My substack account has been active for six months and I’ve posted 82 stories or chapters for my book but I’ve decided it’s time finish this writing experiment and move on. “Oh give me an even keel!” (famous Swiss poet).

I want to thank anyone who read my writing and especially those who were kind enough to send me their positive feedback. Goodbye and good fortune.

Norm DePlume (not my real name)

“His voice, his sacred voice whispered to me in my dreams. He blessed me with visions of a cosmos that I could not comprehend. The wonders I have seen are beyond comprehension, beyond description. Words fail me.”

“You flap your gums a lot for someone whose words fail him.”

“Hyde!” Vlad held up a hand in an attempt to silence an agitated Mr. Hyde. “Let him speak. Continue Mr. Lovecraft.”

“Yes, well.” Lovecraft moved his chair as far away from Hyde as he could. “My lord Cthulhu promised me power beyond measure if I facilitated his glorious entry into our pathetic world. I would be one of his chosen, a virtual God in my own right.”

“And you believed him you stupid wanker?” Hyde slapped his thighs as he exploded in laughter that was accompanied by a secondary explosion of saliva.

Vlad Tepes tsked with irritation as he wiped his face clean with a handkerchief but he didn’t contradict Hyde. This Lovecraft fellow was indeed a ‘stupid wanker.’ “How were you to facilitate the entry of Cthulhu?”

“In my dreams I was instructed where to dig in the catacombs and unearthed a sacred idol of Cthulhu. I activated the idol by chanting arcane words of power taught to me by my lord. It also required a blood sacrifice. See?” Winfield Lovecraft pulled back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a series of fresh scars from where he had poured his own blood on the statue.

Tepes shook his head in dismay. “A waste of good blood.” Then he glanced at the face of the pale, half-mad wretch in front of him and reconsidered. “Well maybe not that good.”

Vlad tapped on an old map of the catacombs that was unfolded on the table they were all sitting around. “Show me on the map where the idol is.”

“It’s in a side chamber that is not on this map but it adjoins this corridor somewhere along here.”

“You have been very helpful Mr. Lovecraft. Thank you for your assistance.” Vlad folded up the map and nodded toward Mr. Hyde and Adam. “Come along gentlemen, we have preparations to attend to.”

“But what are you going to do?” A frantic Lovecraft pleaded as they began to stand up and leave.

“Never mind you focking floozer.” Mr. Hyde answered as he left with Adam. “We’re off to give KatchaChewy a right proper welcome.”

Vlad stopped at the doorway of the sitting room when a two year old boy appeared beside Winfield Lovecraft and held his hand. The toddler looked up at the vampire with wide, intelligent eyes.

“My son, Howard Phillips, but my wife and I call him H.P.” The proud father explained. “He’s such a clever boy. We hope he’ll be a writer someday.”

Vlad pursed his lips in disapproval. “A writer! I suggest you learn a trade instead young man.”

Tepes had been a Voivode of Wallachia for many years and knew when to take good advice when he heard it but it still galled him that it came from an evil psychopath like Moriarty. He picked up one of the garments Moriarty had brought to the entrance of the catacombs and examined it.

“You are correct Moriarty. Both Hyde and myself have felt the crushing power of those tentacles. Armour is a mistake. They could easily crush the best armour and the metal plates would then be driven into our bodies.”

Moriarty was pleased at one-upping the vampire and did nothing to conceal it. “There’s more. We took samples of the acid on your clothes and Hyde’s. No one had seen the likes of it before but we found that a simple alkaline solution will neutralize it. All of these clothes have been thoroughly saturated in alkali and they will not be burned by acid.”

“Impressive, this will increase our chances immensely.” Vlad immediately regretted the praise when he saw Moriarty’s smug expression but Moriarty was as clever as he was repugnant. Today the devil could have his due.

Adam was curious as he looked at the hood and gloves that had been custom made for his enormous proportions. “Who in the army wears gear like this?”

“It’s anti-flash gear and naval gunners wear it.” Moriarty answered him. “Sorry about the smell of the alkaline solution Adam.”

