought he was a cheeseburger away from a heart attack. His accent was pretty strong though and I found it difficult to understand what he was saying at times. When he spoke, he would start off talking normally, but gradually he’d slip back into his native accent and I’d have, to remind him to speak English again.
 Finally we had Melanie. She struck me as something of a tomboy. She had the kind of looks that had Craig and Bill drooling over her. I’d only seen her dressed in work clothes, her long brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail Since our jobs were closely aligned, we had to spend a lot of time together, discussing what Craig wanted done and the, best ways to achieve it. Out of all the group I found her the easiest company to get along with, and I noticed she did her best to avoid spending time with any of the other men in the group. From what she'd told me she'd worked for Craig for three years. She never said directly, but I got the distinct impression she only stayed with him because of the higher than usual wages, but she'd been on the ground level of several major projects for him.
 Well, I could understand that one. They were hardly the finest examples of the male species. I was married and therefore safer I guess, and although my marriage was hardly a happy one these days, I had no wish to make things worse by sleeping around. Money troubles had worn us both down and I hoped this job would fix those and help me patch things up. I had thought I was charging all the market would bear when I gave Craig my estimate for the job, but he paid up without question and even included a healthy bonus. I sat beside Mel and across from Jock, showing them my plans for restoring the main hallway and she was pointing out little things that wouldn’t work as planned, and suggesting little changes. It wasn’t every day you got to plan building a castle and she was clearly enthusiastic about the whole thing. Jock watched over us, occasionally grunting something and making some marks in his notebook. My guess is he was figuring out how much he could charge extra.
We were so deep in conversation that I didn’t realise Craig had joined us until he leaned over, putting an arm around myself and Mel. I saw a brief uncomfortable look cross Mel’s face which she quickly hid. “How are my favourite engineers? Ready to start putting my castle back together?” I stood up straight, coincidently forcing Craig to remove his arms from both of us. “Just going over the initial plans. We’ve pretty much decided on how to do the ground floor and working up from there. What we need to do is check underground, see if the old foundations are still sound and what we can do with them. We’ll start testing the ground this morning, see if this old pile has any underground rooms. I’d imagine they’d have a dungeon or something.”
 Craig’s eye’s widened with excitement. He was practically standing there vibrating. I took a few steps towards the ruins and started pointing out various things. He moved over to ask some questions and Mel mouthed a silent thank you in my direction as he left her side. “That is your grand hall right there. I am drawing up plans for a road to go from the main gate right up to the doors. When any visitors enter, we want to hit them with this big, impressive hallway. Behind that, you’ll have the kitchens of course. Depending on how the ground sits, we’ll have food storage and of course a wine cellar.”
 “I’d like separate cellars. One for meat, one for veg, one for the wine. Oh, and I want one just for my own personal projects. I’ll need plenty of room of course.”
I raised an eyebrow at the thought of just what those personal projects could possibly be. In my mind’s eye, I pictured the lair of some villain from a James Bond movie, attempting to take over the world from behind a bank of computer screens.
 We walked over to the grounds proper and I continued my narration. “Here is where we’ll have the main tower. As instructed, your private apartments will be at the top with guest quarters below.”
We spent about an hour walking around. I showed him some initial sketches of what we’d planned out, occasionally taking notes on changes he wanted made. Most of those would be ignored as impossible, but I had to at least sound interested and, make encouraging noises. Later on, I’d explain why various bits and pieces were impossible. Customers always had extra things they wanted adding, each of which would increase the cost, then they’d complain when it came time to pay up. I found it best to do some work and then afterwards tell the consumer what we’d done rather than waste huge sums trying to achieve something that just wouldn’t work and would just be abandoned later.
Then again, maybe that was why I wasn’t making enough money to get by.
Once Craig was satisfied with our plans, he wandered off to speak to Bill and doubtless check up on how his empire was doing. I left him to it and re-joined Mel and Jock. She had some tool for checking the ground, a GMR she said as if I would know what that was. She must have seen my expression and explained that it was basically a radar that probed the ground and could allow her to make an initial report on the stability of the terrain. It would also reveal any underground rivers, caves or mine workings that might cause problems with subsidence.
We scouted around the existing outer wall and followed the path of where the new walls would be built. Every so often, she’d stop and stomp the ground with one boot and a frown would cross her forehead. When we’d finished the initial survey, she seemed to check the readouts on the GMR several times and then said: “We have a hollow space under here. It starts twenty feel down, but I can’t get a reading on how deep it goes. Could be six feet, could be twenty.”
“I could have some men here tomorrow and dig down to it” ventured Jock.
I chewed my lip for a moment while I weighed up the options. If it was an old cellar then we could use it, but if it was a natural cave then we could have problems. If it had some rare animal living down there, then the whole project could get cancelled. I didn’t dare order construction if the whole thing might collapse into a forgotten mine. “Yeah, call them in. We’ll need to find the extent of them.” I sighed heavily. I could not afford for this job not to pay off. I needed a successful, high profile job to attract new clients. Worried about the future, I went to find Craig and give him the ‘good’ news.
 
As expected, Craig was in his computer trailer (or, as he liked to call it. His command centre). I slowed my footsteps somewhat as I overheard an angry exchange between him and Bill. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to hear the shouted conversation between the two although at this distance the words were in distinct, I caught enough to realise the argument was over money. I vacillated outside the trailer, not wanting to go in and disturb them mid shouting match and feeling uncomfortable about listening from outside. Just as I had decided to wander off somewhere else and come back later, the door to the trailer slammed open and Bill came storming out, his face flushed. I yelp of laughter escaped my mouth before I could hide it as the door bounced off the frame and smacked him in the face. I covered my mouth with one hand and faked a coughing fit as he walked off in a thunderous fury. Not sure of my options, I reverted to my original plan and entered the so-called command centre.
 
Craig’s face was red, setting off his hair rather than matching it. As I entered, he looked over unhappily and said, “I suppose you heard that?”
“Sorry, couldn’t help overhearing. I couldn’t make out what was being said though. Your secrets are safe.” He snorted. “I didn’t think it was much of a secret. My entire business is on the verge of collapse.”
“Why all this then? You must be spending several fortunes on this?” Shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve taken risks before and nearly been wiped out. I’ve always managed to recover though, and this time won’t be any different. Anyway, what is up?”
“We’ve found a hollow space beneath the ground, right where it could possibly undermine the main walls. Jock is going to bring some diggers so we can investigate it further.”
He shot up out of his seat, his face suddenly aflush again, but with excitement this time. “Where? Show me now!” He practically pushed his way passed me in his eagerness to get out there, evidently forgetting all about any financial problems. I followed in his wake as he almost ran over to where Jock and Mel stood. “Where is it? How deep does it go? Have we found some dungeons?” He was breathlessly pouring out questions. “How quickly can we go down and have a look around?” I was pretty taken aback by Craig’s reaction. He was a man clearly built for comfort rather than speed. The fact that he seemed to want to go exploring underground was surprising.
Mel put her hands up “Woah there, slow down hoss. Jock is going to have a couple of his guys come out tomorrow and we’ll dig down. Might take a day to dig through, might take a couple. Then I’ll have to make sure it is safe and stable enough for us to go looking around.”
“I don’t care what it takes. I’ll double your money.”
Mel put her hands on his hips and her voice took on a very stern tone. “Mr Beane, as long as I am on this project everything will be done in correctly. Unless you want to replace me, no one will be going down until I am sure it is safe to do so!” Craig’s mouth opened and closed a few times. He reminded me a goldfish I’d once seen out ,of water. Eventually, he shut his mouth, turned around without a word and strode off back towards the trailers.
I wondered again why Craig was investing so much money into this project? Especially if cash was tight. Did he think there was some long-forgotten treasure hidden underneath the castle? Mind you, as I’d seen before he did get a bit obsessive over his latest projects. Maybe his excitement was just part and parcel of that. I was feeling glad that I’d been paid up front for this project though. Even if I didn’t get paid the promised bonus at the end of it, what I had already received was more than enough to pay my debts and keep me going until the end of the year even if no other work turned up, but I needed a successful job to attract new clients. I didn’t want to end up beholden to charity hand me down jobs from Craig.
We spent the rest of the day marking up potential dig spots and marking out where various walls would go, should the underground allow it. It might be wasted effort depending on what they survey said, but there wasn’t much else to do around here, and it was better than just sitting around doing nothing.
The evening meal was somewhat subdued. The normally tight cluster of Craig, Bill and Barrie was broken up with Bill sitting across from a glowering Anthony and nary a word was exchanged between any of them. Our little group ate as quickly as we could and then retired to my trailer to engage in our nightly card games, interrupted by Jock making phone calls to tell his men how to find the construction site and what year to bring. “I’ll noa hae the heavier gear sent up ken. Noa until  we see if it's at awe needed. Just some men wa’ shovels and mibbies a wee mechanical digger. I dinnae ken if the ground could tak the weight o’ a big digger,” he told us after one long phone call.
 
