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Continuing…
He grimaced and growled and launched himself toward me. He made it about 0.5 meters before an Ankylosaur tail club (or Thagomizer, whichever) connected with the right temporal region of his cranium. He never hit the ground as Toivo had him in a severe and decidedly uncomfortable-looking hammerlock. He had the goof’s hands pinned before gravity could fully take over.
I produce three inescapable thick plastic Zip-ties, of which I always carry a supply, and bind his wrists as Toivo frog-marched him back to his seat.
“Ribbit. Ribbit, asshole”, Toivo snickered all the way back to the land of the cheap seats.
His significant other or sister or first cousin or whatever is seated and begs us not to turn the plane around.
“He’s just drunk. That’s all!” she says like that’s some form of excuse.
For some. Maybe.
For your buddy, lover, cousin, whatever; no way.
“OK, then he’ll be handed over to the Japanese authorities when we land. No skin off my rosy-red proboscis.” I replied as Toivo unceremoniously dumps the miscreant in his aisle seat with a decidedly agreeable, and somewhat soggy, “kerflop!”.
Seems our loudmouth drunk needs his big boy pants before he begins a drunken tirade.
“Ick”, I noted to Toivo, reminding him that there are sanitizer stations all over the plane.
“Tidy up, “ I said, “No idea what communicables this carbuncle is carrying.”
I fit the next set of zip-ties snugly around his ankles as his significant something-or-other goes positively apeshit.
“You have no fucking right! Who the fuck do you think you are!?” she bellows.
I turn from grinning ear-to-ear at Toivo and look directly into this piece of human flotsam’s vacant, vapid eyes.
“I, ma’am, am the MOTHERFUCKING PRO FROM DOVER and this is my able-bodied assistant, Mr. Hyde.
<EEGAH!> replies Toivo.
“Thank you, able-bodied assistant”, I say to Toivo as he’s already wanting to head back to Business Class to begin ordering drinks from where he left off previously on the drinks menu.
I continue with this refugee from Uncle Tom’s Medicine Cabinet by letting her know into exactly what world of fuckery her significant whatever just wandered.
“I am also a duly authorized United States of America Air Marshall”, as I pull my Diplomatic passport and show her the very shiny and very official badge I keep there.
“So, if you would like to join your…whatever…when we land by being bound over to the local Prefecture Police personages, then, by all means, keep irritating me. My assistant and I have a very large supply of inescapable zip-ties.” I said, lowly, slowly, and growly.
She sat down suddenly, shut up, and was unpredictably very interested in the carpeted floor of the plane at that point.
I had Toivo connect the guy’s wrist zip-ties with his ankle zip-ties.
I look at my watch.
“Hmmm…6.03 seconds. Very nice, Mr. Hyde. A new record. You win a cookie. And a cold one.” I smiled at Toivo who realized that all, except his throbbing hangover, was forgiven.
“All set?” I asked. Toivo nodded in approval, and we departed that scene and headed back to Business class and away from the pedestrian displays of such hoi-polloi.
Luna greeted up with a brace of fresh cocktails.
“Why thank you, Luna”, I smiled, “How did you guess that corralling idiots was thirsty work?”
“Oh, Doctor Rock. You not tell me everything. You no Air Marshall.” She joshed.
“Funny.”, I said, digging out my passport, “This here says that I am.”
Luna looks more closely and swoons a bit.
“You are Pro from Dover! I hear you. Everybody in plane hear you! You are too funny to be Air Marshall!”, she laughs.
“Probably, but I’m on the injured reserve list. Oh, look. My drink’s gone dry…”
Luna laughs, Toivo stammers, and I get a refill.
Sleeping Ugly, in the rear of the plane, is still snoozing off his brush with death when this character in a natty and expensive-looking three-piece suit wanders into Business Class.
“You are Dr. Rocknocker, the, ahem, very loud Pro From Dover?” he asks.
I sit up straight, rearrange my work area and affirm that is exactly who I am.
“Might I take a look at your credentials?” he asked, very politely.
“You might if you tell me what this is all about,” I replied.
“I’m Bill Hubbard, and I’m the Air Marshall for this flight.” He says.
“Well, Bill. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Rocknocker, and Air Marshall pro tem for any flight I’m on. Call me Rock. That’s what the guys at the Agency call me.” I smile brightly.
“Ah. That explains it. Might I see your credentials, Doc…er...Rock?” He asks.
“Certainly.” As I produce my Red Russian Diplomatic passport.
He looks very confused.
“Open it”, I offer.
“Well, I’ll be damned. There must be some great stories that go with all this.” Bill smiles.
“That there are”, I say, retrieving my credentials and asking if Bill would like to join Toivo, yet another covert character, and me in a drink.
“Nah, thanks. However, if you don’t mind, I’ll take over that hogtied idiot back in economy for you. You look like your plate’s full enough.” He offered.
“That’s fine by me. I’ll have an IR (Incident Report) for you directly.” I replied.
“Damn. You really are a Marshall. Pack a plaster cast instead of a piece. Nice.” He laughed.
“Just my way of being disarming,” I replied.
Bill chuckled, shook his head, rolled his eyes, shook both our hands, and returned to his seat.
“Nice guy. Glad he’s here. I want nothing else to do with that loudmouthed asshole.”
“That much is certain”, Toivo agreed.
“Well, since you’re back with the living, care for a drink?” I asked as I motioned to Luna.
“You are -not- human”, Toivo gasped as Luna repaired to the galley to make our drinks.
“That”, I smiled as I drained my drink, “is something which I never claimed to be.”
Well, life wore on. We landed at Narita Airport in Tokyo without further incident.
Drunky McAsshole was escorted off the plane by Bill and he looked very, very unhappy indeed.
I nodded to him and tipped my drink in that inimitable Midwestern manner.
He didn’t even nod back.
The prick.
Anyways.
I thought we were headed to Haneda, but something must have changed in-flight. No worries, since all I have to do is collect my luggage, find a driver and get him to take me to the train station.
I wander down the jetway, Toivo close behind. He’s headed to the Marunouchi Business District, and I’m headed for Tokyo Station. I could take the train, it’s only an hour and about 3,000 yen, but I had a compelling reason not to go.
I didn’t fucking want to.
I’m walking slowly away from my terminal, and head over to passport control and baggage.
I’m through in a trice, and now I’m wondering what the fuck I’m going to do. A couple of travel cases, my well case, a buggered left hand, and…
As I walk out of the baggage area, I see this whisper-thin chap holding a placard: “Doctor Rocknocker, USA”.
Hmmm…
“Hello? “ I asked the gaunt, thin-clad one.
“Hello. You are Doctor Lock…Lockrocker…Doctor…” He stammers.
“Yeah”, I say and hand him my business card, “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock. It’s so much easier for everyone.”
“Ah, yes. So, Mr. Dr. Rock. Pleased to be meeting you. I am from the train company. You have First Class on the Tokyo-Sapporo express?” he asks.
“Why yes. Yes, I do.” I replied.
“Then you will come with me. I will escort you to ground transportation to the train station and to your First Class chamber on the train.” He bows slightly and whistles shrilly for a porter to handle my bags.
“Thank you so much…um, and your name?” I ask.
“I am Gin, your humble servant”, he actually and really says.
“Gin? No shit? Excuse me. Sorry, that just slipped out. What a perfect name. Damn glad to meet you”, I said and extended my less damaged right hand.
He bowed, I sort of bowed; my back cracked like old kindling. He extended his hand, I extended mine. He bowed and I tried to shake his hand. If I were watching this from the outside as a spectator, it would have looked riotously funny.
I finally grab Gin’s right hand and at long last, a manly handshake ensues.
“About fucking time”, I muttered under my breath.
Gin and I are walking slowly to ground transport when he sees my slight limp, another gift of being a hired gun and traipsing all over the world. That and stopping a .45 with my thigh a few decades ago. That didn’t help much either.
“Stop here. I will get an electric cart.” Gin ordered.
I was a bit all-in by this time and too tired to argue.
“Groovy. Can I smoke here?” I asked.
“Not yet. Must wait until we reach outside.” He informs me.
“Fair enough.” I clip my cigar and shove it in my yap, but I didn’t light it.
Gin was going to lodge a small protest, but I say that I didn’t fire the thing up.
A cart arrives and we toss all my luggage and kit into the back. I take the passenger seat and Gin rides shotgun directly behind me.
“Gin, tell me, COVID is the reason it’s so quiet here,” I ask.
“Yes, Dr. Rock”, Gin exhales loudly, “It’s killing us who work in the ground transport and hospitality industries. Very bad. Not so many people die, that is sad, many, many more go hungry and lose jobs. This must stop soon.”
“I could not agree more, Gin”, I replied.
He’s just earned himself a real hefty tip, I muse, local tradition be damned.
We arrive outside and I ask Gin if I can fire up my heater now. He tells me yes, and that it would be fine to smoke in the vehicle that’s going to take us to the train station.
“Well, if that ain’t just ducky!” I chuckle. Gin looks on, very confused. “That’s great, Gin. Many thanks.”
“Ah. So…”, Gin says slowly. “Your ride is over there, we should be there in a few minutes.”
“Fair dinkum, Gin”, I say in austral approval.
I figured we’d be taking a sedan or van or SUV on the outside. Instead, Gin wheels us up to the second largest car, I would suppose, in the whole Goddamned prefecture. It’s a chauffeur-driven limo from Supernova-Zipline Limousines. It’s fucking huge; a stretch Mercedes limo. It probably has its own zip code, if not its own area code.
Gin grabs my bags and shoves them in the boot, scurries around, and pops open the rear door. I slowly de-putt-putt and ease into the opulent back seat of one of the largest cars in which I’ve ever had the pleasure of riding.
Jesus Q. Christwagons! Full bar! Stocked humidor! Satellite phone! Satellite TV. Satellite internet! A fucking closed-circuit telly system for the interior and exterior of the vehicle. An intercom for communicating with the driver.
“What?” I asked Gin, “No jacuzzi?”
“That car was busy today”, he smiled.
“Shame.”
I literally goggled the inside of this vehicle. It’s ridiculous in its opulence; especially for the likes of me.
“All these are here at your disposal. Of course, you will be charged for what you use, although the driver has already been paid. A gratuity is up to you when you arrive at the train station.” Gin informs me as I take a quick break from stuffing my carry-on with bottles of exclusive Japanese alcohol and fine cigars from around the world.
“Send the bill to these characters”, I say and hand him one of the many business cards I filched from Agents Rack and Ruin.
“By your leave”, Gin smiles. He will not be accompanying me to the train station, but his counterpart will meet me there and get me to my cabin on the train.
I make certain I sneak him a hefty gratuity’ Oriental proclivities be damned.
He accepts, looks at the pile of yen furtively, stashes it in his pocket and barks some orders into the intercom. By the time we exchange handshakes, the limo has been started and we are ready to attack traffic.
Tokyo traffic in a huge limo.
This should be fun.
But it twern’t.
The locals were deferentially courteous. They waited quietly until the winds shifted and the driver maneuvered the land yacht out of the parking place and into the wind and traffic. Once rolling, other drivers seemed to intuitively know this was not a normal vehicle and gave us a wide berth.
Well, where the blinkered hell is the fun in that?
I settled back in the far back with my seat reclined, a drink at the ready and my already lit cigar.
Yes, I was ready for anything.
But, nothing untoward happened.
Nothing but an interesting hour-long trip through a surprisingly vacant Tokyo. COVID I reckon, but we arrived at the train station less than an hour later.
It has to be the cleanest damned train station I’ve ever seen. Absolutely immaculate. Tons of stores of every imaginable description, plus a very well stocked duty-free.
I was already fairly well stocked, but I dropped by a House of Havana to see about a few cigars.
HOLY FUCKING GASP
“So sorry, not at those prices.”
Holy shit. Who can afford a cigar habit in Japan? Christ on a crouton. Prices for Havana cigars fully 200-400% more expensive than the usual extortionate price one pay for these dubious smogs.
A courtesy car pulls up and asks if I was “Dr. Roclocncker” or something in that linguistic style. I affirm my identity verbally and with a business card, which the driver appreciates.
He, without asking, by the way, grabs my luggage, tosses it into the golf-cart cum field transport and then asks me to park myself in the cart.
I ask, “Wot’s, uh, the deal?”
“VIP transport. Please to be hang on”, he says and we accelerate out into the thin crowds.
Within minutes we’re at my platform and my driver asks if I’m taking the Sapporo Express or the Tohoku/Hokkaido Shinkansen from Tokyo to Shin-Hakodate-Hokuto and transfer to the Hokuto limited express to Sapporo.
“The former”, I reply, somewhat vexed that they more than one line First Class, to Sapporo.
“Excellent”, he replies, and after going over my tickets, confirms what I had been told.
It really isn’t “First Class”, it’s “Gran Class”.
Evidently, there a difference.
From the brochure: “The Gran Class involves the use of a special train car with ample seating room (the more, the better), as well as the constant attention of your host or hostess. Trains generally have one Gran Class car along with standard and green cars. Service is also a point of interest in the Shinkansen Gran Class. Upon entering the train, an attendant will guide you to your seat. You will then be offered such amenities as a menu, drinks, blanket, drinks, warm towel, drinks, slippers (which may be taken home by the passenger), drinks, eye mask, and drinks.”
OK, I may have edited that a bit...
Once settled in and my bagged luggage whisked someplace safe but out of sight, I was handed a menu. They were very cautiously deferential about my plastered hand and made every effort to be extra accommodating for me.
I flip open the menu and read: “Our service reflects the land traversed, and is attentive to individual needs so that you may enjoy the trip in your own personal way. We are honored to make your travels a high point in your journey. The attendant can be called to your seat at any time using a button on the armrest. The menu options include gourmet delicacies, all locally sourced. For example, you may order a bento box featuring locally grown vegetables, along with fresh apple juice produced in Aomori*. Other options include drinks, snacks, alcoholic beverages, drinks, and a western-style lunch. All food and beverages are provided at no additional cost.”
Highly unlikely.
The train imperceptibly lurches and we’re moving out of the station and headed on our way up north.
Only 831 or so kilometers and this is one of the first runs of the Sapporo Express where you don’t have to stop after 4.5-5 hours, de-train, then catch a new express the rest of the way to Sapporo from Hokkaido.
This is just a very recent addition to the rail lines in Japan, and I’m among some of the first that get to experience a shakedown cruise and see how nice the cabin attendants can be towards me.
Halfway through my first drink, a Shochu (焼酎), which is a distilled liquor (like vodka), and fresh carbonated lime drink which I faux-racistly dub “The Locknockel”.