Naval gunners wearing anti-flash gear.

Adam shrugged as he pulled on a large pair of alkali soaked pants over his clothing. “Better than the smell of my burning flesh.”

The Gothic knights were somber as they pulled on the odd clothing that would protect them from the acid touch of Cthulhu. They stopped short of pulling the face shields across their hoods as Vlad began to distribute weapons.

He felt a sense of nostalgia as the scene brought back memories of leading small hit and run raids against the sultan’s massive army in 1462. The troops he led were often young, scared and looking to him for their courage.

“Hyde we’ll retrieve your cane after we take care of Cthulhu. In the meantime this mace should be a good substitute for you.”

“Hmmph, a little on the light side for a big batty-fanger like me.”

“It was the largest and heaviest mace they could find. Tie the lanyard around your wrist. Adam you do the same with your axe. You will be fighting in a cramped environment with those damned tentacles everywhere and it will be easy for you to lose your weapon. Each of you have a back up weapon on your belt as well as knives. Keep your main weapon in your right hand and a long knife in your left. Wait, I want both of you to have back up knives as well. Adam, could you go back to the carriage and retrieve more knives please?”

Vlad waited until Adam left until he addressed Mr. Hyde. “Listen Hyde I would appreciate it if you watched Adam’s back. He’s still only a ten year old boy and he can be rash and impetuous. If I fail in my mission don’t let him come after me. Pull him out of the catacombs so Moriarty can hopefully use explosives to entomb Cthulhu.”

Hyde stepped away from the ancient vampire and looked genuinely hurt. “Give over! Of course I’ll watch ‘is back. Adam’s me mate and we’re in a scrap together. Say what you like about me but don’t ever say I don’t look out for a mate.”

Vlad was pleasantly surprised and looked up at the monster towering a good two and half feet above him with new respect. “I apologize for offending you Mr. Hyde. I was worried for my young ward. I was even prepared to offer you 20 gold sovereigns to look out for him.”

“Well, aren’t you just the generous posh prince of podsnoppery! I was going to look out for my chuckaboo anyway but I’ll still take your gold.” Hyde’s braying laugh echoed in the stone tunnels as he held out a hand the size of a turkey platter in front of Vlad’s face.

Tepes sighed as he dropped a small satchel of gold sovereigns onto the hairy palm. “Thank you for reaffirming my lack of faith in you Hyde.”

Upon Adam’s return Vlad inspected his troops to ensure they were fully covered up and equipped to his satisfaction. At the same time he gave them a battlefield speech to get them in the right frame of mind.

“On our previous encounter our enemy had the advantage of surprise but this time surprise is on our side as well as better weapons and preparation. I would not let us re-enter these catacombs if I did not think we will win. You know the plan. You two will keep the enemy engaged but fall back before you are encircled. While you keep Cthulhu distracted I will press forward and destroy the idol. You two will be the shield. I will be the sword. Cover your faces now, victory awaits.”

Adam hesitated before covering his face with alkali soaked cloth. “You’ll be going deep into the catacombs all by yourself. Aren’t you scared?”

Vlad’s face was already covered but his eyes looked amused through the slot on his mask. He drew his razor sharp krill that had been tempered with the blood of hundreds of Ottoman foes from centuries ago. “I am the warrior of my age with the power of Vampyr. I am not the one who needs to be afraid.”

The trio were soon close to the same spot where they had been ambushed the previous day and Vlad gestured for them to put their hurricane lamps on the ground.

“Our slimy friend is shy today. Be ready, I’m going the attract his attention. He filled his lungs and bellowed down the corridor. “Cacamas in gura ta!”

“Whaddya say?” Hyde asked curiously as they heard sounds from deep in the catacombs.

Vlad crouched with a long knife in one hand and his krill in the other. “I said hello in Romanian.”

“Bloody saucebox.” Hyde replied as he nervously waited for tentacles to explode out of the tunnel.