I wondered if there was an app to translate what he was saying into English? Who was this Ken he kept talking about? When we’d first met the first thing, he’d said to me was “Furry boots”. This caused some confusion as I was wearing a pair of dress shoes. As it turned out he was asking “Whereabouts?” Meaning, where were you from? It really was like learning a whole new language. On the radio, I could hear a news broadcast about a bunch of students who had possibly gone missing not too far away from where we were. Four of a party of six had vanished and there seemed to be some confusion on wither or not they had come up to the highlands or disappeared further south and the police were investigating a possible drugs connection. They’d been missing for a week now and the official search was being called off, much to the consternation of the parents. One of them was offering a large reward for the return of his son and I made a mental note of their descriptions just on the off chance they blundered lost and hungry into our midst, then changed to channel to some ‘80s music.
 
We shared a half bottle of whiskey Jock had brought as we played poker. He won most of the hands, making me glad we weren’t playing for money. It was nearly 11 before it got dark, fooling us with how late it really was before we decided to pack up for the night.

It was the early afternoon before the extra men arrived. Three of them, in a flatbed truck with various bits of digging equipment on the back, including the promised mini digger. The three men were already dirty as if they’d been working all morning. One of them, a thin but rangy man I would later learn was called Cliffy was the foreman. The other two were called Joe (blond-haired with a beard) and Kev (a large man who always had a snack in his hand, normally some sort of meat-filled pastry). Mel directed them to dig at the spot she’d decided was the most stable and the three went to work, Jock keeping a close eye on them and chatting to Kev. Craig checked on them frequently. I sat observing from a distance, going over the plans again with Mel. When we had went over them half a dozen times, I decided to take a walk along the Lochside, take some photos. I hadn’t seen much wildlife here, but the scenery was breath-taking. Especially in the morning when the sun was rising. Mel retired back to her trailer. I had noticed she locked the door behind her. I could understand why she’d do that, especially when I noticed Craig watching her walk back alone. Back at school more than one girl had complained she hadn’t wanted to be left alone in a room with him. His usual thing had been putting his hand on girls knee’s when sitting beside them.
Nothing criminal, or enough to get him kicked out of school, but he had the reputation of being a real creep.

I wondered if he paid for women nowadays rather than deal with all the hassle and embarrassment of being turned down? Well, I guess that was none of my business. So far his behaviour around Mel had been limited to getting uncomfortably close and leering. Unpleasant no doubt for her, but nothing I'd imagine a pretty girl like her hadn't had to deal with a hundred times before.  strolled along the edge of the water, seeing no sign of fish, bird or animal, just grass, moss and heather. No aircraft contrails crossed the sky and my phone had no signal. "Welcome to the stone age, Phil" I thought as I snapped a few landscape shots. I'd show them to Annette when I got home. If she hadn't packed up and left me. That thought put a dark cloud in my heart and I lost my appetite for walking further. Besides I didn't want to miss the dig breaking through to the mysterious underground space. Thinking about that brought me back to Craig's reaction to us finding it. I decided he was just so into this latest project his excitement had been over the thought of uncovering some ancient historical site rather than silly notions of buried treasure. Besides, why hire the rest of us if he was looking for something valuable. Out here in the middle of nowhere, he'd hardly need us to provide a cover story and surely even if that were the reason there would have been contracts and non-disclosure agreements to sign. My mind mused over all sorts of situations on the way back. Some involving Annette and me saving our patchwork marriage, others with Craig and what he wanted to do with a castle in the wilds, far beyond the comforts of civilisation he was so used to and thrived on. Surely there were castles in better condition and in better places he could have bought? I started considering the castle itself. It had been made of granite, a stone in plentiful supply in this region. When we'd travelled over from the States we'd landed in Aberdeen (following a stopover in Charles De Gaulle airport). The entire city seemed to be made from that flat grey rock. In the bright sunshine, it was just about passable although I'd have hated to see it on a rainy day. It must be one of the most depressing places in existence in bad weather. About a third of the ground floor remained, and only the occasional jagged wall jutting up higher than its surrounds spoke of the second floor, or if you were British the first floor. I found it odd that they called the first floor the ground and then numbered them from the flight above. Most of the taller ruins were around the main tower, where I guessed the lord and his family lived and where Craig (of course) wanted his rooms. He'd talked of a four or five-story building, which would give him a real commanding view of the surrounding hills and plenty of warning should the Sassonach's come making war north of the border once more. At night when the moon was rising, the ruins looked very much like jagged and broken teeth sticking up. Some people might find it romantic and relaxing but to me, it felt otherworldly and out of joint with reality, as if we'd slipped through the net of reality and into some weird fairy realm.