So solly. I’ll attempt to quell that impulse from here on out.
I’ll probably not be overly successful.
I am asked if I will be ordering lunch. I reply in the affirmative and leave it to them to find the best of what they think I’d probably like. I did ask for another drink, though. That appeared within seconds.
I’m slurping this new concoction and I glance out the window. Everything’s a fucking blur.
“Whoa! What kind of drinks do they serve here?” I asked, but Ford Prefect was nowhere to be seen.
It’s not the drink, it’s our velocity. Already we’re topping 300 KPH. You couldn’t prove it by me. It was smooth as silk and amazingly disconcerting to not feel at least a little bit of shimmying or shaking.
Not on these lines, Buckaroo. These are welded rails. Welded, ground and buffed to a high sheen.
The ride was smoother than my next drink, a Rocknocker made with Ao vodka.
“Named for the Japanese word for “blue,” Ao is made from Japanese rice and water sourced from the country’s southern island of Kyushu. Distilled in copper pots and refined through a bamboo filtration system, this vodka is creamy and lush, with an ethereal lightness and purity reminiscent of fresh spring water.”
It is also probably the favorite of distant dragons and important ancestors.
Anyways, the trip proceeded pretty much along these lines. Smoking was verboten aboard all Japanese trains, but when I asked about the fact that I recall, or so I thought, that one of the perks of Gran Class was a private room where a passenger could while away the time along whatever ways he or she would choose, they were ready to allow me a cigar.
“No, wouldn’t be proper”, I maintained, “Wouldn’t be right”, I continued and handed each of my three personal retainers a cigar.
They each brought me a version of a drink they just knew I’d like based on my past few hour’s consumptions.
They were right. They were all quite lovely.
Now, truth be told, my left mitt was bothering me. Somehow the pain messages were finding a way upstream and I had to admit that it positively throbbed. I decided to forego any further libations for a while and try some of that ‘pain medication’ the medicos back in Caracas gave me.
“This is in case you have harsh pain”, Dr. Esparraguera and Dr. Díaz told me, “That is, more than your usual.”
“What is it?” I asked eyeing the large and frankly suspicious-looking black capsule.
“Oh, just a bit of morphine. A shot of ketamine. A little oxycodone. A drop of buprenorphine. Some tramadol and a smattering of Thorazine. That and just a hint of mint.” They replied.
I wondered if I needed one or two.
Well, like my dear ol’ departed Granddad used to say: “When one’s not enough, and two is too many; best take three.”
Hey, I have a high pain threshold and I live with chronic pain. Now this hand was beginning to hurt to the point of a minor annoyance.
I swallowed three with the rest of my drink.
Then I was being roused by one of my cabin attendants.
“Sir, we are here. Sir? Sir? SIR!?!” the panicked attendant called.
“Oh, yes”, I snarfled. “So we are. Thank you so much for a splendid trip.”
She stood back to allow me room to go from horizontal to vertical.
“Ah! A few hours kip after a couple of drinks. I feel slightly more human again.” I said as I stretched and produced sounds like a cord of old firewood being run over by a custom Oldsmobile Rocket 88.
No one dared say a word, although there was a lot of body language flying around. They got my baggage and all my other bits-and-pieces loaded up and ready for me to travel.
I swear, I hadn’t walked 100 paces when we’re on the platform and there’s another thin-clad one with a “Dr. Rock” sign.
He walked over to me, I guess I give off Rock-ish vibes and ask if I am who I am.
I verified I was who I was.
Back in the read confines of another limo, a bit smaller than the one in Tokyo, but still none too shabby, and we’re headed to the labs of ウルトラシークレットテックカンパニー株式会社 [Ultrasecret Tech Company, Ltd.].
“How long until we get there?” I ask.
“Not long”, Came the reply, “20 minutes.”
“May I smoke?” I asked.
He pulled down a hand-polished wooden cover and a fully outfitted humidor sprang into view.
“I’ll take that as a yes”, I smiled and pulled out my pocket humidor and produced a smallish cigar that I figured would take about 20 minutes.
My co-pilot was watching very closely, and of course, I offered him one.
“Grab a spare for the driver”, I said, “But hold on to it until we get where we’re going.”
“Yes, sir”, came the brisk and rapid reply.
We arrived at the labs, which were housed in a very nondescript gray, closed window 5-story building. Could have been a bookbinder’s. Could have been a Gentleman’s Club. Could have been an abattoir, for all I knew.
Everything was done in muted and tasteful shades of gray, teal, light tannish brown and pinkish-mauve trying to go all purple. Carpets. Walls. Ceilings. Going to take some reconnoitering to get the layout of this place, I mumbled to myself.
“Dr! Rock! Hello! So glad you are here!”
It was the team leader, Dr. Uchibayashi Iesada, called Uchi from here on out.
The rest of the team, all doctors, were Yuhara Hideaki (Youhoo), Bando Michinaga (Bando), Fukutsuchi Kosho (Fukkit…no really), and Ms. Dr. Sasagawa Kaneru (Sassy).
And those are the names we used in parenthesis as I’m not going to type their names over again.
There was much bowing and handshaking and distribution of business cards. Again, to any outsider, it must have looked uproariously funny.
Seems I was to have my hand scanned today so the procedures can begin bright and early the next day.
I was told that I’d be staying here at the labs as they have one floor converted to a 5-Star Hotel, another floor for meetings, meals, and recreation. More floors for research, medical procedures, and whatever else these characters were into.
They are really big on cybernetics, robotics, automation, miniaturization, and human-machine interfaces.
Guess that’s why I’m here.
I was taken to my suite on the 5th floor, and damn, they weren’t kidding. This room was right out of the playbook of JP Morgan. Plush, well outfitted with every known electronic gizmo, probably surveillance cameras that could diagnose your drink before you had time to stir it, and a plush California King bed, Jacuzzi, and bar.
None of that mini-bar shit. Here, you’re good enough for a room, you’re good enough for a real size bar.
Plus, I had my own geisha.
Not for funny business, but a real geisha type person to aid and assist me while I was at the lab.
Her name was Ouchi Sakurako. She always addressed me as “Sir”, even though I told her that everyone calls me “Rock”, and that I was to refer to her as “Ouchi”.
Since that was her name.
She also told me what was expected of me and what I was to expect of her.
I was “Yōjin”, which I finally figured out, was Japanese for VIP. I was also 親分, which is “Boss”. Basically, I call the shots.
Ouchi was 従者, which is a bitch to translate; as it could be servant, valet, attendant, follower, assistant, or all of the above. She was an employee of the labs, specially hired for this position and she took it damned deadly seriously.
“No funny stuff”, she reiterated, wagging a finger at me.
I’m standing in my stocking feet, my square-toe Size 16 Black Caiman cowboy boots growling from the floor as I stand there, bereft of foot apparel, in my bespoke Cargo Shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, left hand bandaged like an Ankylosaur tail club, smoking a huge cigar and quaffing a fresh drink. I tilt my Stetson back on my forehead, peel off my Wayfarers, and give Ouchi a thoroughly washed stink eye.
“Do I look like I’d be into funny stuff?”
Ouchi tried. Give her ‘er due. In the style of Montalván, she really tried.
She burst out laughing.
“Oh, hell”, I say to her, “I like you. You’ll do!”
“Ouchi?”
“Ouchi?”
“OK, it’s not that funny a concept. You can stop laughing any time…”
Some people.
Ouchi was going to be with me for the duration. I was a guest, I was also a lab rat, however I was also a fairly high placed schmoe with connections. Ouchi had her own room in my room, which I thought was nice. Fairly basic amenities for her, but it afforded some privacy for the both of us if I needed to take a confidential call or I just wanted to take one of those uninspired butt-in-the-moonlight walks around my room.
I promised Ouchi that after the Myanmar incident, she would not have to worry about any shenanigans like that.
Ouchi gave me a tour of my suite, and as I hovered over at the bar, she committed several wanton acts of neatness. Boots in the closet along with my traveling bags. Hat hung on the hat rack. Sunglasses cleaned and left on my desk, next to everything she’s ordnunked on, in and around my desk. My yukata (informal male dude guy’s kimono) was pressed and laid out, as were a fresh pair of Cargo Shorts, and a new pair of slippers. I had an assortment of shirts from which to choose, so I decided on an R. Crumb print shirt.
“That should keep ‘em guessing”, I thought.
I had an appointment in a bit for some pictures. CAT Scan of the hand, MRI potentially, X-rays, the usual.
So, I figured they’d need me nice and relaxed, so I spent a few minutes instructing Ouchi in the fine art of making drinks.
She caught on quickly, and for the rest of my time at the lab, I don’t think I ever saw an empty glass. It either had a drink in it or it was drying from being freshly scrubbed.
She knew zip about cigars, but after a brief class on clipping and lighting cigars, I never had to worry about carrying or losing my favorite lighter.
I finished up my latest drink and cigar as Ouchi answered the door. There was an orderly with a wheelchair and was there to take me for some pictures.
The e-wheelchair was powered and could hit speeds of probably around 15 KPH, but I didn’t futz much with the controls as Sakakibara was a very capable orderly.
I was in and out of the radiology department in less than half an hour.
I dismissed Sakakibara as I wanted to execu-scoot around the labs and get the lay of the land. It was a very efficient layout of orthogonal ranks and file, so one couldn’t get too lost as the patterns repeated both horizontally and vertically.
Alas, I couldn’t smoke in the passageways and the tour got slightly boring after the next two floors of gun-metal mauve painted walls, excessively clean and detailed and primped halls, tasteful Scandinavian Modern art, fixtures, and floors.
It was like a hospital on steroids and I reminded myself that I hated hospitals, no matter how benevolent.
Besides, I was getting a wee bit cranky, cramped in the admittedly oversized wheelchair. I had decided, then and there, that I needed strong drink, a cigar, and a few laps in that Jacuzzi which I had only briefly glimpsed earlier.
I ring the door of my suite and Ouchi answers.
“Dr. Rock,” she says, “You are back. All go as planned?”
“Yes, Ouchi”, I replied, “However, now it is time for you to make yourself scarce as I need a very strong drink, a huge cigar, and reservation for a few hundred laps in the Jacuzzi. We don’t have a robe anywhere near the size that would cover my ample corpus, so it’s my Body Armor T-shirt and boxer-briefs. No funny business, remember? So you get to sit this one out.”
“No, Doctor”, she said in a most defiant manner, “I am your 従者, I will accompany you to, and in, the baths. You will be submerged and with your left hand in a cast, it will need to be wrapped and sealed in plastic. I will make you a drink, cut and light your cigar. You will sit. You will wait until I return. I will get you a robe and swimming costume. Now stand so I can measure you.”
“Umm, Ouchi,”, I coughed and swallowed, “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. Everything up to you helping me into the Jacuzzi is fine, but that’s solo territory. I can manage, trust me.”
“I will hear none of this”, she said in a loud, steady voice. “I have my orders, and now you have yours. Sit. I will return with your drink and cigar. Then you will be measured so I can properly clothe you for the baths. I will hear no more of this. Are we green, Doctor?”
I looked at Ouchi with huge, wide laughing eyes.
“Green? Half a mo’, guv.” I smiled, “That’s my line. Where did you ever hear that?”
“I am very thorough”, Ouchi smiles. “I read your dossier before you arrived. It’s part of my job to know my clients.”
“Damn, Ouchi”, I smiled broadly, “Guess I can’t put one over on you. Very well. Veridian!”
“Veridian?” she asks.
“From lime to moss to forest to kelly. Green as the top of a new pool table.” I laughed.
“That is good”, she smiled, “Now, we have understanding. I will return with your drink, cigar and a tape measure.”
I shook my head approvingly.
Ouchi stops, turns, gives me a quick once over.
“A large one.” She smiles.
If smirks could cause injury, she’d be the one in the wheelchair.
“Cheek!” I smiled.
Ouchi spun professionally on her heel and busied herself with the projects at hand.
As I’m working on my fresh drink and cigar, after the indelicacies I was put through in order to get my measurements. Which in Japan, or so I was told, were reserved for kaiju, Ouchi returns with the result of her shopping trip.
Plastic bags of the industrial thickness size for my left hand, even though I’ll be losing the cast tomorrow. A plastic spongy-towely thing to keep the water out, and fine-lock zip ties to seal the whole thing from the ravages of the Jacuzzi.
Ouchi found me an absolutely delightful floor-length floral kimono that was almost as garish as some of my worst Hawaiian shirts. Then she handed me my bathing attire.
“Look, Ouchi”, I said, “But the words “Dr. Rock” and “Speedo” should never appear in the same sentence, much less the same thought.”
Ouchi was laughing up a storm.
“Oh, Doctor”, she said through steaming eyes, “Please forgive Ouchi. I saw that suit and could not resist.”
“Y’know, Ouch”, I said, “You keep up this gaijin-kaiju thing and I might really develop a complex. I know that I’m large, and while it’s easy being mean, it’s harder being large.”
I let her sit and cogitate on that for a few.
“Of course, Doctor”, she bowed and scrappled, “It was only Ouchi making a small joke. No harm intended.”
“Yeah, I know”, I replied, “But in this case, I’m afraid there’s going to be repercussions.”
Ouchi looked at me in horror. Had she edged over that fine line?
Before she could speak, I held up my right hand.
“New drink. Clean ashtray and draw a tub.” I said, “Then all will be forgiven”.
Ouchi looked at me with palpable relief.
Damn, the Japanese can be such a literal people. And such fun to mess with.
While Ouchi slipped out to do her 従者’ly duties, I slouched off to the head (loo, banya, restroom, etc.) and changed into my new ‘swimming costume’.
Obviously continental in cut and cloth, but a very verdant shade of green. It was also capacious enough to cover the bits I wanted covered and still be quite comfortable.
I complemented Ouchi on her taste when she returned with my drink and ashtray.
I went to stand to ease over to the Jacuzzi when Ouchi grabbed the drink from my hand, the cleaned ashtray, and set out new slippers for the bath. I told her that I could handle the cigar for the monumental five-meter trek.
Ouchi had a drinks cart lined up next to the tub, with the smaller of one of my humidors. There were plenty of clean glasses, ashtrays, matches (genuine lucifers), ice, a phone, a couple of geological magazines, and a copy of the latest Blaster’s Monthly.
She had done her homework.
She cautioned me on getting into the Jacuzzi. It was buzzing and frothing along so the bottom was quite impossible to see.
“It’s is, how is it in American? Oh. Six feet deep. There are seats along the side. You pick the one with which you are most comfortable.” She told me.
“Holy wow!”, I exclaimed, “That’s not a jacuzzi, that a hydrothermal pit”.