My meandering mind was brought back into focus when by sheer luck I heard shouts of excitement as I neared the camp. The afternoon was just fading into the evening and the men digging the whole had found their way through to the empty space beneath the ground! I ran over to join them, quickly followed by the others. Bill had evidently come out of his earlier huff and was his usual pale-faced self, Anthony was scowling a little but that too was usual for him. Craig meanwhile was practically bursting with excitement and was all for jumping down the hole. Reluctantly, Mel agreed to go down immediately. Shining a torch down they could see what looked like a flagstone floor down below. A wet smell, tinged with rot drifted out of the whole, tainting the otherwise agreeable early evening air. It was decided that Mel and one of the labourers would descend into the depths, and after a quick game of rock, paper, scissors it came down to Joe. He looked the physically fitter of the two anyway and I was more confident of his ability to handle any problems they might encounter down there than anyone else. Craig was practically dancing around the edge of the pit and tried unsuccessfully to persuade Mel that he should be the first one to go underground. To her credit she once more stood her ground, refusing to let anyone else climb down. Kev brought over a ladder from the back of the truck and it was carefully lowered into place and the bottom of the pit. While they put it in place I asked Mel how they had managed to dig the hole out so quickly. "It collapsed all by itself when they had dug out a few feet. Guess I picked a good spot. I've checked the ground around thoroughly. I am sure it won't collapse any further, but just in case I had them back the digger away. My guess is we hit part of a staircase connecting to the ground. Maybe it was a wooden one and decayed to nothing, but left the stairwell intact?"
"Sounds plausible. It is at a corner. You sure about going down there just now?" I tried to keep the note of concern out of my voice, but despite her reassurances, I couldn't help but think of what happened if there was a cave-in. "Yeah. Besides if I don't I am pretty sure our employer will sneak down there in the middle of the night. I wouldn't put it past him to find some old cave complex and get lost forever."
With a cheeky grin, I replied: "Are you so sure that would be such a bad thing?" She laughed and shook her head. Her laugh reminded me of Annette when we were first dating. Somehow our love had just seemed to turn bad, like rotten meat. I sighed and then did my best to push those thoughts to the back of my mind. When I got back I was going to take her somewhere on holiday, just the two of us. Mel raised an eyebrow at my sigh but didn't ask what it was for. "I'm just going to pick up a few things and I'll be right back. Then we can start our explorations."
She sauntered off and returned in a few minutes carrying a pair of plastic hats, the kinds builders wear, each with a head torch, a face mask and a reel of white thread. She noticed my quizzical glance and said "Its to lay a trail behind us so we don't get lost. Never heard of Theseus and the Minotaur?"
"I would prefer it if you didn't find any cannibalistic mythological creatures down there myself."
"It wouldn't be a cannibal."
"Huh?"
"Cannibal's eat their own species. The Minotaur wasn't human, so if it ate us it wouldn't be a cannibal. We'd just be meat to any carnivore that cared to dine on us."
"Huh. You learn something new every day. I am sure that would make me feel so much better about being eaten alive."
"Hey, anything I can do to help, I am happy to."
As we were talking, she was donning the safety gear she'd brought along with a harness she could clip her torch to leaving both hands free, then passed Joe his gear and helped him don it. Then, with her leading the way they descended the ladder down into the labyrinth. I watched as they climbed down into the narrow circle of light that reached the floor beneath. They looked around and then stepped out of our sight into the darkness. I suddenly wished they had taken radio's, or taken a third person down with them so that if one had an accident someone could remain with the injured while the other went for help. I wanted to call down to them but then thought Craig would only use it as an excuse to go down there and doubtless get in the way more than help out. As it was he was stepping impatiently from side to side trying to peer down into the darkness. It was still daylight, but the light had faded a little. I didn't think it was smart starting our reconnaissance this late in the day, but as Mel had said it might be more trouble than it was worth to leave it. I must admit that I found myself eager to go down there and explore myself. To see something that no other man had seen for centuries and find out what was down there. Maybe I could understand Craig better than I first thought. I ruminated about that for a minute or two and then decided Nah. He was too freaky. I kept looking at the clock on my phone. The minutes ticked by unbearably slowly and what felt like an eternity passed before Joe and Mel reappeared, climbing up the ladder and into the light. Both removed their masks revealing faces that were covered in dust above where the masks had covered. It looked slightly comical. As Mel removed hers she spoke "Well, it stinks down there. The air is none too fresh. I think maybe some small animals find ways in and then can't get out and starve to death. The air is a bit stale. Definite smell of decayed meat. It looks like we have an extensive set of underground rooms. We got nowhere near all of it explored. From what I've seen though, the stonework looks good. We'll go back down in the morning for a fuller survey. I saw a few places where it will need repairs or strengthened but I am pretty sure we can build on it safely." She looked over towards Jock and continued "If we could get some lights to string along down there it would be a big help. The longer the better. We can run them off the generator. In the meanwhile, I want to set some barriers around the hole. I wouldn't want someone accidentally stumbling and falling down there on a midnight stroll."
Jock motioned to Kev and Cliffy who headed off to their truck, returning with some thin metal stakes and a roll of white tape. This whole time they had been back above ground Craig had stood perfectly still, practically devouring every word Mel had said about the underground lair beneath his feet. His eyes positively gleamed as he listened. I wondered again if he had expected to find this and if there was something down there he wanted?
Barri cooked a late dinner for us all that night. The tensions that had been there previously in the day faded away, It occurred to me that we had nowhere for Jock's employees to sleep unless we shared our trailers, but it transpired they were going to drive back tonight and return after a days rest. Mel worked out a shopping list of equipment for them to bring back, all of which Craig agreed to with little more than a perfunctory glance. We all sat down to some remarkably fresh steaks, by way of a celebratory meal. The food had a slightly unfamiliar, but not unpleasant taste. I would have to ask Barri for some of her recipes before the job was over. After they'd eaten Cliffy, Joe and Kev drove off along with Jock. Bill was chatting in a low voice with Anthonyand occasionally he glared in Craig's direction. We gathered up some wood and made a small fire, and sat around telling jokes. Barri produced some beers from her trailer which we kept cool in a bucket of water from the loch. "You know," I said "The last time  I did this I was at camp and we were telling ghost stories. I miss those days."
Craig leaned over, his face lit by the flickering flames. "Well does anyone have any scary stories to tell? Help Phil's nostalgia."
Anthony laughed, "Well, I did hear one about this area when I was doing some research on the region before we flew over. Back between the world wars, the government built an insane asylum,. Being miles from anywhere, it was supposed to house the worst of the worst. They shipped criminals and lunatics from all over the country to be held here. Rumour has it though, that this place had a deeper secret. It also held men who had been so broken by what they'd been through in the first world war that they couldn't be fixed. See during the big battles, men would get trapped in no mans land, between the trenches. They'd take cover in shell holes to begin with, but they wouldn't be able to get back to their own lines thanks to snipers and machine guns, so they'd make themselves a home of sorts, digging down into the ground, just like the armies on either side of them. Sometimes they'd be joined by other trapped men, sometimes from their own side, sometimes from the other. You had them all there living together. English, German, French... Now, as long as the food they carried lasted, this was great. They survived out there, forgotten by the rest of the world and when a big battle was happening they'd simply hide underground until it got dark, then they'd loot the bodies for the food they carried. When there wasn't a battle though and the food ran out... Well, things were different then. They couldn't go hunting for food. There was no animals in no man's land."
The story was suddenly interrupted by a strange noise. Everyone stopped and looked around, as a noise very much like the howling of a wolf keened out. "Are there wolves in Scotland?" Mel asked. "Nah," replied Barri. "I am sure they were killed of centuries ago. There has been talk of reintroducing them, but nothing has happened. It's just the wind whistling weirdly across the hills." We all listened for a few more minutes but heard nothing more, so Anthony continued, his voice starting to slur from all the lager he'd been guzzling down. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. They couldn't raid their own trenches. Chances are they'd get gunned down, and even if they didn't well if anyone was captured then the whole gig was up. They'd know these men were surviving out there and they'd catch 'em. Shoot them as deserters as soon as look at them. So they turned to the only supply of food they had left. Each other. They'd turn on the weakest, kill 'em and cook 'em up. Towards the end of the war when us Yanks came over and saved Europe's ass for the first time and the front lines started moving again, well these secret tunnels, they were uncovered and all the men hiding in them got caught. The whole thing was hushed up. Didn't want the people back home knowing just how bad things had gotten out there so they shipped all those man-eaters out here, let the families think they'd died in battle or were missing in action and swore the soldiers that had found them to secrecy. They were supposed to rot there until they died, and no doubt they would have had it not been for the next world war. You see once the German's had kicked Norway's arse they had bases they could reach Scotland from and one night on a bombing raid towards Glasgow one of their planes got separated and lost. Didn't have no GPS or radar in those days you see, and seeing how there were no people living around here there were no lights to show any towns or cities to bomb. Well, not until they saw the lights of the asylum, so they flew in low and dropped all their bombs, thinking it must be some army base out in the middle of nowhere like that."Anthony paused and leaned back.
"Well, this place was so secret and hush hush that no one knew anything was up for weeks. When someone did finally realise they hadn't had their regular reports and sent some troops in to investigate, they found the place a burned-out ruin. Given who was housed there, well that was no big loss to anyone. Would have been one less thing to worry about for the government. Trouble is though when they dug through the rubble well they didn't manage to find all the bodies. Now maybe some were destroyed by the explosions, or maybe they were just buried beneath the rubble and couldn't be found... or maybe a few of them survived and escaped. Certainly, some of the bodies they found, and this was kept very, very quiet indeed. Some of those bodies had been partially eaten. As soon as they'd gotten free those survivors that had been kept locked away, separated even from the worst of the worst, well they had gone right back to surviving the best way they knew how. Eating the bodies of other men. Some say not only did they survive, but so did some of the female nurses." And at this point, he leered at Mel. "You can just imagine what those men did to those women when they hadn't had their hands on one for over twenty years. Well, those women ended up having kids and some say that even today their descendants roam these very hills, looking to continue the family tradition of eating the other white meat. Every so often they find some. So a hiker or two goes missing, search parties never find them. Not a surprise in a place as wild and remote as this so no one really asks any questions about it. The asylum is long forgotten about and everyone who knew about it is long dead. Who knows, maybe they are out there now, watching us around the campfire and just waiting to catch one of us alone."
Barri burst out laughing, dispelling the sinister mood momentarily. "You know I am going to call bulls**t on that story. But I do know one true story about Scotland and cannibals. Ever seen the movie, The Hills Have Eyes? Well, that was based on a true story from here. You see there was a man called Sawney, and Sawney now he was a poor man. Could hardly afford to feet his wife or screaming kids. So Sawney does what any desperate man would do. He turns to crime. He steals food from his neighbours, only they are as dirt poor as he is. They figure out who is stealing from them and go to the local magistrate who runs him and his family out of the village, burning his cottage down so they can't come back. Sawney was desperate before, now he just doesn't know what to do, how to feed his family. He goes a little nuts, but he still manages to find a cave, down by the shore they can take shelter in. When the tide comes in the cave gets cut off, but it at least keeps the rain off their heads and the wind off their backs, but that still isn't enough. He tries fishing, but he was a farmer. Never seen the sea before and has no idea about fishing. His family are starving and he goes a little bit crazier. One day though, he comes across a man who had been riding along the beach. His horse had tripped, breaking its leg and injuring himself. Now, who does this man turn out to be but the same magistrate who had him chased out of the town? Well, when Sawney sees him he just flips and whatever sanity he has left is just gone. He picks up a rock and brains the man. He goes through his pockets and steals whatever gold he had on him, but where is he going to spend it? The village won't let him buy things there and even if he could how would he explain all the money. When they realised the magistrate was busy, he'd be fitted up for the crime good and proper. He thinks maybe they can eat the horse, but a horse is a big, heavy beast. No way he can carry all that home. Then he looks again at the magistrate. Now him, Sawney could carry. Now, remember at this point Sawney is completely round the bend. He takes the body home and at first when he tells his wife to cut the body and cook it his family freak out, but they are starving and that man starts to look mighty tasty. So sure enough, they do him up like a thanksgiving turkey and cook him up.
From there on in, Sawney and his family are on easy street. They attack small groups of travellers on foot, maybe the odd lone traveller on horseback but they are careful never to take on too large a group. They don't want any survivors. This works really well for them and Sawney's family grows. Eventually, there are three or four generations of them down there, catching, cooking and eating anyone unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches. Nothing good lasts forever though. Sooner or later something is going to go wrong. For Sawney's family, it is when they try attacking a young couple of horseback. Newlyweds they were, riding off on their honeymoon. Now the woman they manage to catch. She gets her skull cracked open by a rock and is dead sharpish, but the young man, her husband well he digs his spurs in and manages to escape. Of course, the first thing he does s go tell the local authorities and they send a bunch of soldiers out. The soldiers find the family, only they've been breeding and by this time Sawney is an old man, with not just his kids, but grandkids and great-grandkids too. They round up everyone in the cave. Something like 40 or 50 of them, all surrounded by leftover parts of their victims and dressed in the clothes they'd taken from them. The females of the clan, well they got off easy like. Each of them was taken and burned as witches. The men though, they got a bit more imaginative with. First, they cut their dicks off, then they lopped off their hands and feet. Then they were left lying there to bleed to death.
And there perhaps the story should have ended, except it didn't. There was one of the daughters, still just a young thing. She had been away playing in the woods when the soldiers arrested her family and so escaped their fate. At least for a while. Even as a babe, she'd been fed human flesh and it left her with a powerful craving for more.
She grew up married and had kids of her own but she kept up her old habits. Eventually, they caught her chowing down on some traveller. They burned her like they had her female relations, but the children, well they escaped and made it out into the world. Some say she'd taught her children her, ahem secret family recipes and they continued on the family traditions. No doubt they passed those traditions onto their own kids, a secret clan of flesh-eaters living amongst the rest of us. If anyone is out there, watching us then it is one of them." At this point Craig suddenly jumped out from the dark, yelling "BOO!"
Bill let out a girlish shriek and I must admit to having something of a start myself. My leg shot out, spilling the bucket of water out and sending several people scrambling back to avoid getting soaked. Barri sat back, shooting a satisfied look at Mel as she observed the minor chaos her story and Craig's fright had caused. For her part, Mel did look slightly disturbed by the night's tall tales. I guess she wasn't one for horror movies.
By this point, the moon was high in the sky. It was a clear night, and I don't think I've ever seen as clear a starlit sky as I did that night. I am sure I'll never see a clearer one again. Midnight was fast approaching and we decided to head back to our trailers. We were tidying up the camp first, making sure that the fire didn't spread. The flames were dying anyway, and I separated the last few smouldering branches, while Mel walked down to the lochside to get a fresh bucket of water. Anthony followed and cornered her by the waterside. He seemed to be talking earnestly with her, although I couldn't tell about what about. I observed them talking for a few moments, more to see if Anthony was propositioning her and bothering the poor woman, but she didn't look as if she was trying to get away from him. My gaze drifted around and I spotted Craig. He was watching Anthony and Mel very intently, his mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace. I wondered what was going on behind the scenes at his company?