I eased into the bath after I shed my kimono as Ouchi mentioned she has never seen a man with so much hair.
OK, yeah. I’m a bit fuzzy.
OK, Yeti-fuzzy.
“Yeah”, I replied after slipping into the warm welcoming waters, “I decided to let my beard grow a few decades ago and now, I look like Bigfoot on a night out. After a tornado.”
Ouchi stared in stock curiosity and probably some disgust. She mentioned, cautiously, that she was, at first embarrassed by the hair on my chest…and back…and legs. And just about everywhere else.
I sat back in the Jacuzzi, blissing out.
“But the ‘1/3 of ZZ Top’ beard didn’t clue you in?” I asked.
“I have no male friends with a beard. I just…I …well, didn’t know what to expect.” She admitted. “I have to admit, you’re the first American for which I 従者. I didn’t know what to expect. Except they are large and hairy.”
I set down my drink. I set down my cigar. I surreptitiously took seven or eight very deep breaths.
Well”, I said, “If that’s the way you’re going to be…” and I bodily dunked under the warm, bubbling waters.
I could see her, blurrily, through the foaming waters.
The first minute passed and she just stood there.
Minute two noted her pacing a bit.
By minute three, she was getting alarmed.
At the four-minute mark, she was perhaps panicking a slight bit.
At 4:30 by my waterproof watch, I popped up and calmly asked her for my cigar.
“Are you trying to frighten me?” she almost yelled. “I thought you might be drowning. How could I do anything then?”
“Didn’t read my dossier closely enough,” I smiled, and put a fresh fire to my cigar.
“What?” she demanded.
“I am a devotee of static apnea. Trained to hold my breath. Since I was an ice diver years and years ago and worked on offshore platforms, I thought it to be a good habit to cultivate. My record’s almost seven minutes, but that was a few years back. Now, I can barely manage five.” I told her.
“But I didn’t know”, she objected.
“Now you do”, I smiled, “Please re-ice and refresh my drink, and hand me that glossy magazine. I feel the need to relax after all that exertion.”
Age and guile beat youth and exuberance every single fucking time.
For the next few hours, I read my magazine, carried on a polite conversation with Ouchi. I warned her about Americans, especially if they are of the Oil Patch fraternity.
“Overpaid. Oversexed. And over here”. The American GI in World War II Britain had nothing on an Oil Patch denizen on 28/28 in a foreign land. Especially if they’re young. Hell, you got to watch the old farts as well.” I said.
After translating that for Ochi, she nodded and said she understood.
“Unless they’re old Doctors of Geological and Petroleum Engineering. Hell, those buggers are the worst. Watch yourself every minute.” I said.
“But, you Dr. Rock, are a doctor of…” Ouchi stopped, smiled, and drenched me with a hand slap full of water.
“Ouchi”, I said, “Let me give you the real story. I’m an old geologist, blaster, and petroleum engineer. Been in the Oil Patch for four-plus solid decades. I’ve lived and worked in 50 countries and drilled wells on every continent on the planet, including Antarctica. I’ve been shot, stabbed, taken hostage, crashed in planes, and near mangled in rolled field vehicles. I’ve met with kings, sultans, presidents, and premiers. I speak 4 languages and can order a beer in 40 more. I’ve got more miles on me than an original Volvo 1800S. I’ve got a wonderful wife for these last 41 years and two amazing children. I have recently taken over the reins of a knucklehead of a Tibetan Mastiff. And yet, here I am, sitting in a frothing, foaming, fizzing Jacuzzi, up to my neck, as it were, in a far and distant land, with a most amazingly attractive and intelligent Japanese female lady type and we’re discussing whether I need another drink or cigar”.
Ouchi looked at me with wide, nearly perplexed, eyes.
“And I wouldn’t have it any other way” I smiled.
To be continued…*⇝

What’s up guys. After last week’s MINTY Free Hit Guide I’ll be going through my top double gameweek picks based on my recent studies of the underlying stats and the eye test. I ended up with 61 pts on my FH last week so hopefully I can help a few of you out again. Here goes…
​
BETWEEN THE STICKS:
Flappy-handski (5.1m)
The former Gunner looks to be ripe for points should he shrug off a thigh injury. His latest comments seem to suggest so but a rest isn’t out the question. BUR and WBA at the London Stadium looks fantastic. Personally, I’d stay safe with a WHU DEF instead.
Big Emiliano (5.1m)
With his price skyrocketing faster than bog roll during this season, it’s easy to see why. A game at the Ethihad looks good for saves galore followed up by the shambolic attack of NEW for the current top scoring keeper.
The Stone (4.5m)
A nice pick if you’re banking on saves and a miracle Big Sam revival; Sam “The Stone” Johnstone isn’t a bad one this week. Wolves, as stated last week, look awful going forward whilst he also plays a Hammers side who have sold their main striker and are considering playing the man mountain – Diop, at striker. Antonio should be fine and fit to spoil the day for The Stone however.
​
THE D:
Cancelo Culture (5.8m)
Coming off the back of more returns, CC looks a prime pick at the back for MCI. My only reservation would be potential rotation after Pep’s classic, ominously vague comments on the Portuguese international.
Johnny Stones (5.0m) & Ruben Loftus Dias (5.8m)
Should you not have CC, I think these two are safe as houses for starts and points this week. Two plum fixtures and Pep has shockingly told us real, actual team news in that Ake and Laporte are out.
Aaron “Babyface” Cresswell (5.4m)
It seems like just yesterday the former Ipswich Town man made his move to the Hammers, it’s actually been 7 years… I wouldn’t take him over Stones personally especially for the long haul but after the MCI assets he looks a fantastic pick up. Set pieces and playing at LB now instead of stifled at a LCB role.
Vlad (4.7m)
At the other side of the WHU DEF is Vlad Coufal. Some attacking threat, nailed on and with two plum games – he’s a quality budget pick. If you can’t stretch to him then take a look at forgotten man Craig Dawson (4.5m) who absolutely loves a set piece header.
Chillers (6.1m)
Costing a fortune but near the top of my picks is Ben Chilwell. If Lampard wants to remain in the hotseat at the Bridge, he will need results against Fulham and Leicester. Chilwell has the season pedigree to haul this week. A hold more than a buy.
Andrade Roberto (7.4m)
Heftily priced and facing one of the biggest games of the season against United in the double, Robbo still looks like a wise investment with a Chris Wood led Burnley following a likely cagey top of the table clash of the titans. A keep but not a buy. Look elsewhere for premium investment. River Trent (7.3m) slightly cheaper and on direct FKs for those with limited change in their pockets.
Shawshank Redemption (4.8m)
Mr Corners and fresh of the back of a 7 pointer last week, I’d be shocked to see OATW drop Shaw for Telles at the moment. Very nice fixtures going forward too. Fulham and Pool, not too bad.
Harry Maguire (5.4m) – Already memed too much to allow for a nickname.
A goal disallowed for putting his 6”5 frame on some poor lil’ fullback (rightly so to be fair) last week, he is the premium option at the back for United. On 5 yellows though and I’m sure he’d take one against Pool if it helped the chances of winning that game.
Middle of the park:
Kevin (11.8m)
Top of the xG charts over recent times, top of the xA charts over the season (shocking I know…) the dilemma should be more so will you captain him or not? Did look tired against BRI last week.
Mo (12.5m)
Statistically underwhelming and even getting outshone in some departments by Bobby F and Mane, Salah is still one of the best picks and captaincy picks this week. He will play both games, he will be on pens, he will get chances. The big question mark is the United game.
Mr Penalties Worldwide (11.4m)
One of our community members (Abol) managed to have the armband on the diminutive England winger this week as his penalty sailed in the dark skies of Manchester. Personally, this is the highest risk, highest reward pick to opt for this week. Only 8 minutes against Brighton and hungry to set things straight, he’s a very intriguing pick. Do you have the balls?
Bruno (11.3m)
Still looking like he’s just climbed Everest, Bruno keeps playing and remains in the picks. Not performing as well along side Pogz, we will see if Paul even starts this weekend as OATW may opt for a more defensively astute lineup without the World Cup Winner. This should benefit Bruno but expect managed minutes and Paul back for Fulham.
Marcus “The Saviour” Rashford (9.6m)
Unlike Bruno, Rashy’s stats with Pogz are much better. Not a bad shout for this week and arguably the best at his price point for the double.
Big Phil Fodes (6.2m)
At his price, if we knew he’d start even 4/5 fixtures with managed minutes he’d be template. Unfortunately there’s a man named Josep Guardiola Sala in the dugout so even a hat trick you’re not safe (see Mahrez). Risky, but arguably worth the risk at his price point given the upside and fixtures.
The Lad Himself (7.7m)
Have seen a lot of other FPL content producers and community members tip him as a bad pick this week. I disagree. If you have him, you’d be insane to sell. Some of the best underliers in the top leagues across Europe. Jackie Grealish with a double is absolutely a stick. I’d even consider brining him in given the fixtures and games in hand he has to play. Loves a juicy double.
Tomas VARcek (5.3m)
The big man from Czech will be licking his lips at his fixtures this week against side who are about as good at defending set pieces at Sebastian Giovinco. A Soucek shoe-in.
Anwar El Goalzi (5.8m)
Not a massive fan myself after watching him for a couple of seasons now. In a purple patch but there are better options at the Brummie club. Okay as filler, cheap option.
Barninho (6.8m)
Hitting a little bit of form and more importantly for Barnes owners and buyers; minutes, he is a shrewd pick up for the double. Strong for his price point.
Up Top:
Michail “Glass Hams” Antonio (6.2m)
A monster in front of goal but with the hamstrings of Mike Wazowski. Surely, surely he starts both. If WHU owners want to sell their only other striker whilst he’s not even fit yet, I’d be flabbergasted. Minutes managed yes but I’m sure Moyes doesn’t want Big Issa Diop starting up top. High risk, high reward.
Ollie Statkins (6.1m)
Not even a safer pick this week given the mystery that is Covid at Villa. Should he not be one of the ones affected, you can expect a crisp 90 mins x 2 from the former Championship man. Has the stats and Grealish given plates to haul. Strong pick despite what Watkins owners may tell you.
Jamie “Chithousery” Vardy (10.1m)
He needs no introduction. A premium forward and if you have the cash, a fine pick. My issues is there are better picks in MID for a similar price.
GENERAL TIPS AND CLOSING COMMENTS:
Should you bench boost?
Team dependent but probably not. Another dub GWK to come and to plan for. If you have a couple single GWKers with decent fixtures and the rest are dubs then go for it.
Should you TC?
Possibly. KDB and Salah are very decent TC options. Sterling if you’ve had a few and want a punt.
General transfer advice?
Hits for single to dub GWKers effectively only cost 2 pts. Not a bad week to restructure your team.
Come check me out on Twitch for my weekly pre deadline stream happening live right now ( https://www.twitch.tv/spearmintspaff ). I am on Twitter too ( https://twitter.com/SpearmintSpaff ). It's not your usual FPL content, occurring at a regular, later time than other content creators for folks in stranger time zones such as myself in Canada and you notorious dead zone nutcases.
Usual KO for our stream is:
9PM UK GMT / 2PM CAD MDT / 4PM USA EDT / 1 PM USA PST
Thanks guys and good luck.
Current rank: #222,037. All time: #18.

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Poire never thought he would be so excited to see a transport tunnel. But after today, the familiar sight of those walls and the rail below, even though it was sunken in water, gave him a special kind of thrill.
For a while there, Poire was starting to question reality. Not anymore. He knew this place, he had traveled down this tunnel dozens of times - although that had been by train, and the passage had taken seconds - not hours.
They were walking down the cramped tunnels, single file on the ledge over the rails. Poire lead the way, and the Corvani’s talons clicked on the concrete behind him.
Why was everything flooded? Even here, the rail was submerged in that black, still water. Maybe part of the cavern collapsed. Maybe a water main broke and flooded the peripheral labs. But why wasn’t anyone coming to fix it? And why couldn’t he connect to the City?
Home would have all the answers.
...and what about the Corvani? The Corvani was...well, it was wrong. Everything about it was wrong, but that didn’t matter right now.
Maybe when he got home, Nuwa would be able to explain...
Nuwa…
Poire stopped.
“What’s wrong?” the Corvani’s voice was distant.
“We have to...” Poire’s chest was so heavy. The air was thick as syrup in his lungs. “We have to get home.”
Black spots swelled in the corners of his vision. And suddenly, the ground was rushing up to meet Poire. He threw his hands out to stop the ground. Cold rock cut into his palms and the whole world was spinning.
Eolh was down by his side in a heartbeat.
“Breathe,” Eolh said. “Just breathe.”
Somehow, it helped. Poire took in a few slow lungfuls. And started to push himself up. “I’m all right.”
“You’re bleeding.”
The Corvani was right. There was blood on his hands, where the skin had scraped off. When did that happen? He wiped his hands on his shirt and stood back up. “Let’s just keep going.”
The tunnels should have been swarming with repair droids. When the line to one of the conduits broke down last year (was it last year?), an army of machines had poured out of the maintenance tunnels.
But everything down here was quiet. Quiet and empty.
He was still wearing the suit from the cold-chamber. The thin fabric was soaked to his knees, and his feet ached from walking. Eolh had to help him stand back up.
At least the emergency lights were still working. They illuminated the twin rails that ran down the tunnel, one for incoming traffic, one for outgoing.
“How are you doing that?” the Corvani had asked, the first time it happened. “How do you create the light?”
“I didn’t create the light,” Poire said, “It was already there. It was just asleep.”
“Oh,” Eolh said, crestfallen. He stood there, gazing up at the walls, his beak hanging open as he traced the light strips that ran down the tunnel. As if he had never seen a bio-automated light fixture before. “Still, it is beautiful.”
The soft blue glow of the emergency lights reflected off of the shine of the Corvani’s feathers so that Eolh’s whole body was a glossy silhouette.
Yes, Poire supposed if you had never seen bio-automated light fixtures before, they were kind of beautiful.
Behind them, the lights slowly dimmed to blackness. Poire guessed it was because the City’s power was low, and it was trying to conserve what it had left.
One step. Then another.
“Poire.”
He didn’t think he’d ever walked this far in his life. His eyes hurt, but when he tried to close them, that hurt too. Like his body didn’t want to stop moving.
“Poire? Hey. Human!” Eolh shouted. The Corvani was far behind now. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What?” Poire said, without turning around. He didn’t know why, but every time the Corvani spoke it made him angry. And what was that hissing sound?
“Didn’t you hear me? I said we need to make camp.”
“You can stop,” Poire said. “What? Why are you following me, anyway?”
“I am not following you,” the Corvani said. “I am guarding you. This place isn’t safe.”
“This is my city. You think you’re helping me, but you’re not. I don’t know you. What do you even want from me?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about…” The Corvani seemed to stumble on this last question. Good, Poire thought.
“There are people out there. Millions of them. They think you’re the Savior.”
“The Savior of what? I told you, I’m not a god. I’m just like everyone else.”
Eolh gave a humorless laugh. He pointed at the lights, “Nobody else can do that.”
“They’re just lights.”
“And back there, you did something in the water. It killed all of those things. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“You don’t know anything. You’re more lost than I am. And that droid with you obviously was in bad need of maintenance.”
The Corvani’s feather’s ruffled, making him look taller than he was.
“Do not talk about her like that.” Eolh said.
“Just leave me alone.”
“Listen to me,” the Corvani reached for Poire as if he was going to grab him. But when Poire flinched away, Eolh stopped.
“I’m not doing this for myself,” Eolh said, “I’m not one of them. I’ve never been a believer. I’m doing this for her.”
“This is about a droid?” Poire scoffed. Something was seriously wrong with this person. Droids don’t want anything. They do what you tell them to do, and that’s it.
“This about everything. There are millions of people who believe in you. Millions who have wasted their lives praying for you to return. What does it matter if you’re not a god? You’re alive. And you’re human. So, maybe,” Eolh sighed. His shoulders slumped, as all the anger drained out of him. “Maybe you can change things...”
“You’re insane.”
“Fine,” Eolh dismissed him with a wave. “Whatever you want to believe is fine. But we can’t keep up this pace forever. We need to stop and rest.”
“No. I’m not stopping until I’m back home.”
“Human!” Eolh’s cawed, a frustrated sound. “It’s gone. They’re all gone. What don’t you understand about that? You don’t have a home to go to.”
Poire opened his mouth to argue when the edges of his vision blurred again.
He put a hand out to steady himself against the wall. He slid down until he was sitting on the cold ground. The chill of the polished concrete bled through his thin clothes, but he couldn’t feel it. Not really.
Everything was spinning. Nothing made sense.
The Corvani was staring down at him, his head cocked, each of his blue-black feathers lifting slightly in the cool air of the tunnel. The tips of his feathers were greying, especially around his face. He had an expression that reminded Poire of Nuwa when she worried over him.
A memory crept into his thoughts, like a half-forgotten dream. Nuwa was shouting at a medical droid. Shoving his baby sister over the counter.
His baby sister. He couldn’t remember her name.
“Hey,” the Corvani crouched down next to him. His black beak inches from Poire’s face. “Hey.”
That’s all he said, while he waited for Poire to stop crying.
Poire wiped his face on his sleeve, and wiped it again. And when he thought he could trust his voice, he looked up at Eolh.
“You said someone’s waiting for me?”
“Yes. At least, Laykis seemed to think so.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea.”
Poire let his head bump against the wall of the tunnel.
“Try to sleep,” Eolh said. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to get moving.”
But every time Poire closed his eyes, he saw her body, crushed under an avalanche. The white bones of her eye sockets, staring up at him.

***

The One Who Ate the Others could smell it.
The scent.
Blood. Fresh and warm.
He had to suck back the saliva pooling in his mouth.
While the three droids waded through the black lake, the One Who Ate the Others crawled against the tunnel walls, the pads of his fingers keeping him attached to the rock and broken stonework. Many are the nameless things that lurk below. And though they would die if they so much as tasted his flesh, the One Who Ate the Others did not take chances. Best to stay out of the water.
The droids - he did not bother to learn their call signs - were communicating with each other. Out loud.
Stupid machines. Did they not know how to hunt?
Of course not. Droids couldn't taste their prey. Could not shiver with delight at the scent. No droid could ever experience the sheer ecstasy of stalking your prey, watching it move completely unaware of our presence.
But he could. And right now, the One Who Ate the Others could taste his quarry.
It had been here. Not long ago.
“Over there,” One of the droids beeped. It had four legs, attached to a sphere. On top of the sphere, two long-range firearms and new-tech lights sat on a single pivot. The droid illuminated the water, where a platform rose out of that long, black lake.
The platform was covered in black scum that shined in the false light. It crawled up the concrete.
And there was something else, lying in the water.
“It’s old tech.” The other droid replied.
Old tech. That was a good sign.
But when their lights fell on the transport, half-sunken in the black lake, The One Who Ate the Others had to hold back a croak of disappointment. It was junk metal, stripped bare by scavengers and eaten by time. True old tech was powerful. It did not rust, not like these droids. The imperials who made them were clever but compared to true old tech...
“There are many leeches here.” One of the droids spider-walked over to the transport, wading through the long, white bodies. Blood takers, all of them floating belly up. “I think they were electrocuted.”
Electrocuted. This was a strange word to The One Who Ate the Others. In his spawning home, there had been no concept of electricity. But then, that’s why he had come all this way, wasn’t it?
Long ago, humans found a way to capture lightning. And even now, the imperials and everyone else used it to power many things, though he didn’t understand how.
But what he did know was that some lightning could kill. A single touch and it could burn any living body from the inside out. Fur, feather, droid. It didn’t matter.
He inhaled deeply, shivering at the thought.
The One Who Ate the Others leaped across the ceiling and dropped onto the platform. He hopped down to the water’s edge, careful not to touch the water - there might yet be more blood takers here - and flexed his legs. Long ago, one of them had been severed in one of his earliest, official jobs. Cut too deep to grow back.
So, he cut the other one off. And paid a cold smith to build him new legs. They were heavy, yes. But they were more powerful than his flesh and blood limbs.
Their mechanical thrust vaulted him across the lake, and he landed as lightly as he could on the husk of metal. Still, it creaked dangerously under his weight.
Which one was it? The transport was surrounded by hundreds of them, their pale, segmented bodies sitting still in the water. Each one covered in grime and spotted with disease. He could see their black veins just under their skin.
He inhaled deeply. There. Its body was engorged, and the skin was a shade darker than its brothers.
The One Who Ate the Others shot his tongue onto the engorged blood taker. He held it in his wide lips, sinking his serrated lips into the flesh. When the skin split open, blood filled his mouth. So this is what a human tastes like. Sublime.
The blood was still warm, which meant his prey was close.
The anticipation was excruciating.
The droids were still splashing around in the water. Obviously, he would have to destroy them later, but he still hoped they would make a good distraction first.
And then, despite their splashing, the One Who Ate the Others heard a sound.
A drop of water. A scraping of a claw.
Someone was following them.
He swallowed the rest of the blood taker whole, letting the warmth fill his limbs. The One Who Ate the Others jumped, his legs pushing him all the way up to the dark ceiling, where he clung to the cold, rough surface, hidden among the stalactites.
And he waited.
Even when the droids decided to keep moving, he waited.
Whoever was out there, whoever was following knew what they were doing. They made no movement, no sound.
But he could taste her scent.
The One Who Ate the Others couldn’t stop from smiling. He had never eaten a Queen before.
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Have you ever heard the sound a scalpel makes as it slides over bone?
If you haven't, it's a little like a blade scraping over a hollow rock. The bone isn't as solid as you might think, not as solid as the blade at least, and the sound has an eerie quality to it. The more I reflect on the sound, the more it reminds me of nails on a chalkboard or sidewalk chalk that kids drag over the pavement. It's a weird noise that sets your hair on edge and makes you grit your teeth against the intrusive grinding.
I've had a lot of time to think about that sound in the years following my wife's death.
That was the sound, though, that woke me that night. It had been a long week, the department reeling over a series of brutal murders, and this was the first night I had got to sleep in my own bed in almost four days. I had been crashing in the break room, sleeping in my car, and living one cup of coffee at a time while we tried to track this sadist son of a bitch. I know many cops in the same situation, but as most of us are locals, the desire to see this guy brought to justice is palpable.
The killer had been sticking to a certain area, my area actually. He was killing with no pattern, no particular demographic, and seemed to be sticking to those in this particular part of town. These were low to middle-income families, people who couldn't just afford to up and leave because a crazy killer was on the loose, no matter how heinous the crimes were.
And the crimes were absolutely heinous.
Seven different victims, none of them having anything in common, had been found with their faces skinned down to the bone and removed. The whole face. It was as though someone had cut the face off, skinned it down to the skull, and took it with them when they left. Nothing was ever taken from the apartments, no messages were ever left, and the killer never lingered after doing their strange deed. We called him a killer, but the victims were usually still alive when they left. They died from the blood loss afterward, sometimes living for hours, lying there as they watched their life leak away as they screamed wetly.
The last one was a store owner, well-liked in the community. The one before that was an eighty-year-old grandmother. Before that, it was a nineteen-year-old girl who was popular with the boys in the neighborhood. A bike messenger, a beat cop, an aspiring actress, a highschool student who was once a beauty queen, none of these people even knew each other! There was no connection besides where they lived, and no one could find even a single person that any of them knew in common.
The only connection they all had was being well-liked.
I had been sent home that night, my captain telling me that I looked like crap and I needed some sleep in a real bed.
My wife had been waiting for me, Captain Wymes may have called her before I left, and the night had been a good one. She had saved me dinner, roast, and potatoes, which I like, and we had cuddled on the couch as we watched something on Netflix. As tired as I was, I remember feeling warmer just by the time I spent with her that night. When she looked up at me, her head pillowed in my lap, I remember thinking I was the luckiest guy in the world. When I fell asleep after a rather heated lovemaking session, I found myself looking forward to the next day, hopeful that we could catch this guy and get rid of some of the fear that was hanging around like a cloud.
When I came awake, it was because of the scraping noise.
Some night, I wish I had just stayed asleep.
I lay awake for a few seconds, listening to the scraping sound and wondering what it could be.
It was an alien sound, like a nail dragged across a window.
There was an unlying sound as well, a wet and muffled sound that sounded like someone having a bad dream. I rolled on my side, thinking that my wife was having a bad dream and wanting to comfort her. She was prone to nightmares, her childhood had been less than ideal, but I found myself unable to move. My whole body was heavy, my muscles unresponsive, and all I could do was lie there and listen to her soft groans and husky moans. I kept trying to move, but this was different than a bout of sleep paralysis somehow. This felt like being out of my body, unable to control it.
Then my eyes tracked to the mirror that sat atop my wife's vanity, and felt a scream hang in my throat like a piece of meat. I was choking, choking on the scream, as my mind tried to process what I was seeing. I was dreaming. I had to be. Things like this did not exist in the real world. This was a nightmare; maybe I was even the one making those noises I kept hearing. This simply could not be happening. I was dreaming, I was nightmaring, I would wake up, and this would all go away.
The longer it went on, though, the more I concluded that it was happening.
The thing reflected in the mirror was nearly seven feet tall. It crouched in the bedroom, leaning over my wife as it slid one, long finger over her face. Its head was large, like a large gray babydoll head, with the face covered by a grotesque mask that looked stuck on. There was a spread of red around the mask's corners, and it looked stretched and frayed. The creature's body was gray, long and disproportionately slim, on a pair of spindly legs that disappeared below the corner of the bed.
What interested me most, however, were the long gray arms that ended in very sharp fingers.
Fingers, he was currently sliding over my wife's face. He was taking that long finger along the same track, again and again, and I could just see a trickle of blood sliding down one of her cheeks as I watched helplessly. I could see a trench working its way through her skin, the blood beginning to run more freely as he went. His eyes, his overly expressive blue eyes, followed the fingers path as he worked, and I tried with all I had to break out of whatever held me. The too big head looked up from its work, and I realized I was shaking a bit as I watched him. His hand stretched out, impossibly long, and one of those claws came to rest in my ear. It was cold and wet, like a fish that's been plucked from a stream.
Suddenly, my shuddering stopped, and I realized why I couldn't move.
This thing had done something to me.
Had done something to my wife.
I was forced to lay there and watch as he went about his work. The process was not quick. Whatever tool he had at the end of his wrist must be dull indeed. He had to make the circuit for nearly an hour and a half, and my wife's muffled cries were becoming more and more piteous. The blood was really coming down now, pooling on the bed and turning the white sheets a deep red. I saw my wife starting a shutter, thinking she might come out of it, but he touched her with one of those claws, put the tip in her ear, and she went still again. I was going to have to watch as he took her face. At some point, I realized that, but all the realizing in the world wouldn't prepare me for it.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he pulled the finger back and bent low over her face. He brought both hands up, ten scalpel fingers peeling the face I had loved so much from her too white skull. That's the other sound I will never forget until the day I die. The sound of my wife's face being peeled away sounds like nothing so much as velcro separating. I saw it in the murky glass as it came free, and for just an instant, I could see the creature's face too. It pulled off the old mask, and I realized too late that it was the face of the shopkeeper we had found a few days ago. It...it put the face into its mouth, and as it chewed, I could see a face like a swollen potato, its mouth like a carved jack-o-lantern's sneer. Its rubbery teeth chewed at the flesh as those eyes stared blankly into space. It had a pair of way too expressive blue eyes, and for a moment, I thought they might have come from a doll. They looked at me suddenly, locked mine as I stared into the mirror. Those horrible blue eyes held my gaze for a count of twenty before it slapped the new face on with a wet chuck sound. Those eyes stared back at me through the eyeholes of my wife's detached face, and the creature went out through the window without a second look back.
Those eyes, peeking jealousy out of my wife's face, were the worst part, and that face haunts my dreams every night.
By the time I could move, she was dead.
She came out of it before I did, though. She lay on the bed, gasping wetly, and calling for me. I didn't know if she could see me, did her eyes still work? She passed out a few times as she tried to turn her head, finally just laying in her own blood and calling for me softly. She wanted me to save her, wanted me to wake her up from this dream. It was impossible for her to be dying in her own bed after having her face cut off. I began to get some feeling back in my arms as her voice trailed off. I could flex my fingers, but my arms didn't start to work until after she had slipped off.
The light had begun to peek in by the time I could fall out of bed and scramble for the phone.
I told them everything. I told them about the creature. I told them about its long claws. I told them about the paralyzing dread. I told them how it had taken my wife's face and left out the window. Their response was to send me to a therapist, to give me time to grieve, to have my work with a hypnotherapist to try and decide if I had actually seen something. I suffered through the bereavement period. I went to the therapists and told them what they wanted to hear. They wanted to tell me that the creature was a way for my mind to cope with what had happened.
I knew better, though.