Anthony felt his gorge rise as he strode off alone back towards the camp. He had a damn good thing going on here and he wasn't about to let anyone spoil it! Since Craig had scooped him out of the gutter, life had been the easy ride it should always have been. His mind in a dark mood, he walked past the trailer park and along the shore. He had to find a way to get through to his boss, make him see what a foolish idea this whole vanity project was. He cracked open the beer he had in his hand and took a deep swig from the can. It was advertised as being 'Super Strength' and they weren't kidding. It tasted more like vodka than any lager he'd ever had before, but it was over 10% and all it took was a couple to get really drunk. He kicked a stone, imagining he was back on the playing fields of his youth and imagining he had just scored a field goal. The stone plopped into the water with a satisfying sound. In the distance, he could still hear the noise of the others saying good night. His drunken mind demanded that he find silence, somewhere he could think about what he needed to do and get his head straight. Bill had spoken with him earlier, let him know just how much trouble Craig was n. It was that b***h! Before she had come along he had been able to control Craig. The man's fortune had been his personal piggy bank, but now that bank was running dangerously low. He'd tried to chat with her, make it clear that she had to talk to Craig, get him to call this whole cockamamy scheme off, or at least shelf it and concentrate on saving his business, but she hadn't been interested in listening dammit! He drained his can a second time, emptying it of its potent brew, then scrunched up the can and launched it into the nearby waters. Well, he wasn't done yet. He still had some influence over his boss. He'd just march back there and tell him how things stood, that it was him or that b***h. One of them had to go! He spun around determined to do just that, but overbalanced and fell over. He lashed out with his feet and fists, convinced the night, or perhaps the beach itself had been responsible for his fall, but there was only the cold night air. His eyes couldn't quite focus on anything, but he was sure he saw something coming towards him, and something glittered in the night air. There was too little light for him to see the figure marching unerringly towards him. He could see something shining in the moonlight, but his drink befuddled mind couldn't recognise what was shining, or the danger it posed. A blurrily seen arm raised itself high and brought a heavy meat clever down with all the force it could muster. The blade's edge met flesh, and the flesh parted. The thick ridge of bone caused barely more resistance as the metal plunged deep through his forehead and into the soft, meaty brain beneath. Even as he fell sideways, his body going limp, his last conscious effort before death embraced him was of his eyes independently trying to focus on the strange object buried between them.