I used that downtime to gain information on this creature. There wasn't much to go on. The crimes had all been committed within two blocks of each other, all in a central location, all in the part of town that housed several large apartment complexes. I asked around, seeing if anyone had seen anything like it, but I got a few answers. Some of the homeless people told me they had seen something skulking about lately, but most of them were too strung out to be credible. A few of them led me to an abandoned underground station that had once been central to the area but now stood abandoned. The homeless didn't stay there anymore, and if they did, they stayed forever; or so they told me.
After a month of bereavement, I came back with my information compiled and ready to hand to the chief, but I returned to a very different work environment.
No one believed that I had seen a monster steal my wife's face, and I began to hear rumbles around the station that I was a suspect now. A fifteen-year officer had just laid there and watched his wife have her face taken off? Not likely. It seemed more likely that I had been out all night and came home to find her like that. It seemed more likely still that I was the killer, banking on the idea that my reputation would put me above suspicion. I didn't care, I knew what I had seen, and I took my information straight to my boss.
My boss, however, was in another camp altogether.
"Is this how you've spent your period of mourning? I wanted you fresh, all this monster stuff out of your system. The others already think your unhinged, the ones who don't think you're the killer. You need to be careful talking about this kind of crap around here. Get back to your desk, you're on light duty until further notice, and I don't want another word about this damn monster!"
I seethed behind my desk, already planning my next move.
If it was proof that they wanted, it was proof I'd give them.
I left early that afternoon and went home to prepare. I packed a bag. I took my service pistol and a shotgun from the hall closet. The little pump action fit nicely into my camp sack, as well as a rope, a flashlight, and some trail bars. I dressed warmly, the November weather already becoming frigid after dark, and I looked back at my apartment before leaving, unsure I'd ever see it again. A glance at my wife's portrait on the mantel, though, was enough to send me on my way.
This creature wouldn't be wearing her face for long.
The old underground was a dilapidated relic, a toothless mouth that gaped out of the pavement. The gate was locked, but I had been told the fence was cut around the back. Some industrious vag had made a neat little hole to scurry through, and I entered the perimeter without much fuss. The sun had begun to set as I flipped on the flashlight, and it cast a red glow across the grimey tiles.
The glow was gone after the second staircase, and I was plunged into true darkness. The outside had looked bad, but the inside was a ruin. The tiles had been shattered in places, light fixtures hanging from a leaking roof, and a single train stood like a hulk on dead tracks. There was a constant sound of dripping water, a constant sound of scurrying feet, and it was easy to imagine that this was what Bilbo Baggin had found under the goblin mountain. I found myself swinging my flashlight about at every sound, my years of cool police training melting away as I descended into the station.
Near the tracks, I found a handprint that looked red with dried blood.
I jumped down onto the tracks without a second thought, drawing my gun and looking right and left. My light fell across a fainter smear going left, light red staining the side of the train, and I decided this was my direction. I moved quietly, not wanting to tip my prey off, but he could have been hanging over my head, and I'd have never seen him. If he lived here, he could probably see in the dark, and bringing a beacon with me would be as good as screaming down the tunnels. As I moved, I had little doubt that he knew I was here.
The deeper in I went, the worse the scuttling and the scittering became. I told myself it was rats, but how sure of that was I? How sure was I that the scrabbling I heard wasn't the sound of those sharp fingers scampering across the ceiling? How sure was I that that scrabbling was the sound of his equally long toes, toes I had never seen, gripping the pavement and moving his body along in a quiet scuttle? As I took another corner, I could swear that something big moved just out of my flashlight beam. I held it there for a count of twelve before turning away and continuing down the tunnel. The blood smears were all but gone, but I felt drawn deeper in as I took turns at random. It was almost as if I could hear my wife's voice calling me, and I had little doubt that he knew I was here now.
I had even less doubt when he fell onto my back, slamming my head against the floor and sending my gun spinning out of my hand.
I blacked out, and when I came too, I wished I had died.
I was laid across a metal bench somewhere deep in the tunnels. An eerie light lit the space, some kind of plant life may be, and I found I was paralyzed again when I tried to move. That was when my wife's face, a face made terrible by those too expressive eyes, loomed over me, and I'd have cringed away if I were not held by whatever power the creature had. It studied me, maybe it even recognized me, but its regard was terrible as it came from a face I loved so much. Her face was decomposed, rotting away as it clung to the creature's skull, and I felt something goopy fall onto my cheek as he leaned in close to inspect me.
I had only thought it couldn't get any worse.
But that was before he pressed that finger to the cleft in my chin. He began to circle, the claw digging against my skin as he slid the nail around and around and around my face. It didn't hurt at first, it was little more than a discomfort, and I began to wonder how long he had been carving at my wife. I stared at him, and he stared back, those baby blues boring into me. His eyes were mesmerizing, terrifying as they held unwaveringly still, and as the minutes stretched into hours, I began to feel my face heating up. It was subtle at first, just a little warmth around my chin and forehead, but as the circling finger went round and round, I felt like someone was holding a lighter to my skin. I would have screamed, my flesh becoming seared, but I couldn't move, and my horror was trapped in my throat again.
I started the feel the flood as it slid down my cheeks and head. First, it was just a trickle, a damp line or two, but soon it was running in rivulets. Soon I could feel my flesh parting from my skull. Soon I could feel that sizzling heat as it cut my skin, and I felt as though I must pass out; I must blackout from shock. There was no way that everyone was awake as he cut their living face from their body. It was impossible, it was sick, it was…
He pulled the finger back, suddenly, and I realized with real horror what was about to happen. All ten fingers gripped my flesh, and I tried to pull away then. Maybe I could still make it to a hospital. They could fix me; they could make this right. There was no way he was going to take my face. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It wasn't suppose to…
He gripped my face, and I heard that same velcro ripping as my own face came free of my skull.
Then, he devoured my wife's face as I watched as slapped my own across the gore-soaked canvas that was his lumpy head.
He hooted then. Hooted and cried in his strange, unknowable language. He turned to a deeper tunnel and cried out in pure pleasure as he fulfilled whatever ritual he was performing, whatever dark spell he needed these faces for. I hoped he would let me go now, I had lost a lot of blood, but maybe I could still get some medical attention. I felt groggy, weak, but when I heard something struggling out of the depths of the tunnel, I felt something heavy settle into my guts. What fresh hell was this?
Out of the darkness, lit only by whatever phosphorescents dwelt down here, came a hulking thing that slid on long gray limbs. It was spiderlike, a massive gray blob that pulled itself along on something like tentacles, each of them ending in the same hooked fingers as the creature. It lowered its equally mushy face to the creature, taking in the face, and I heard something speak in a voice made of broken glass.
"Doos it please ooo, motha? Do I please ooo, MOTHA!" it cried, and that voice was full of hope and terrible longing.
The gray creature seemed to contemplate for a long moment before it opened its shapeless mouth and whispered a single, horrible word in a language like snakes crawling across a naked face.
"Ugly."
Then it pulled itself back into the depths, and I heard the creature sobbing as it fell to its gray knees and wept.
Then, suddenly, I was running. My mind had set itself to autopilot, and my body and mind simply could take anymore. My self pushed against this thing, this thing and its terrible need, and my body propelled itself away before this knowledge could do my brain lasting harm. I ran and ran, blind in that lightless world, as the blood trickled down my naked face. If the creature came after me, I never knew. If the thing that wore my face came after me, I never knew. I was running one second, the darkness pressing in all around me, and the next, my world was full of light, and I was falling into oblivion.
The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital, being told how lucky I was to be alive.
An undercover cop had followed me to the underground entrance and had waited to question me when I came back out. When I didn't come out for several hours, he called in people to come look for me. Those people had heard me screaming through the tunnels, caught sight of my faceless form in their flashlights, and caught me just before I fell. I had nearly died on the way there, I had simply lost too much blood, and my body was in some kind of shock. They had sedated me, my night terrors causing me to buck and scream, and I had spent nearly a week in a hospital bed.
No one thinks I'm crazy anymore, and no one thinks I'm the killer.
Certainly, no one believes that I cut my own damn face off.
I'm writing this as a warning, a warning to anyone living in the area. Get out, leave your home, and get out. This creature has no rhyme or reason for his actions. He seeks only to gain something that I believe he will never find. I'm safe now, a faceless horror who will have to live with the knowledge I discovered until the day I die, but you needn't suffer my fate. Get away from the cheap side, get away from the concrete apartments, and get as far from the city as you can.
Lest you be one more face for this monster to show its mother.

Every footfall the monster made on it’s warpath towards the trio sparked flames around it’s feet. The flames threatened to consume the wooden floor in ankle high flames that lapped around the monster’s legs like a puppy begging for the attention of its owner. The monster roared with growing tenacity as it trudged closer and closer, giving the trio less and less time to figure out what to do in order to avoid becoming Friday night barbeque.
Rosie fired his shotgun; hitting the creature squarely in it’s chest and knocking it backwards with a shrill cry, the bright red tentacles on it’s back braced for the blow and prevented the monster from being knocked over, saving it’s footing. A glint of opportunity shined in Rosie’s eyes as he pumped the shotgun again and fired once more, hitting the monster in the shoulder, nearly blowing off it’s decaying arm.
“Rosie!” called back Maria who stood with Tom some ten feet behind Rosie. Rosie didn’t even look back to acknowledge Maria, preoccupied instead with unloading another shotgun round into the creature as he fearlessly worked to close the distance between him and the monster. “Quit trying to be a hero!” yelled Maria, who knew that all this seemed far too easy.
The distance between the monster and Rosie was now practically nonexistent. Flames began to eat at the Rosie’s shirt and burnt and blistered his skin as he once again pumped the shotgun before flipping the shotgun and using the stock to hit the monster like a baseball player hitting a career-making home run. The blow sent the monster backwards into the pool table; it’s tentacles failing to break its fall this time and instead spastically flailed about underneath the monster’s weight.
The monster used its tentacles to lift itself up from the pool table to meet Rosie face to face. The fire that had preciously been progressively consuming the bar began to retreat towards the pool table, the flames formed a circle around the pool table, trapping Rosie and the monster in a ring of fire.
The monster’s heavy tentacles rose and reared themselves towards Rosie like eight king cobras ready to strike its prey. One of the tentacles wrapped itself around Rosie’s shotgun, ripping it away from his grip and sending it skidding across the floor of the bar just outside the ring of fire. The monster wrapped its tentacles around Rosie’s waist and his ankles, lifting him up and attempting to pull Rosie apart limb from limb. A deep, maniacal cackle rang out from the beast as it delighted in Rosie’s helpless screams, attempting to break free from the monster’s grasp in vain.
The pair stared with a mixed expression of horror and wonder for a moment before Tom took off, grabbing the shotgun off the floor. Maria followed Tom, she threw her hands forwards and closed her eyes, concentrating on the monster’s tentacles. Golden light began to faintly glow around the tentacles as they stuttered in their movements.
“Tom, I can’t.” Groaned Maria weakly as she held her shaking arms out towards the monster, trying valiantly to stave off the monster’s tentacles. “You have to get in there and help him out, I’m doing all I can.”
Tom stood for a moment, frozen with the shotgun in his hands listening to Rosie’s constant cry for help as he struggled within the monster’s squirmy grasp. Tom thought back to his son, a situation he felt like he had no control over. He hadn’t gone a single waking moment regretting, against any valid logic, that he didn’t do anything to prevent his son from being taken away from him. He rested his finger on the trigger and cocked back the pump with a determined click, readying the shotgun’s last shell for fire. Tom decided that he wouldn’t stand idly by again only to watch some hellish force rip yet another thing from his life.
“I’ve got it, Maria.” Said Tom to Maria, holding the shotgun with false confidence like a little boy getting ready to go out and play war with the neighborhood kids. Maria smiled at Tom like she’d known him for his entire life. It was the kind of smile that a father would give to his child to let him know he’s proud of him.
“You’re not going to run away this time?” she said with a half-hearted chuckle while continually straining to keep the monster’s quivering tentacles restrained. Maria pulled away one of her arms briefly and held her palm flat towards the wall of fire, carving out a small hole which held it’s borders in the flame with golden light.
“No, not tonight.” Said Tom as he began to step into the ring of fire, “Hopefully I won’t have to tomorrow night either.”
The hole Maria made in the wall of flames, sealed up behind Tom as he gazed upon the appalling sight of the monster holding the massive Rosie off the ground. Rosie screamed and thrashed about, smashing his fists against the tentacles wrapped around his waist and ankles fruitlessly. The monster seemed to pay Tom no mind; it’s unbreakable focus intently on separating Rosie from his legs. Maria’s golden glow varied in intensity, struggling to restrain the monster’s relentless onslaught on Rosie’s life.
“Tom!” screamed out Rosie, “All you have to do is knock him in the head. You have two shells left!” Tom could hear as the monster’s tentacles creaking and stretching like leather as they tightened around Rosie’s waist and ankles causing Rosie to howl in pain. “Don’t screw this up!”
“I hate to tell you this Rosie,” shouted Tom up at Rosie as he found his footing and took aim at the creature’s head, struggling to lock onto a solid shot. “But this is the last shell!”
“Don’t fuck it up!” screamed Rosie with his eyes wide like saucers, wincing from the pain and the pure suspense of his life resting in the hands of someone he’d met not an hour ago.
Tom fired the shotgun, hitting the dreadful being in the head, taking out the left side of the monster’s head. The monster let out a blood-curdling screech as orange flames exploded out from every crevice on it’s cratered, grey body. The creature continued it’s shrieking as its tentacles began to disintegrate, falling to the floor as brilliant orange sparks.
Rosie fell to the ground, knocking him out cold and Maria and Tom gathered around the corpse of the monster. It’s tentacles were now completely gone and the monster’s body was now steadily disintegrating, starting from it’s feet and working up the rest of the monster’s corpse, slowly reducing the once living nightmare into short-lived bright orange sparks just as Tom’s son did all that time ago.
Soon, only the mutilated head of the monster remained. Maria and Tom watched over the head, flames still spewing from it’s only remaining eye socket and from its neck that was once attached to it’s body. Before Maria and Tom could do anything else, a ball of flame followed by a contrail of fire bounced out from the blown out portion of the monster’s head. Tom and Maria stood back as the small, baseball-sized ball of flame began to bounce away from the monster’s corpse, leaving faint contrails of wispy smoke and faint flame behind as it continued bouncing along in it’s arcing pattern. The ball of flame continued towards the entrance of the bar until reaching it where it stopped on a dime, hovering five feet in the air still as a statue, as if suddenly frozen in place.
Tom and Maria carefully approached, taking their steps cautiously and steadily like they were refugees traversing a minefield. Maria’s carefree and easy demeanor was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced with an intense look of worry and uneasiness that manifested through her unblinking stare and bit lip. Noticing the fear in Maria’s only stirred Tom’s nerves further; his intestines felt as though it were an anaconda crushing and consuming a mouse, a perfect analogy for the deep, slithering knotting feeling of nervousness and fear he felt deep within him.
Maria reached to her back pocket, and without interrupting her wary pace, withdrew an extremely compact pistol with four short barrels arranged in a 2 x 2 block. The pistol, Tom noticed, couldn’t have been more than six inches long.
“Where the hell was that when we needed it?” questioned Tom pointing at Maria’s gun. “Look, we all learn everyday, don’t be a critic.” She said shakily, her voice was rampant with panic but she was doing her best to not show it. She slid open a latch causing the pistol to break open like a shotgun, revealing a bullet in each of the four chambers. “Plus there’s only four.” She snapped the barrel closed and held it with both hands in front of her face, her finger putting slight pressure on the trigger and her aim trained directly on the hovering ball of fire.
The ball of fire then liquefied, transforming into a ball of molten lava that quickly splashed onto the wooden floor, nearly searing a hole through it. Rosie’s previously casted protective spell still slightly bordered the bar with a faint golden glow despite him being unconscious.
The pool of lava squirmed about, changing shape as if it had a mind of it’s own. It bubbled wildly like water being boiled in a pot; it popped and hissed as it boiled at an increasingly violent rate.
Tom’s jaw dropped in horror and Maria stared with disbelief as the rapidly bubbling pool of lava began to coalesce and harden into grey stone. The lava flowed over the transformed stone as it continued to form a statue in its place, chicken-like legs and a tiny waist formed in stone. Maria hesitated no further, firing two shots at the statue as it continued to form a torso, shoulders, and arms. The bullets ricocheted off the statue and left chips and scratches in its surface but no more. The last of the lava continued to form a neck, seemingly undeterred despite being struck with Maria’s gunfire, and finally formed a head resembling that of a newborn baby. A maniacal cackle emanated from the statue, it’s mouth frozen in a gleeful smile and it’s eyes scrunched up in glee. The cackling was inhuman, the laughter came at such a rate that would be impossible for a human to replicate, and its tone was irritatingly high almost like a dog whistle or a fairy on helium.
The incessant giggling filled the room as Maria fired her remaining two shots, breaking away shards of the statue’s stone skin and a creating a hole in it’s chest. Maria cursed as she fished unsuccessfully in her pockets for spare bullets. Tom and Maria watched In abject horror as a pair of small, humanoid hands with rubbery, bright red skin crept out of the cavity in the statue’s chest and began to tear away the stony exterior with it’s clawed fingers like a chick breaking out of an egg until the statue simply crumbled to dust, leaving the small creature in it’s place.
The creature was covered entirely in a crimson hide that bounded its skin tightly and with scattered wrinkles like a dominatrix suit. It’s feet and ankles, spry and boney, were that of a chicken’s. Its body was smooth and resembled that of a featureless toddler. A sleek prehensile tail tipped with a sharp spade playfully waved back and forth through the air behind it while it gawked at the pair with a gleeful grin that nearly spanned ear-to-ear, revealing several rows of jagged and uneven teeth. It had the head and face of a baby if not for it’s extremely deep-set, pure black eyes that seemed to go on forever into abyss and the dozen-or-so bone-like growths puncturing it’s scalp like a crown of horns sat atop its head. The creature stood in the rubble of its stone shell at about four feet tall, reeling backwards and cackled with it’s clawed hands resting on its portly belly.
The creature hunched over, it’s spine, ribs, and shoulder blades poked out from under the it’s leathery skin forming bony peaks and valleys along it’s back. The creature let out a series of hisses and gut-wrenching screams as it waved it’s serpentine-like tail above it’s head, waving it back and forth in Maria’s direction as the spade at the end of its tail split into three more tails that moved independently of each other. Maria’s gaze became irrevocably fixated on the three pointed heads of the creature’s tail as they revolved in a circle after each other, seemingly entrancing Maria. Maria’s expression grew blank as her eyes rolled to the back of her head leaving only the whites visible and her skin turned deathly pale. The creature continued to grumble and growl; clearly speaking in some sort of tongue as it spit and harshly enunciated its syllables with pauses and hisses interspersed throughout.
Maria stood cemented in place as the horrible creature halted it’s terrible spewing and it’s three-headed tail formed back together into one spade once more. Tom, who before was simply frozen out of sheer fear, thought it the chance to try and rush the pint size miscreant but before he could, the creature had simply snapped his fingers before disappearing in a shower of bright orange sparks.
Rosie’s fell quiet, not a stir could be heard except for Tom’s panicked breathing as he rushed over to Maria who now lay motionless on the wooden floor. Tom knelt down beside her, checking the side of her neck with his fingers for a heartbeat and taking worried notice of her icy cold flesh. Even more concerning, Maria wasn’t breathing. Maria lay completely still as if a permanent fixture of the bar as Tom struggled to find any trace of a heartbeat or any sign of life whatsoever but found his attempts to be in vain. Her skin no longer carried any heat and was cold as ice to the touch while still seemingly getting colder every second Tom spent trying to frantically save her.
Blinking away tears that had involuntarily built up in his eyes, Tom looked over his shoulder in hope of finding another sign of life other than himself. Rosie still lay on the ground, unconscious and breathing shallowly. Regardless, this did nothing to lessen the impact of Maria’s passing as Tom stood in agony for the loss of someone who had touched him so dearly and intimately, like no one had since he’d lost his wife.
Tom pleaded with Maria’s still body; begging her and shaking her to wake up and snap out of whatever hellish spell she was under. Tom tried fruitlessly for several minutes until he felt the faintest touch of heat return to her skin. Tom’s eyes grew wide as Maria’s heart began to slowly beat again like the engine of an old car sputtering and struggling to start. Tom continued to shake her, hoping for her eyes to open up or for her mouth to take in a breath. Her heartbeat grew to thump at an alarmingly expedient rate, thumpumpump thumpumpump thumpumpump.
“Come on…” Tom shook Maria by the shoulders but her heart remained the only thing animated and alive about her. “Wake up dammit!” Tom screamed, hammering his fist on the floor next to her out of frustration as her heartbeat once again, ceased completely. Tom got up from his knees and stood over her body like a griever paying their respects at a grave. He cared not about his curse no longer. He felt like the monster and perhaps even the curse had left, but not before taking away one more victim with it.
As Tom turned away, defeated, to go check on Rosie; A loud gasp of breath came from Maria’s body. Tom rushed over and helped Maria up who struggled to keep the strength to stand up as her knees bowed and her ankles shook. Tom slung Maria’s arm around his shoulder in order to assist her, eager to help his new friend as they hobbled towards Rosie.
“Bastard tried to take me with him.” Said Maria with a chuckle; very obviously using her sense of humor to thinly veil the terror of the ordeal she had just went through. Tom smiled, relieved that someone had finally seemingly escaped the grasp of his curse, hope filled his heart, revitalizing him. “No, don’t go celebratin’ yet.” Said Maria, shooting Tom a grave sort of look.
“What?” Tom shot a precautionary look back at the entryway, half expecting the imp to still be there. “He’s gone, you must’ve at least scared him off.” Said Tom with clear concern in his voice, only half believing in his reasoning that since the Imp was gone so must be his curse.
“No, he was talking to me in his own tongue.” Maria explained, her eyes staring forward blankly like she had been traumatized by what the Imp had told her. She squeezed Tom shoulder and looked him in the eye. “He said he has your son.” Tom’s eyes grew wide as saucers as the pair stopped in their tracks and Tom returned her gaze, “Where?”
Maria shook her head and looked down, breaking eye contact. “No, Tom it doesn’t matter.” She said in a quiet, defeated voice. “We have to hide. He says he wishes to reunite you with your son.”
Shivers ran down Tom’s spine as his worst fears, he suspected, had been realized. He felt, once again, like a cornered animal, the mouse in a morbid game of cat and mouse. “I’m sick of running.” Muttered Tom, his eyes fixed ahead. Maria could see the tiredness behind Tom’s expression.
“We’re not running. Just waiting.” Maria turned and enclosed Tom’s hands within her own, “He says he’s going to be back.” Maria shot a quick glance at Rosie and paused for a moment before turning back to Tom. “But he’s not going to win this time.” Her voice was now warm and soothing to Tom’s ears once again. Tom knew his nightmare wasn’t over but he felt, if only for a few fleeting moments, that he’d be able to see his family again and things could perhaps go back to the way they were.
“You’re right.” Tom took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through his nose, his voice gravelly and low. “I’m done being cursed.”

Have you ever heard the sound a scalpel makes as it slides over bone?
If you haven't, it's a little like a blade scraping over a hollow rock. The bone isn't as solid as you might think, not as solid as the blade at least, and the sound has an eerie quality to it. The more I reflect on the sound, the more it reminds me of nails on a chalkboard or sidewalk chalk that kids drag over the pavement. It's a weird noise that sets your hair on edge and makes you grit your teeth against the intrusive grinding.
I've had a lot of time to think about that sound in the years following my wife's death.
That was the sound, though, that woke me that night. It had been a long week, the department reeling over a series of brutal murders, and this was the first night I had got to sleep in my own bed in almost four days. I had been crashing in the break room, sleeping in my car, and living one cup of coffee at a time while we tried to track this sadist son of a bitch. I know many cops in the same situation, but as most of us are locals, the desire to see this guy brought to justice is palpable.
The killer had been sticking to a certain area, my area actually. He was killing with no pattern, no particular demographic, and seemed to be sticking to those in this particular part of town. These were low to middle-income families, people who couldn't just afford to up and leave because a crazy killer was on the loose, no matter how heinous the crimes were.
And the crimes were absolutely heinous.
Seven different victims, none of them having anything in common, had been found with their faces skinned down to the bone and removed. The whole face. It was as though someone had cut the face off, skinned it down to the skull, and took it with them when they left. Nothing was ever taken from the apartments, no messages were ever left, and the killer never lingered after doing their strange deed. We called him a killer, but the victims were usually still alive when they left. They died from the blood loss afterward, sometimes living for hours, lying there as they watched their life leak away as they screamed wetly.
The last one was a store owner, well-liked in the community. The one before that was an eighty-year-old grandmother. Before that, it was a nineteen-year-old girl who was popular with the boys in the neighborhood. A bike messenger, a beat cop, an aspiring actress, a highschool student who was once a beauty queen, none of these people even knew each other! There was no connection besides where they lived, and no one could find even a single person that any of them knew in common.
The only connection they all had was being well-liked.
I had been sent home that night, my captain telling me that I looked like crap and I needed some sleep in a real bed.
My wife had been waiting for me, Captain Wymes may have called her before I left, and the night had been a good one. She had saved me dinner, roast, and potatoes, which I like, and we had cuddled on the couch as we watched something on Netflix. As tired as I was, I remember feeling warmer just by the time I spent with her that night. When she looked up at me, her head pillowed in my lap, I remember thinking I was the luckiest guy in the world. When I fell asleep after a rather heated lovemaking session, I found myself looking forward to the next day, hopeful that we could catch this guy and get rid of some of the fear that was hanging around like a cloud.
When I came awake, it was because of the scraping noise.
Some night, I wish I had just stayed asleep.
I lay awake for a few seconds, listening to the scraping sound and wondering what it could be.
It was an alien sound, like a nail dragged across a window.
There was an unlying sound as well, a wet and muffled sound that sounded like someone having a bad dream. I rolled on my side, thinking that my wife was having a bad dream and wanting to comfort her. She was prone to nightmares, her childhood had been less than ideal, but I found myself unable to move. My whole body was heavy, my muscles unresponsive, and all I could do was lie there and listen to her soft groans and husky moans. I kept trying to move, but this was different than a bout of sleep paralysis somehow. This felt like being out of my body, unable to control it.
Then my eyes tracked to the mirror that sat atop my wife's vanity, and felt a scream hang in my throat like a piece of meat. I was choking, choking on the scream, as my mind tried to process what I was seeing. I was dreaming. I had to be. Things like this did not exist in the real world. This was a nightmare; maybe I was even the one making those noises I kept hearing. This simply could not be happening. I was dreaming, I was nightmaring, I would wake up, and this would all go away.
The longer it went on, though, the more I concluded that it was happening.
The thing reflected in the mirror was nearly seven feet tall. It crouched in the bedroom, leaning over my wife as it slid one, long finger over her face. Its head was large, like a large gray babydoll head, with the face covered by a grotesque mask that looked stuck on. There was a spread of red around the mask's corners, and it looked stretched and frayed. The creature's body was gray, long and disproportionately slim, on a pair of spindly legs that disappeared below the corner of the bed.
What interested me most, however, were the long gray arms that ended in very sharp fingers.
Fingers, he was currently sliding over my wife's face. He was taking that long finger along the same track, again and again, and I could just see a trickle of blood sliding down one of her cheeks as I watched helplessly. I could see a trench working its way through her skin, the blood beginning to run more freely as he went. His eyes, his overly expressive blue eyes, followed the fingers path as he worked, and I tried with all I had to break out of whatever held me. The too big head looked up from its work, and I realized I was shaking a bit as I watched him. His hand stretched out, impossibly long, and one of those claws came to rest in my ear. It was cold and wet, like a fish that's been plucked from a stream.
Suddenly, my shuddering stopped, and I realized why I couldn't move.
This thing had done something to me.
Had done something to my wife.
I was forced to lay there and watch as he went about his work. The process was not quick. Whatever tool he had at the end of his wrist must be dull indeed. He had to make the circuit for nearly an hour and a half, and my wife's muffled cries were becoming more and more piteous. The blood was really coming down now, pooling on the bed and turning the white sheets a deep red. I saw my wife starting a shutter, thinking she might come out of it, but he touched her with one of those claws, put the tip in her ear, and she went still again. I was going to have to watch as he took her face. At some point, I realized that, but all the realizing in the world wouldn't prepare me for it.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he pulled the finger back and bent low over her face. He brought both hands up, ten scalpel fingers peeling the face I had loved so much from her too white skull. That's the other sound I will never forget until the day I die. The sound of my wife's face being peeled away sounds like nothing so much as velcro separating. I saw it in the murky glass as it came free, and for just an instant, I could see the creature's face too. It pulled off the old mask, and I realized too late that it was the face of the shopkeeper we had found a few days ago. It...it put the face into its mouth, and as it chewed, I could see a face like a swollen potato, its mouth like a carved jack-o-lantern's sneer. Its rubbery teeth chewed at the flesh as those eyes stared blankly into space. It had a pair of way too expressive blue eyes, and for a moment, I thought they might have come from a doll. They looked at me suddenly, locked mine as I stared into the mirror. Those horrible blue eyes held my gaze for a count of twenty before it slapped the new face on with a wet chuck sound. Those eyes stared back at me through the eyeholes of my wife's detached face, and the creature went out through the window without a second look back.