here's a poem i wrote recently that i'm not sure if it's done just yet but in case it is here it is

The Nightmare" i'll just date it today 3-27-20

We Live in a world right now that's messed up
we live in a world that's fuxed up

that's fuxed up beyond measure
beyond means

the young as well as the old are dying of a virus
people are dying left and right or right to left
& there's no one to blame for our failures in protecting each other
our failures in keeping people safe
our failures with each other

we live in a world right now that's fuxed up
we are all scared of what can happen over what has or what will
that we forget to enjoy what we do have and that is each other

we should come together as one & comfort each other,
rather than be terrified each and every day of what can happen & what will happen

but the enemy the virus is still out there & waiting, hoping for it's next victim
it hides behind every corner, every crevice
waiting, hoping the next victim is there for it to take over, to conquer it's prey
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

what do you guys think of it?

it's been a long ass time since anyone has written anything, but i wrote this one about a week ago but i just did some touch ups to it now and gave it a title.  so since i can't think of which day i did write it i'm just gonna say screw it and date it today and who knows maybe i'll add even more to it as i post it.

anyways it's called 'The Many Phases Of Our Love  dated 5-25-20

I"m Scared
Scared that you won't love me anymore

i'm terrified
i'm terrified that our love will one day end

i worry
i worry what tomorrow will bring
i worry what the future holds for us, our undying love

I wonder
I wonder, wonder where all the time went when we aren't Together

I'm scared
I"m scared that you won't see me as i truly am, As i really am

i'm terrified
i'm terrified that you will & won't like what you see

I worry
I worry that i won't be enough for you that our love that you'll find another guy & leave me in the lurches
wondering what i did wrong, what did go wrong with our love ?

I wonder
i wonder if all these thoughts are in my head and i'm making something out of nothing


i'm scared
i'm scared that all my fears will one day come true & surpass our love & Zigzag us away from each other, from our love
our undying love
---------------------------------------

what do you guys and gals think?

i actually did end up adding more to it in fact and fixing even more in fact

Great loves always end. That's their tragedy. If you're lucky you're not the one left alive trying to keep the candle burning amid the howling winds of life. If you're wise you let go when the ending comes.

I've never been wise.

Yes, I wrote a holy scripture for a made-up religion. I may have done it too well since I think if I listed it online, it'd gain followers. 

They could do worse.

it would be nice if i was lucky enough to have just that a great love. well as for made up religion there already is one and a Science Fiction writer created it on a bet. here's a NEW poem i already posted it elsewhere though


The Love of my LIfe (9-28-20)

you are the love of my life
you are the ode to my poem
you are my melody to a song

you are the love of my life
you are the light of my life
the Light of my soul
you are the happiness to my joy

my heart beats for you
my heart beats for your love
our souls are entwined with each other
our hearts are one and the same

you are my soulmate
you are who i dream of at night
and who i think of when i awaken

each day when i awaken i look up at the sun in the sky and i think of you & the sun seems to get brighter with each and every breath i take

the day seems to brighten up and grow brighter as well
the birds singing, the sky opens up and is clear & your love helps me get through the day at hand

you are my home
you are my love

you are my true love.

A short article about Master.com, a service which provides search engines, forums, & the like for websites. It's shutting down at the end of the year, & I thought it needed to be memorialized: https://websitering.neocities.org/master/master.htm

Mostly screen shots, with short descriptions. There are some links, so you can try their search engine before Dec. 31.

  i dunno that one to be honest

My site's annual Weird Movie Yearbook is out: announcement (https://366weirdmovies.com/the-print-version-of-the-2020-yearbook-is-live/).

(https://i0.wp.com/366weirdmovies.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/2020YearbookCover-sm.jpg?resize=240%2C300&ssl=1)

https://websitering.neocities.org/pkmn/AshMistyLove.htm

Were Ash & Misty from Pokémon in Love?

Slightly rambling article about Pokemon glitches & rumors in the late 90’s: https://websitering.neocities.org/pkmn/mysteries.htm

Save for my posts here I have written almost nothing for a couple weeks; a first since 1988. What if the well is fin'ly dry?

If the well is dry, if you have no ideas, write two names, then have them make small talk to each other till something interesting happens.

i haven't written a poem since October but i started a poem in i think November but i just never finished

Thank you, pac, that sounds like an interesting technique.

it's hard to believe 1988 is that long ago as it is now isn't it?

1988 seems like the other day and 1988 seems impossibly long ago. That was the birthday that my grandma gave me a hardbound diary that started it all. I remember my cousin came to Christmas that year with her hair buzz-cut around the sides and bushy long on top, like a haystack, and she said if I mentioned that terrible hair style in my diary, she'd come take the diary away, so I didn't, lol.

same here man i turned 10 in (1988) it feels exactly the same for me i wasn't writing anything back than poetry wise i mean. i think it wasn't until 2000 that i started at all but in (1988) i used to try and write novels and i think the most i ever did was 2 chapters maybe 3 but i'd start out with a good idea than i'd either lose interest or i just could not think of anything else to write at all. i cannot tell how many novels i started to write through the years that i gave up on at some point, none of them were long enough to even be short stories and i doubt any of them were  even good enough to be published to be honest

If you turned ten in 1988, you're my age then, pennywise, though I wish my parents had lied to me and told me I was born a month earlier or later, so I wouldn't have had to have Christmas Eve for a birthday.

so you will be 43 like me this year? i'm September so i'm a bit older than you i suppose well i guess

Yes I will, in the last week of the year. Funny, sometimes it strikes me how long I have been coming here when I realize when I first registered, I was still in my twenties.

i know right i haven't been here that long but there is one site i belonged to i was in my 20's July of (2005) and i still go there every once in awhile

The NES: Why Did it Win? - How did Nintendo's First Console Grab & Keep 80% of the Late 80's Console Market?

https://vgaa.neocities.org/articles/nesdominance.htm

 i wrote some new poetry maybe  a week or two ago i forget when it was i did date it though. i just haven't posted any of it online yet

Are the Early Pokémon Games Worth Playing Today?

https://websitering.neocities.org/pkmn/pkmndefence.htm

i never could get into Pokeman but my nephew got into it out of nowhere really as kids do i guess and he now loves it but me not so much so to each their own i guess.

A while back, I went on an MST3K marathon where I watch one episode a day in production code order, starting with The Crawling Eye and finishing with Ator, the Fighting Eagle. After each viewing, I would write down some musings about the movie and episode and post it on my Facebook timeline. Recently I've been compiling them into a Word document, cleaning up the writing some. At my current rate of progress, I should be done by next Sunday.