Those eyes, peeking jealousy out of my wife's face, were the worst part, and that face haunts my dreams every night.
By the time I could move, she was dead.
She came out of it before I did, though. She lay on the bed, gasping wetly, and calling for me. I didn't know if she could see me, did her eyes still work? She passed out a few times as she tried to turn her head, finally just laying in her own blood and calling for me softly. She wanted me to save her, wanted me to wake her up from this dream. It was impossible for her to be dying in her own bed after having her face cut off. I began to get some feeling back in my arms as her voice trailed off. I could flex my fingers, but my arms didn't start to work until after she had slipped off.
The light had begun to peek in by the time I could fall out of bed and scramble for the phone.
I told them everything. I told them about the creature. I told them about its long claws. I told them about the paralyzing dread. I told them how it had taken my wife's face and left out the window. Their response was to send me to a therapist, to give me time to grieve, to have my work with a hypnotherapist to try and decide if I had actually seen something. I suffered through the bereavement period. I went to the therapists and told them what they wanted to hear. They wanted to tell me that the creature was a way for my mind to cope with what had happened.
I knew better, though.
I used that downtime to gain information on this creature. There wasn't much to go on. The crimes had all been committed within two blocks of each other, all in a central location, all in the part of town that housed several large apartment complexes. I asked around, seeing if anyone had seen anything like it, but I got a few answers. Some of the homeless people told me they had seen something skulking about lately, but most of them were too strung out to be credible. A few of them led me to an abandoned underground station that had once been central to the area but now stood abandoned. The homeless didn't stay there anymore, and if they did, they stayed forever; or so they told me.
After a month of bereavement, I came back with my information compiled and ready to hand to the chief, but I returned to a very different work environment.
No one believed that I had seen a monster steal my wife's face, and I began to hear rumbles around the station that I was a suspect now. A fifteen-year officer had just laid there and watched his wife have her face taken off? Not likely. It seemed more likely that I had been out all night and came home to find her like that. It seemed more likely still that I was the killer, banking on the idea that my reputation would put me above suspicion. I didn't care, I knew what I had seen, and I took my information straight to my boss.
My boss, however, was in another camp altogether.
"Is this how you've spent your period of mourning? I wanted you fresh, all this monster stuff out of your system. The others already think your unhinged, the ones who don't think you're the killer. You need to be careful talking about this kind of crap around here. Get back to your desk, you're on light duty until further notice, and I don't want another word about this damn monster!"
I seethed behind my desk, already planning my next move.
If it was proof that they wanted, it was proof I'd give them.
I left early that afternoon and went home to prepare. I packed a bag. I took my service pistol and a shotgun from the hall closet. The little pump action fit nicely into my camp sack, as well as a rope, a flashlight, and some trail bars. I dressed warmly, the November weather already becoming frigid after dark, and I looked back at my apartment before leaving, unsure I'd ever see it again. A glance at my wife's portrait on the mantel, though, was enough to send me on my way.
This creature wouldn't be wearing her face for long.
The old underground was a dilapidated relic, a toothless mouth that gaped out of the pavement. The gate was locked, but I had been told the fence was cut around the back. Some industrious vag had made a neat little hole to scurry through, and I entered the perimeter without much fuss. The sun had begun to set as I flipped on the flashlight, and it cast a red glow across the grimey tiles.
The glow was gone after the second staircase, and I was plunged into true darkness. The outside had looked bad, but the inside was a ruin. The tiles had been shattered in places, light fixtures hanging from a leaking roof, and a single train stood like a hulk on dead tracks. There was a constant sound of dripping water, a constant sound of scurrying feet, and it was easy to imagine that this was what Bilbo Baggin had found under the goblin mountain. I found myself swinging my flashlight about at every sound, my years of cool police training melting away as I descended into the station.
Near the tracks, I found a handprint that looked red with dried blood.
I jumped down onto the tracks without a second thought, drawing my gun and looking right and left. My light fell across a fainter smear going left, light red staining the side of the train, and I decided this was my direction. I moved quietly, not wanting to tip my prey off, but he could have been hanging over my head, and I'd have never seen him. If he lived here, he could probably see in the dark, and bringing a beacon with me would be as good as screaming down the tunnels. As I moved, I had little doubt that he knew I was here.
The deeper in I went, the worse the scuttling and the scittering became. I told myself it was rats, but how sure of that was I? How sure was I that the scrabbling I heard wasn't the sound of those sharp fingers scampering across the ceiling? How sure was I that that scrabbling was the sound of his equally long toes, toes I had never seen, gripping the pavement and moving his body along in a quiet scuttle? As I took another corner, I could swear that something big moved just out of my flashlight beam. I held it there for a count of twelve before turning away and continuing down the tunnel. The blood smears were all but gone, but I felt drawn deeper in as I took turns at random. It was almost as if I could hear my wife's voice calling me, and I had little doubt that he knew I was here now.
I had even less doubt when he fell onto my back, slamming my head against the floor and sending my gun spinning out of my hand.
I blacked out, and when I came too, I wished I had died.
I was laid across a metal bench somewhere deep in the tunnels. An eerie light lit the space, some kind of plant life may be, and I found I was paralyzed again when I tried to move. That was when my wife's face, a face made terrible by those too expressive eyes, loomed over me, and I'd have cringed away if I were not held by whatever power the creature had. It studied me, maybe it even recognized me, but its regard was terrible as it came from a face I loved so much. Her face was decomposed, rotting away as it clung to the creature's skull, and I felt something goopy fall onto my cheek as he leaned in close to inspect me.
I had only thought it couldn't get any worse.
But that was before he pressed that finger to the cleft in my chin. He began to circle, the claw digging against my skin as he slid the nail around and around and around my face. It didn't hurt at first, it was little more than a discomfort, and I began to wonder how long he had been carving at my wife. I stared at him, and he stared back, those baby blues boring into me. His eyes were mesmerizing, terrifying as they held unwaveringly still, and as the minutes stretched into hours, I began to feel my face heating up. It was subtle at first, just a little warmth around my chin and forehead, but as the circling finger went round and round, I felt like someone was holding a lighter to my skin. I would have screamed, my flesh becoming seared, but I couldn't move, and my horror was trapped in my throat again.
I started the feel the flood as it slid down my cheeks and head. First, it was just a trickle, a damp line or two, but soon it was running in rivulets. Soon I could feel my flesh parting from my skull. Soon I could feel that sizzling heat as it cut my skin, and I felt as though I must pass out; I must blackout from shock. There was no way that everyone was awake as he cut their living face from their body. It was impossible, it was sick, it was…
He pulled the finger back, suddenly, and I realized with real horror what was about to happen. All ten fingers gripped my flesh, and I tried to pull away then. Maybe I could still make it to a hospital. They could fix me; they could make this right. There was no way he was going to take my face. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. It wasn't suppose to…
He gripped my face, and I heard that same velcro ripping as my own face came free of my skull.
Then, he devoured my wife's face as I watched as slapped my own across the gore-soaked canvas that was his lumpy head.
He hooted then. Hooted and cried in his strange, unknowable language. He turned to a deeper tunnel and cried out in pure pleasure as he fulfilled whatever ritual he was performing, whatever dark spell he needed these faces for. I hoped he would let me go now, I had lost a lot of blood, but maybe I could still get some medical attention. I felt groggy, weak, but when I heard something struggling out of the depths of the tunnel, I felt something heavy settle into my guts. What fresh hell was this?
Out of the darkness, lit only by whatever phosphorescents dwelt down here, came a hulking thing that slid on long gray limbs. It was spiderlike, a massive gray blob that pulled itself along on something like tentacles, each of them ending in the same hooked fingers as the creature. It lowered its equally mushy face to the creature, taking in the face, and I heard something speak in a voice made of broken glass.
"Doos it please ooo, motha? Do I please ooo, MOTHA!" it cried, and that voice was full of hope and terrible longing.
The gray creature seemed to contemplate for a long moment before it opened its shapeless mouth and whispered a single, horrible word in a language like snakes crawling across a naked face.
"Ugly."
Then it pulled itself back into the depths, and I heard the creature sobbing as it fell to its gray knees and wept.
Then, suddenly, I was running. My mind had set itself to autopilot, and my body and mind simply could take anymore. My self pushed against this thing, this thing and its terrible need, and my body propelled itself away before this knowledge could do my brain lasting harm. I ran and ran, blind in that lightless world, as the blood trickled down my naked face. If the creature came after me, I never knew. If the thing that wore my face came after me, I never knew. I was running one second, the darkness pressing in all around me, and the next, my world was full of light, and I was falling into oblivion.
The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital, being told how lucky I was to be alive.
An undercover cop had followed me to the underground entrance and had waited to question me when I came back out. When I didn't come out for several hours, he called in people to come look for me. Those people had heard me screaming through the tunnels, caught sight of my faceless form in their flashlights, and caught me just before I fell. I had nearly died on the way there, I had simply lost too much blood, and my body was in some kind of shock. They had sedated me, my night terrors causing me to buck and scream, and I had spent nearly a week in a hospital bed.
No one thinks I'm crazy anymore, and no one thinks I'm the killer.
Certainly, no one believes that I cut my own damn face off.
I'm writing this as a warning, a warning to anyone living in the area. Get out, leave your home, and get out. This creature has no rhyme or reason for his actions. He seeks only to gain something that I believe he will never find. I'm safe now, a faceless horror who will have to live with the knowledge I discovered until the day I die, but you needn't suffer my fate. Get away from the cheap side, get away from the concrete apartments, and get as far from the city as you can.
Lest you be one more face for this monster to show its mother.

The guard ripped the mask off her face, and began barking orders at me and the Elvar nurse.
“Into the cell mundani, grab something you can do some damage with, same for you nurse.”
I stared in awe at the woman before me, her tactical gear and tightly cropped hair lent an air of
badassery. While her large brown eyes, slightly pointed ears, and high feminine cheekbones appeared
more beautiful then I would’ve expected from an Elvar. I realized she must be some sort of half Elvar
because her eyes where normal with a slight brown color vs the Elvar nurse, who’s whole entire eyes
had been jet black.
The female guard crouched down to one knee inside the cell and raise her rifle at the tunnel entrance.
“I hate boggles.”
I heard voices yelling and sporadic gunshots firing in the distance.
“What’s the matter? I called over to the guard.
“The boggle are probably attacking the gates, they want the ever-cells that power them.”
I grabbed a small knife from the nurses cart, and waited behind the guard.
I heard scurrying in the passageway and five short figures appeared in the tunnel leading to the cell.
They looked like ugly children garbed in scrap metal armor and wielding makeshift spears and clubs.
“Giba us da homan.”
“Fuck you boggle scum, this human is ours, leave now or I’ll open fire.”
The guard raised her rifle, laser dot tracing a steady beam onto the forehead of the nearest boggle.
One of the small men behind him threw a spear in response. It sailed through the air narrowly missing
me, unfortunately it hit the nurse in the eye. He sank to his knees then fell facedown driving the spear
out of the back of his head. I stared in horror at the twitching man behind me. Blood began forming a
puddle around his head.
I was pulled back into the moment by the sounds of gunfire.
The five diminutive creatures had charged, and the guard opened fire. She downed two of them
before the other three where upon us. I slashed my knife threateningly but it was no match for the
long spear the creature wielded.
The boggle knew it too.
I tried kicking the boggle but he grinned nastily and stepped to the side, thrusting his spear at me. It
grazed my side, tracing a line of Fire long my ribs. The other two boggles engaged the guard. She
blocked a spear thrust from one boggle with her gun, then dropped the rifle and drew her sidearm in
one swift motion. Two shots rang out in rapid succession. Meanwhile the boggle I was engaged with
stepped forward ready to thrust again. It chattered tombstone teeth at me, red rimmed eyes staring
at me with lustful gaze.
“Me eata ya homan, youa skin be tasty.”
I stumbled backward away from the diminutive creature.
A shot rang out past my ear and the boggle toppled over, blood trickling from its forehead.
I gasped and released the scalpel, it clattered to the stone floor. The guard swiftly double tapped each
boggle in the head, then came back to me.
“Let me see.”
I painfully pull my shirt up and she gently probed it with her fingers.
“I don’t think it’s too deep, but we’ll need to see a medic. She pulled a small disinfectant spray from a
pouch at her side and sprayed the wound. I cried out, as it stung the sensitive wound.
“Shut up, you’ll attract more boggles. It’s not safe for us here, we need to move before we get
swarmed.”
She pulled a large sticky bandage and wrapped it around my waist.
“Let’s go.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Eladra.”
I followed as she walked out of the cave, scanning each junction and intersection with her rifle before
moving forward.
Her lithe legs barely made a sound as she walked, but I stumbled on small rocks, and occasionally sent
them skittering across the stone floor.
Lamps spaced along the tunnel walls illuminated the area with a low orange glow. Certain rocky
outcroppings and deep cracks in the stone walls gave ample room for cover.
When a band of boggle raiders came running around the far tunnels corner, we where able to squeeze
into one such crack. Fortunately Eladra heard them before they rounded the corner and she pulled me
into the deep shadows just in time.
I was beginning to feel chilly in the cool cavern without my jacket and I started to shiver.
They ran past shouting and whooping, their scrap metal armor and rusty, homemade weapons
making considerable noise as they ran down the passageway, giving us ample time to hide.
“Finda big gate! I tinka it disa way.”
I watched as the small smelly people ran past. After they where gone, Eladra pulled me out and began
marching through the passageways, dragging me faster then before.
“Have I mentioned I hate boggles?” She hissed.
“Yeah I think you did.”
The wound in my side really hurt, and my shivering increased. I wanted to stop and rest for a while but
I could tell from the way Eladra scanned everything, that we where still in imminent danger. We’d been
traveling for about ten minutes.
“Not much farther now, once we get to gate square we’ll be safe.” She crouched on the smooth tunnel
floor and peered around a corner rifle raised.
“Sounds like your used to this sort of thing.” I glanced at her face, orange Illumination casting warm
tones across her light blue skin.
“Yes, we get raided every few months, but lately they’ve been coming more frequently.”
I heard the sounds of yelling grow louder from behind us. The raiding party must’ve reached the cell
and turned around.
“I think they’re coming back.” I pointed out.
“No shit, this is exactly what I was worried about.”
She started sprinting up the passageway and I tried my best to follow her, but every jolt sent agony up
my side. We sprinted through a large cavern with several passageways coming off of it.
“Get behind me.”
I did as I was told.
She took a practiced firing stance just inside the lip of the passageway and aimed at the oncoming
noise. I sensed something rather then heard anything. I turned around on instinct and came face to
face with three stern looking Elvar males. I gasped in surprise. And bumped into Eladra in my surprise.
“Watch it!” She hissed.
They where tall and muscular, wearing a sort of dark camouflage. they wore dark paint and had on
what looked like curious fluffy shoes. They carried a short swords on their sides, and knives from their
boots.
“Are you Eladra?”
“Yes.” She replied.
“Second ranger corp, main boggle force has been defeated, we were sent to find you, and mop up any
remaining boggle raiders.”
They calmly strode into the cavern without making a sound. They drew their swords and positioned
themselves against the cavern wall, almost becoming invisible in the gloom.
The first boggle came charging into the cavern and was cut down by a ranger in a swift merciless
stroke.
Then the main force was upon them, the rangers fought with tight discipline, parrying, slashing and
using each other to complete strikes or create openings for one another.
By comparison the boggles where just a disorganized mob, some tripped over the bodies of fallen
comrades others slashed each other in their desperate attempt to strike the rangers.
“Rangers are just showoffs.” sniffed Eladra.
I was impressed, I’d never seen someone move like these rangers did, dancing a swath of death
through the boggles.
“Where’d they come from?” I asked Eladra.
“Promising candidates are chosen out of the guard units, and sent to a training facility on our home
world. Like I said, showoffs.”
“Kinda sounds like your jealous.” I smirked. In response she reached over and flicked me in my side. I
grunted and moved a few steps out of reach.
The pitched battle was soon over, the rangers made sure each boggle was dead, then knelt down
among the slain and began hacking off ears.
“What the hell are they doing?”
“They get a bonus for each ear they turn in, pricing on boggles is at a premium right now due to the
problems they cause in outlying farms and settlements.”
“Ohh.” Was all I could manage.
I felt short of breath and had to take a knee for a moment. The place where my nails used to be stung
and I felt a tingling heat began to blossom from my forehead.
The rangers returned with the ears strung around their shoulders on a string. The ears dripped blood
down their cloaks which only added to the camouflage they wore.
“Let’s move.” The lead ranger introduced himself as Avalro.
They led us the last fifteen minute march up the remaining tunnels to gate square. We met little to no
resistance, in fact we passed more dead bodies then alive ones. As we reached gate square I felt an
odd calm in the larger then a dozen football fields area.
I noticed hundreds of boggle bodies spread out around the circular dome. Something else was was
wrong. There was an odd absence of humming power, I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to
the gates background noise. I glanced at them and saw that none where powered on.
As soon as we stepped out into the open, a few dozen lasers covered us in dots.
“Identify!”
“Avalro, second ranger corp, escorting subject zero and Eladra of the gate guards.”
“Proceed to the barracks, all inbound and outbound guests have been stationed there until further
notice.”
I heard a shrill yell and glanced down to a tunnel at the other side of the cavern. The same voice
boomed out on speakers, that had previously issued travel instructions to passers by.
“Identify.”
“Giba da-“
Crack!
A double shot rang out, causing the figure to spin onto its back.
I gulped and followed The other four elvar.
We arrived at the barracks after an easy fifteen minute walk, it was a series of about fifty low rooms all
connected together with short stone doorways. A thick metal doorway, served as the entrance and
exit. The guard at the entrance opened the door for us when he saw the coast was clear.
“The captains expecting you in the back Eladra.”
“Thanks bordel.” She replied.
The barracks rooms where filled with all sorts of different travelers that had been in the process of
jumping gates. They sat in tight groups. The ones that had been through this drill before, sat in
boredom, glancing at watches. Others not as accustomed to raids, paced in fear, herding young ones
to stay close by.
We passed a room that was full of an entirely different set of elvar. They had gilded cloaks and
ornamental circlets on their brows. Their eyes where milky white, instead of the customary black. Even
the guards where clothed in finery that looked extravagant compared to the clothing of everyone else.
The guards barred us from entering the room so we had to go around.
“Must be some sort of royal delegation from Evalis, we occasionally have nobles visit earth, or some of
the other worlds. They’re all pompous asses.”
We arrived at the back of the barracks, where a the largest space had been quickly converted into a
war room. A single large table sat in the middle, full of glowing screens and the occasional map.
The captain was the same old Elvar that had initially interviewed me. He pulled Eladra to the side and
quietly conversed with her for a moment. Then he greeted the rangers and thanked them for their
service. They grinned and excused themselves to exchange the ears for money, then to presumably to
hunt some more boggle.
“Hampton, how are you feeling?”
“You had them pump me full of a white cell blocker! What the hell. And to top it off I have a fucking
wound in my side.”
“We should really be having this conversation with a medical practitioner present.”
He glanced at Eladra telling her to find Dicotti.
Eladra left, and that’s when the old Elvar walked over to me and stared at me in the eyes.
“I can see the changes happening already, Those parasites work fast!”
“What changes?” I asked, a quaver edging into my voice.
“It’s your ears.”
I quickly reached up, horror building in my stomach. I felt them, my ears did indeed feel different,
more slim and pointy at the top like a calus had somehow formed at the apex of my ears. My fingers
still smarted from where the nails had ripped off, but they where beginning to dry, and I only felt pain
when I tried to grip something tightly.
Eladra walked back in with the head nurse in tow.
She pushed a familiar trolly with a glass screen on it. Pulling the same gun the other nurse had used
on me, she pushed a button activating the scanning field, instead of a red laser, this one produced a
green one.
She scanned me up and down a few times, each scan adding a degree of clarity to a three dimensional
slowly rotating image of me.
It wasn’t like a picture where colors are printed with the image, rather it looked like a clay sculpture of
me.
I immediately noticed a few things.
The ears on the model where more pointed then a normal persons but less pointed then an elvars.
And the face seemed to have lost a little weight and looked more angular. Almost as if my face had
been combined with a generic Elvar.
“What the fuck.” I reached up to stroke my face again. As my fingers reached past my eyes something
caught my attention and I brought my hand closer to examine my fingers.
The blood that had crusted on the fingernail seemed to move gently, it was almost as if something
was growing underneath the surface of the blood.
I glanced at the nurse and she looked on in rapt interest. Sweat began to bead my brow and I began
to feel much hotter then before.
She took my temperature.
“Not good, he’s beginning to overheat, I suspect the white blood cell blocker is already wearing off,
and the body is attempting to compensate! His fever is rising too quickly, we need to cool him right
now.”
The captain looked at Eladra.
“Your standing orders are the same as before, stay with him and keep him safe. His body is priceless
and we can learn an immeasurable amount from how it’s reacting to Lazuli’s parasite. That, and he
may hold the key to figuring out what lazuli was actually planning.”
My feet gave out and I slumped to the side. The sweat was running down my face and back at this
point and I could barely breath.
“I knew we shouldn’t have given him the white cell blocker, it’s forcing changes too rapidly and his
body can’t handle it!”
The nurse looked at me, concern etched into her wrinkled face. She took another temperature
reading, then motioned Eladra next to her.
“I need to stabilize him, then we can discuss a SAFE plan to move forward.”
Eladra helped me out of the room and to a fairly empty guard room. She lay me on a cot and moved
aside as dicotti came in with ice pack, and a few needles full of unknown liquid.
“Don’t let me die, please.” I whispered to Eladra. Her brown eyes softened with pity.
“That’s against my orders Hampton, you’ll be just fine.” Her feminine voice was the last thing I heard
before slipping into nightmarish dreams. In them, I waded through pools of red liquid filled with
coiling, wriggling worms, gnashing teeth and people shouting.
Lazuli slipped in and out of my dreams, telling me that I tasted delicious, and that he wanted another
bite. Between fits of sleep when I opened my eyes, everything was tinged with red. But every time,
Eladra was there, looking down at me with warm comforting eyes.
My fever broke a few days later, I woke up in the same room I’d fallen asleep in. Eladra she sat in a
chair near the door, cleaning her rifle.
“Finally, I thought I was going to spend the rest of my days guarding a corpse.” She said putting the
small piece of cloth away in a shirt pocket. She’d changed from the black tactical assault gear, and into
a sort of uniform.
Grey shirt, black cargo pants, and lace up ankle high boots.
I tried to sit up, I instantly felt weak and fell back into the bed. I feebly raised my hand to my face, it
looked different then the one I was used to. The hair along my arm had thickened and darkened,
nothing crazy, but it was odd because I previously only had a light scattering of hair there. The oddest
thing about my appendage where the nails. They curved out from the tips of my fingers and came to
sharp points about an inch long. They where still pinkish but where now slightly curved and razor
sharp. my skin had darkened a few shades as well, previously I’d been a pale white, now it looked
more like a pale purple. I felt my face, but not being used to the nails, I left a deep gash along my chin.
“Ow! Dammit.” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, watch out for those, they’re sharp.”
She turned an arm towards me and I could see a shallow scratched running from the inside of her
elbow down to her wrist.
A monitor on my arm was beeping and dicotti walked in.
“I’m so glad your awake!” She gushed.
She took various vitals and checked my side wound.
“Your looking much better then a few days ago! How do you feel?”
“Like I’m not myself, my body doesn’t respond how I remember it.”
“That’s to be expected, your bone structure has thickened, and a few pounds of lean muscle mass has
been added to your frame. Not to mention the hair, claws and teeth.
It seems that the parasites are changing you in order to make their new home a more habitable place
for themselves.” She set a portable, clear, tablet down on the table.
I ran my tongue over my teeth and at first, nothing was different, that was until I reached my canines.
They where elongated, and much sharper then they’d been before.
I grimaced. “God what have I become?”
“Something better, then your old self it seems like to me.”
“No! I want to be normal, to work a job, and live in a small house with my dog. I don’t want to see
boggles ears getting cut off, or my blood full of parasites. Is there any way to reverse it?
“I’m afraid not.”
Eladra looked me in the eyes. A funny expression on her face.
“Maybe if You trim my hair, clip your nails and file down your teeth. But I’d say this is an improvement.
You where too pale and weak before.”
I heard footsteps in the corridor outside and instinctively knew it was the captain. He strode in, his
sharp catlike teeth flashing as he grinned at me.
“Your looks have improved! Your almost as good looking as a regular elvar! But I’m sure we can fix that
with a few more cell blocker treatments.”
“Normal? I’m a fucking freak! And no, I won’t be taking anymore cell blockers.”
“We’ll see about that. What have you learned dicotti?”
“From my testing, it appears that with the right combination of drayadalis bacteria and certain cell
blockers, some mundani can be susceptible to this transformation. However my readings of the gene
sequences say that only people susceptible to this bacteria can undergo the transformation. My guess
is that lazuli wanted to spread his bacteria to everyone in the world, then try and genetically change
them with the serum somehow. But that’s just a guess, why do that? I’m not sure.
But It appears that it didn’t work. Hampton’s body didn’t directly pass on the bacteria, instead his body
created a separate strain more compatible with mundani and that’s what’s been circulating in the
world.”
The captain nodded and turned to leave.
I slammed my fist onto the night table next to the bed. Causing a loud bang.
I’d had enough of this. I snarled at the captain.
“Stop talking about me like I’m an experiment, I’m human and I’m right here. I don’t want anymore
treatments, I just want to go home, If you don’t like that, you can go fuck yourself. I’ll do everything in
my power to escape and derail your plans. You kidnapped me and left my dog to fend for herself!
That’s arguably the worst part of all this!”
The captain’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he slowly turned around. He spoke in a slow deliberate tone.
“I need you to understand something Hampton. Your not a guest of Elhaven, your now a resident, you
will be a permanent fixture of this city. I can make things much more difficult for you, if you make
them difficult for me. There are more important things to worry about then how this is inconvenient
for you. So I’d like to hear a more respectful tone in your voice, Hampton.
Want to hear the truth? We did our research. You where a bug before this happened, a sniveling bug
that was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But guess what? Your in the unique position to make a
difference, for two whole races. The mundani and the elvar. Now that, sounds like a dregging privilege
to me.
The captain had stepped forward and loomed over the bed, towering above me, I saw the coldness in
his eyes, unlike the way he looked at his soldiers.
I instinctively realized that he didn’t care one ounce what happened to me. If the doctor proclaimed
that they needed to cut me open, and fish out my insides while I was still alive, he would doubtless
give the go ahead.
I looked away to hide the tear sliding down the side of my cheek.
Eladra stepped forward and put a reassuring arm on my shoulder. Giving me a warning look with her
eyes.
“Sorry captain, I’m sure he just needs time to process, a change like this would shake even the
strongest Elvar.”
He glanced at her for a second then back at me.
She gave me another strong look, and I think I understood her meaning. I clenched my fists together
as hard as I could and forced the anger out of my voice.
“Your right sir, I apologize for my rudeness, the stress of the last few days are getting to me.”
“Good, remember what I said, cause trouble for me and I will deal with you harshly. If you prove to be
trustable, I won’t hesitate to give you more freedom and more comfortable accommodations. Ohh
and Eladra, no fraternizing with the mundani, see how that turned out for your parents.”
Eladra scowled at the captain.
“You go too far captain, I am as much Elvar as you or dicotti. Even if I don’t quite look it.”
“Your one of my best Eladra, I would hate to see you distracted and hurt. Mundani as a race are
unreliable.”
The captain left with the head nurse in tow, Islowly exhaled, trying to dissipate the stress in my brain.
“Thank you Eladra.”
“He’s a great captain, just has a lot on his plate right now. Besides, us half-beings need to stick
together.”
I saw the same look in her eyes I’d previously seen. Was it kinship? Protectiveness? I wasn’t sure, but
her previously stony demeanor had cracked to something closer to hard packed dirt.
She stood at her regular position by the door, rifle slung over one shoulder.
“What happened with your parents?”
An expression of pain crossed Eladra’s face for a split second, She masked it well, but the question had
taken her by surprise.
“Nothing, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Ok fine, we can talk about me. The captain was right, back on the surface I was a loser, and I was
going nowhere fast. Honestly I hated my job, my boss was ok but my coworkers sucked ass.”
“Sucked ass? That sounds disgusting.”
I laughed and she let a slight smile slip through her carefully maintained neutral expression.
I relaxed a little. Eladra had a calming effect on me. I realized it was because deep down, I’d seen what
she was like under pressure and saw that she could be trusted. She could’ve left me to the boggles,
but at great risk to herself, she stayed to follow orders and protect me.
I dozed off to sleep, exhaustion from battling the the fever pulling me into its deep dreamless
embrace.