Will you be sharing the results here? I, for one, would be curious to see it.

i enjoy all of MSTK even the KTMA years too but that's just plain hated and i think is underrated if you watch the show in order you will slowly see the show getting better with each episode as they are learning their craft. but yeah post your results

If someone could recommend a good free document hosting site, I can make it available there. I'm also thinking of converting it into a PDF, as certain issues crop up when it's viewed on Open Office Writer.

I've had no issues with Google docs.

Hope this works.

https://we.tl/t-8TL8119J4A

a NEW one ladies and gents i just wrote it this weekend!  the title comes from the goo goo dolls song SO Alive and upon writing it honestly it feels like a pretty good song lol so here it is.

So Alive Dated 8-1-2021

My Love for you and your love for me makes me feel like i am alive so alive.
Your love for me and my love for you makes me feel like i'm flying

Flying high up in the air High Above the birds in the sky
High Above The Clouds

My Love for you and your love for me makes me feel alive so alive
I Feel that love from the top of my head to the top of my fingertips to the bottom of the soles of my feet.

You are the love of my life my whole reason for being
My Whole Reason For Living

You Make Feel Alive so alive
when you are back in my arms again
I Live my life for you and only You

I love my life because of you and only you.

Been working on a book since 1997. It initially started as a short story; a really bad Lovecraftian-influenced horror story set in the North Slope of Alaska in the dead of winter that I wrote for a local newspaper contest that didn’t get published. I wrote a couple of short stories after that which were also horror stories and I didn’t think too much of them until I realized that they would work a lot better if they were all connected into one overarching story. I added bits and pieces over the years, then lost interest in the project until a few years ago when my dad was cleaning out his garage and found a bunch of my old handwritten manuscripts stuffed in a box and gave them back to me. I transcribed a couple of them to my computer and now I’m trying to figure out how to start the damned thing and maybe make a full-fledged book out of it. I would have to rewrite everything because they haven’t aged very well since I was only 23 when I wrote the first one and now I’m 47 and more articulate; enough to realize how bad they were in the 1990s anyway.  :teddyr:

I must have missed this before. "Sorry, this transfer has expired and is not available any more"  :bluesad:

Since then, I've starting writing at the Mutant Reviewers From Hell blog. For my second post (my first was a review of Akira Kurosawa's Throne of Blood), I put up my thoughts on the first season of MST3K.

https://mutantreviewers.wordpress.com/2021/07/31/the-mst3k-journal-season-1/

Something I've slowly been working on.

Introduction.

              It was a warm summer that year. The rivers that normally the kids would play in to keep cool had dried up into little more than narrow streams, but the neighbourhood had plenty of pools and law enforcement that wouldn’t get all bent out of shape over someone breaking the hosepipe ban, not really believing the water shortage would affect them. For the children it was the kind of summer that in years to come, as adults dealing with the weight of the world, jobs, and bills they’d look back on and say, “Those were the best days of our lives.” The cool wind in the evenings stopped it feeling too hot and carried a hint of the autumn yet to come.

The nights, while short in the summer held their own attractions for the young. The hot weather had caused numerous forest fires. None of them were close enough to cause the town any problems. During the day all that could be seen was a dirty black smog in the distance, but at night, the flames provided a backdrop worthy of any Hollywood disaster movie. Two consecutive nights just the previous week had provided an unexpected light show when meteors had shot across the sky, burning up in the atmosphere.

The world, even a small town one, can be a source of endless adventure for those of the right age and mindset. Dangers are never something to worry about, at least not until it is too late.

Chapter One.

              Parents thought Tommy are downright weird, as and his friends clambered down the stony slope. The quarry was one of their favourite places to hang around. He’d been caught there yesterday by his parents and dragged home. He’d been yelled at and lectured about the dangers of the place then sent to bed early with promises of a punishment to be decided in the morning. When he’d came downstairs in the morning, his parents had barely noticed him, or even each other. Tommy wondered if they’d had a big argument and forgotten all about his punishment. Not wanting to push his unexpected luck, he quickly wolfed down an overcooked breakfast and ran out the house, shouting to his parents he was off outside to play without waiting for a reply. He knew exactly where his friends would be and headed off once more to the quarry.

It was the middle of the summer break. The long hot days seemed to stretch out forever. Going back to school was a lifetime away and growing up even further off. Tommy watched as William slid down the steep, grey stone slope, raising a small cloud of dust as he went and causing a small avalanche of stones. Tommy followed quickly. In previous year the quarry would be half filled with water and could be swam in (another thing his parents strictly forbade). This year though, the hot and dry weather had meant there wasn’t even a puddle. Tommy noticed that William had stopped about a third of the way from the end of the slope. He was standing on a ledge, looking at the rock face with a quizzical look on his face.

The rest of the gang made their way down the slope until they joined him. In the side of rock, hidden from sight from anyone above by a rocky outcropping, was a hole in the rock. Roughly circular, and not large, perhaps a meter wide. Greig spoke first. “That wasn’t there yesterday.” Other voices piped in with their own opinions. “Must’ve been. Holes just don’t appear.”

“Maybe it is a sinkhole”, Tommy said. He’d seen something on the news about a sinkhole in China. He wondered if this hole was the other end of it and if he climbed through if he’d come out on the other side of the world. In the way of children though he decided he’d heard enough to be an expert on the matter. The others were still talking. Phrases like “If it gets bigger inside it would make a great den”, “What if it rains and floods”, and “Wonder how deep it goes”, drifted past his ears. He was aware of the words, but they drifted over him without him taking any real notice of them. He walked over to the hole and peered deep inside. The shadows from the hanging rock prevented him from seeing in very far so he pulled out his mobile and used the light from the screen. As the interior lit up, Tommy exclaimed in surprise “There is something down there!”

The others crowded in closer, trying to see for themselves. Everyone was asking what he’d seen but all he could tell them was he didn’t know. He’d just saw it move further down the passage quickly. “Maybe it’s a dog. Climbed in there and its too stupid to turn around and get back out.” In a concerned voice Sarah asked if it was hurt and couldn’t get out?

Thoughts of a potential reward for returning a lost pet crossed Tommy’s mind. His hands grabbed the cold rocky sides of the tunnel and before anyone could say anything he climbed into it, crawling on all fours. It was awkward because of the narrow space and the rough surface. Small stones bit painfully into his knees and having to hold his phone up for a light source made it even harder. Every time he could see the thing moving, it moved further down the tunnel back into the darkness. Thinking that the light must be frightening it, he angled the torch down, so it only lit up the ground in front of him. He tried coaxing the animal in a gentle voice while wondering again just how deep this thing went. It also occurred to him that he didn’t have room to turn around, so he’d need to crawl backwards, pulling the dog (if that is what it was) with him and he wouldn’t be able to keep his light on, so he’d need to do it all in the dark. With the dim light from his phone, he could see the dog had stopped moving further down the cave. Had it reached the end of the tunnel? He brought his phone up to cast more light and get a better look.

He got a brief impression, something brown in colour that moved more like an eel than a dog. It thrashed around to face him and rushed up towards him in a terrifying burst of speed. He barely had time to scream.

Chapter Two.

              It was late evening when the kids walked back to town. Had any adults been around to see them, they have noticed that they walked back in perfect silence. Rather than being in a ragged group, they more resembled troops in formation, marching along. As they reached each child’s home, they would peel off with a precision that would have brought a tear to the most hardened drill instructor’s eye. No farewells were said. The rest of the group just walked on without breaking step, or even looking to the side.

Each child quietly entered their house as the sun was sinking beneath the trees and wordlessly went up to their rooms. Their parents did not see them until the next morning.

In the morning, breakfast was made without a word passing between Tommy or his parents. For the second day it was burnt, although Tommy chewed mechanically, without noticing or really tasting. He left the house without asking permission. He gathered up his friends and in much the same way as they had marched home the previous night, they returned to the quarry.

The children sat around in a circle, each in turn discussing their families. They talked about what their parents did for a living, where their relatives lived and worked. Not in an excited chatter or any of the usual “my dad could beat your dad in a fight”. Instead, they sat calmly, each taking a turn to pass on information. Tommy nodded and stared intently at each speaker in turn, silently making mental notes. They passed the day in this fashion, listing seemingly endless details and leaving out nothing no matter how trivial.

 

^ How did I not see this here...?

I finished the latest chapter of my new book WITH MALICE TOWARDS NONE.
Eight months after surviving an assassination attempt at Ford's Theater, Abraham Lincoln celebrated his first Christmas in a nation at peace since he was elected President.

that's not a bad idea for a book actually i'm surprised nobody has done it already to be honest

i wrote a new song today. i think i don't like it right now. unfortunately, the people i wrote it for will. not sure if i should click send or not.  :bluesad: :bluesad:

Still fussing over my manuscript 😳😳

From the start of my next D&D campaign.


Chapter One.

“You step into the portal. Its edges are a royal blue colour which darkens, becoming the darkest black you have ever seen. Stepping inside, the streaks of silver light seem to whizz past you like shooting stars. Then for a millisecond everything goes black, and you find yourself standing in a muddy town square that is somehow familiar. You know you’ve been to this place before, but it was quite some time ago. The sudden daylight makes you squint and hurts your eyes. You see your companions, looking similarly confused. Your hard-won weapons, armour, magic items and equipment are all gone. Instead, you are carrying… just regular gear. The same kind of things you carried when you first started adventuring. In fact, you are carrying the very same gear you had when you started adventuring. Your mind feels distorted somehow, your memories of why you were here and what happened afterwards are like vague shadows flitting through your mind that you can’t quite grasp. What exactly did that portal do? You can’t remember how you met the elf Erima, who sacrificed himself to save you all, but looking around you recognize many of the traders selling things around in the market square. The sky is clear, and the day is hot and dry. From the position of the sky, you’d estimate it is mid-morning. The people around you wear loose-fitting clothing. They have dusky skin and most of them, both male and female have shaved their heads. Those who are not dressed in such a fashion seem to represent a motley gamut of peoples from across Faerun. While those with a shaven head are dressed in fairly fine clothes, the others are in dirty rags. Each bears a mark on their cheek, which looks like a brand rather than a tattoo. The chatter you can hear from around the marketplace is a rather sibilant tongue, a dialect that you do not recognise (unless anyone actually has Speak Language Thayan).”

You are going to have to improvise on what the party does next. They might go to the stalls around them for information. No one will recognize any of them. The locals speak with a strong accent, completely different to that of any of the players. Hopefully at some point though the party will decide to head to an inn. The locals will not be overly friendly to the party, seeing anyone from outside Thay as being lesser than them. If anyone in the party is wearing red, the locals will stare at them open mouthed, then quickly look away from them refusing to make eye contact. They will mumble into the ground and quickly excuse themselves from anyone foolish enough to wear red (unless they are a Red Wizard or part of the clergy of Kossuth). If the players are completely lost and have no idea how to proceed, have a patrol of Thayan watchmen come marching in and “escort them” to an inn.

“A squad of 8 men wearing highly polished metal armour and carrying halberds come marching into the square. They are all wearing tabards that bear matching images. That of several orbs flying in a spiral around a central star (anyone with Knowledge Nobility can attempt a DC 10 roll to identify it as the flag of Thay). You also see the same image borne on many flags flying from the tops of towers across the city. The soldiers are walking with a gait that seems to your eyes impractical and slightly comical. It involves shuffling forward with very short and rapid steps. They march in a two by four formation. One of the men at the front has a long black horsehair plume hanging down from the top of his silvery helmet. At a guess he’d be their leader. Seeing your group standing there he changes the direction of his troop so they are heading directly towards you.” 

If the party are foolish enough to start a fight, the sergeant is a 4th level fighter. He has a 3rd level fighter as his corporal and the rest of his men are 1st level warriors. The corporal will immediately blow a brass whistle which will summon reinforcements starting with in d4+3 rounds with another squad of watchmen. If that fails to quell the trouble, then a Thayan wizard complete with an apprentice and a 4-man bodyguard of Thayan Knights will turn up d3 rounds after that. He will, however, attempt to capture the group alive (and then send them to the arena as his slaves), ordering the guards to take them alive. The troops will reluctantly switch from their halberds to Billy clubs they have hanging from their belts and use non-lethal damage to beat the party down. Should any of the party be killed, the Red Wizard will immediately use a Lightning Bolt on the unlucky guardsman who dealt the killing blow. For s**ts and giggles make the apprentice Juan, who will use Colour Spray on the party. If they run off, again reinforcements will be summoned. Let the party make a good go of escaping, but eventually the Red Wizards are going to catch them and the party ends up in the arena. Any magic users in the party who aren’t either Red Wizards or clerics of Kossuth, will find they are unable to cast any spells (they are wearing bracelets that nullify their magical abilities. If they don’t find out about these before, they would spot the bracelets and remember wearing them was a condition of them being allowed into Thay.

It might sound as if the party has no free will about going to the arena. They do. They are perfectly free to decide how they end up there. 

“The leader of the soldiers looks you up and down, his lip curled in an expression of distaste. He starts speaking in the local tongue, but it is quickly obvious that you have no idea what he is saying, he switches to a thickly accented common. ‘Outsiders, you are supposed to remain at the inn unless escorted by a citizen of Thay. I will take you back to your inn, where you will remain until your sponsor collects you. If you are found on the street again, you will find yourself spending time in the mines. Perhaps they don’t pay attention to the law where you are from, but here in Thay things are very different!’ He roughly shoves (pick whichever player is most likely to start a fight over this) and orders you to move.”

Should anyone answer the sergeant back, he will have no hesitation in cracking them over the head with his club to teach them some manners. Should this develop into a full-blown fight, see above. If anyone is wearing red, the sergeant will angrily demand that they immediately remove it. Failing to do so will have them on charges of impersonating a Red Wizard. This does not lead to going to the arena. This leads to a long drawn out and very painful death witnessed by the entire population of the town. They will be arrested and crucified in the centre of town and a Red Wizard will, using magic slowly peel each layer of skin from their body, carefully leaving the veins intact. They will then be left for the elements, vermin, insects and birds to finish off.

“With many pokes and prods, you are ‘escorted’ to a three-story stone building. It is of a very plain construction. At some point in the past, it was painted white, but time, weather and a lack of maintenance have left it peeling and contributing to a general aura of decrepitude. It has a heavy-looking wooden door that sits slightly ajar. You can’t help but notice that the door has a heavy wooden bar that can be put across to hold the door shut, from the outside.”

Still polishing my book: I found out that there are three sequels to The Gods Must Be Crazy 😳

Not an entirely original story, but I just felt writing tonight, even if I had to battle against autocorrect. Anyway, it's just a rough first draft.

I could hear the footsteps behind me as I walked along the street. He'd been following me for a while now. In the old days it hadn't been uncommon for me to find some pervy guy following me around. Then times had gotten weirder and weirder. It started slowly, so slowly that normal people had no chance to realise it was even happening. Even when it was noticed, they didn't really do anything about it. Psychiatrists would come in tv, wrong their hands and talk with politicians about how it could be handled with therapy and support meetings.

But still the numbers of psychopaths being born increased. At some point I guess the numbers started going up exponentially and by the time they hit adulthood it was too late. Society was just overwhelmed and collapsed. No amount of focus groups of quorums could save it. They took to the streets openly hunting the normals. Within months they'd won. Murderers had inherited the earth and were hunting down anyone who wasn't one of them.

It really wasn't safe for anyone who wasn't a born killer to be caught outside, and here was I being followed. Hunted. Stalked. The same way women like me had been treated by men since time before time. No one was going to come along and try to reform anyone in a nice soft prison anymore.

I increased my pace walking as fast as I could and feeling my heart rate increasing until it was pounding in my chest. I heard the footsteps behind speeding up to match my speed. Turning around a corner I broke into a short run, then ducked sideways into an abandoned shop, hoping my body would be hidden in the shadows. I listened intently as the footsteps broke into a run, my fingers curled around the wooden handle of my only weapon, a 16 inch lightning knife. When I could hear his heavy breathing I knew he was close enough for me to act. I reached out with one hand, gripping his arm and pulling him towards me, knocking him off balance. He stumbled practically falling into my blade. In a second I take him in, a nondescript man in earlier times, middle aged and slightly over weight. I'm impressed he's lasted this long. I'd imagine he was a teacher, maybe a professor in the before times. One of the ones who thought we could be dealt with in a civilised fashion.

I felt the thud of his body as he fell against the hilt. He started to squeal as he felt the steel inside him, but it turned into a bloody gurgle as I twisted the blade, making a hole in his guy big enough that I could fit my fist inside. I let go of his arm letting him slump against me as he slipped to the ground. I exalted in the feel of the warm blood running over my hand. I step back so he falls to the ground whining like a little kitten desperate for attention. The wound isn't fatal. Not immediately anyway. He'll wish it was though. A good doctor with access to a modern hospital could still save him. If only there were any still open. I smell down beside him and whisper in his ear 'It's too late old man. Your time is over. You should have killed us at the start, killed us in our cots when we were still babies, but you didn't. Your species was too soft to survive. We are the new humanity. It's our time now. "

Then I leave him there, bleeding out and groaning on the pavement. Out of the shadows I can see forms slinking out of the darkness, the ones who like victims who won't struggle too much. He won't bleed to death slowly, but he will die in a lot of pain. As they reach him, his shrieks reach a new pitch.

The cries put a smile on my blood soaked face.

Working on a Sherlock Holmes story.  I enjoy writing those sometimes.

Really slow night tonight. Let's see where this story goes.

'f**k f**k f**k f**k' I screamed. How the hell did today go from getting revenge on my b***h of an ex turn into me being chased by a bear? I leapt off the grey boulder as 800 pounds of fur, muscle and teeth came bounding across the grass towards me. I started sprinting, wincing at the throbbing pain in my twisted ankle, heading for the distant tree line, deeper praying that I could make it to the trees before the bear reached me.

I wasn't even half way when with a primal roar, something (guessing the bear)  hit me from behind. My back exploded in pain and I felt myself go flying through the air. Everything went black before I even got the ground.

It was a huge surprise to me when I woke up, although with the pain I was in, I didn't feel exactly thankful about it. The bear, Camille or Don were nowhere to be seen. From the pain when I say up I was pretty sure some ribs were cracked it not worse.

And the day had started out so well....

Six hours previously.

I did not see you wrote a story an posted it in here. I am summoned to bed now, but I would like to read it tomorrow. Well done, Alex, and also congrats on your Sherlock Holmes story, indy.

The Late Visit.

I slowly climbed the stairs, my leather clad feet padding on the stone castle steps. Everything about this had been carefully chosen. Most people would be downstairs attending the king at the banquet. Everyone, safe for his wife. As expected she had excused herself early from the meal and returned to her private chambers. In my right hand I gripped the rope banister, in my left I carried the heavy velvet wrapped package that was my charge to care for. My uniform was simple, black and functional, save for the heavy cloth hood. Often the fabric would shift partially blocking my view. I would stop and fix my hood frequently. It was a traditional outfit, but one lacking practicality for my role. I was only slowing the inevitable though. My pace was slow but steady. Duty and honour conflicted with each other in my thoughts.

I reached the top of the spiral stairs and paused for a second as much to catch my breath as to settle my unquiet thoughts. The door to the queens chamber was just a few steps in front of me. Despite the hood and shadows hiding my features, the guards recognised, well perhaps not me but they knew who I am and why I was there. They stepped aside allowing me access to the door. I knocked, my raps loud but slow and ponderous on the thick, oaken door. A soft feminine voice bid me enter. Outwardly I remained calm, but my heart was hammering in my chest as I grasped the black iron handle and with a sigh, pushed the door inward and stepped inside.

The royal appartments were as one would expect lavishly decorted. Expensive silks and other fabrics I could not even guess the names of hung on the walls alongside portraits, tapestries and all manner of things I could never dream of affording. A single item from this room was worth more than I could ever earn in a lifetime and yet one treasure was greater than all the others combined.

Our Queen, the lady Alyssa.

She stood there looking at me regally. A woman so beautiful that it was almost painful to look at her. She had the strangest, blue eyes that seemed to stare right through your skin to see the heart within, her high cheekbones and the long blonde hair. She looked at me with a half smile playing around her ruby red lips "Sirrah, it is a late hour for you to be calling at a ladies residence without an escort."
Although I had performed my duty many times without emotion, this time I felt butterfly's in my stomach and stumbled over my words. "The king my lady. He sent me. The issue of... well his issue..."

"Of course. The lack of a son to succeed him. I have expected this. Is it to happen immediately?"

So regal and graceful even in this moment. Her poise had not faltered even for a split second.

"We have... some little time my lady but not all night and the hour already grows late."

"Very well. I did not expect that you would come alone."

"The king did not feel that having witnesses... your popularity with the common folk..."

My words kept drifting off into nothingness.

"Sirrah, I mean the impropriety of a lone man being in a ladies private chambers. Tis' not proper."

"Lady I must confess that nothing about this situation seems right to me. That I am alone in a room with the most beautiful woman in the kingdom is the least of all that."

"And if I were to offer you my beauty for the night, would you in return grant me mercy and allow me to leave? I am told I can do things with my mouth that no other woman can match, and many men have cast envious looks at my body. I can see in your eyes you desire me too."

As she spoke, it was as if some spell had broken. She was no longer some distant unapproachable goddess, but merely a mortal woman, with her own hopes and dreams. I slipped the velvet covering off the head of the tool of my trade, the steel glinting in the firelight reflecting off its razor sharp edge. "My lady, I not here to give or receive that kind of head. Only to take yours. It is time, please prepare yourself."

She gazed at me, tilting her head slightly as if exposing her neck for me. There was no fear in those pure blue eyes. Once again she was an untouchable goddess, gracing us with her mere presence "I cannot do this my lady. Nor would I take advantage of any woman who did not give her body freely. I will help you escape the castle."

The queen smiled at me, and it was like the sun emerging from behind a cloudy sky. "We must leave now my queen. There is no time to pack." I motioned towards the door.  She swept past me, moving at haste. As she passed I moved in a blur, swinging the axe around in a lethal arc. She never saw it coming. I truly hope she felt nothing and the blow killed her in an instant. It was the only mercy I could offer her.

The next day I left my home and job, just fled the kingdom. I left my wife and childer behind. To this day I know not what happened to them. I knew that sooner or later the king would want the only witness silenced. I would never sleep another night without picturing those piercing blue eyes of hers whenever I closed my eyes.