Vlad laughed a wild laugh of battle and sprinted forward when he heard the sound of tentacles surging toward them. He intercepted them before they reached his comrades and the acid-covered appendages hesitated as if they were surprised that they were the ones being attacked this time.

Tepes kept moving as he sliced deeply into one of the tentacles with his krill and shoved the long knife into another for a long dragging cut. There was an explosion of acid and black ichor and he left behind a writhing mass of wounded tentacles that couldn’t decide to attack Vlad or his two companions in front of them.

They looped toward Vlad but were attacked from behind by Adam and Hyde who proved they were equally as dangerous with their own weapons. Cthulhu shouted arcane words of power and fury that shook the catacombs and caused some of the roof to collapse. The air was charged as if there had been a lightning strike nearby.

Vlad had considered changing to shadow during his race for the idol but decided against it. He would lose any weapons he carried when he shifted form as well as any clothing that wasn’t touching his skin. Also while he was fast and mobile in shadow form, an occult monster like Cthulhu could banish shadow with a single word.

This time he was ready for the grasping tentacles and was able to evade them while inflicting damage that was obviously infuriating Cthulhu, even if they were far from mortal wounds. He had been soaked in acid so many times it had begun to neutralize his protective alkaline clothing.

He ran along the side of the wall and then on the roof of the tunnel as he played a dangerous game of keep-away with the tentacles of Cthulhu. He dropped down to the floor when he entered the part of the catacombs he sought and the entrance to the side chamber that housed the idol.

Cthulhu finally began to realize what Vlad was up to and tentacles broke through the walls and crowded into the chamber. This time there was no escape for the vampire.

The floor sizzled with acid as Vlad fought back but for every tentacle he cut, two more seized his limbs. Soon a tentacle had gripped each one of his limbs and he was helplessly outstretched above the ground as his limbs began to be torn from his body. He tried to change into shadow and escape but it was impossible. It required intense concentration to change form and nothing alive could be touching him.

He wanted to scream his defiance but he didn’t have the energy after struggling against the irresistible strength of Cthulhu that was ripping him apart. He had fought his best, but he was done. Perhaps now he could finally be allowed to die.

Vlad’s own tactics saved him. He had divided their forces in an attempt to split Cthulhu’s attention. The elder god from another existence might be all powerful but there was only one of him. While Cthulhu devoted all of his attention to dismembering the vampire, Adam and Mr. Hyde rushed forward and chopped apart tentacles that were essentially ignoring them.

The fury of Cthulhu warped reality inside the catacombs as he was grievously wounded. Gravity pulsed like a slow wave and the stone walls began to liquify. Cthulhu had only partially entered this world and was relatively weak. Normally it would have been impossible to wound him in this manner.

Vlad was dumped on the floor as the tentacles turned to protect themselves against the new threat. He wearily regained his feet and yanked on the lanyard for his krill to pull the handle back into his hand where it belonged. His joints had been stretched so badly he was a few inches taller and walking was an awkward torture.

He leaned against the melting walls as he dragged his feet toward the side chamber where the idol waited for him. The wall bulged outward and then burst like a bubble when a gigantic eye, as large as Vlad’s entire body, emerged and paralyzed him with its gaze.

“You are mine, body and soul. You will serve as the final blood sacrifice for my entry into your world.”

Vlad’s ferocious will was swept aside as if it didn’t exist in the face of Cthulhu’s overwhelming power. His arm and the sword it carried dropped to his side as his mind was emptied.

Cthulhu thrummed with the pleasure of his victory. This world would suffer millennia of torment as punishment for this insolent resistance. The enormous eye became opaque as if Cthulhu couldn’t believe what he saw when Vlad’s krill slowly rose from his side until it pointed directly at the center of the elder god’s iris.

“Dei Gloriam!” Vlad shouted and plunged two feet of steel into the center of Cthulhu’s eye. He was blown backward by a wave of power that made his skull flex from the impact.

Cthulhu roared with pain, rage and perhaps even a little fear as the catacombs convulsed and the ancient tunnels began to spin around like a carnival wheel.

Vlad dug his fingers into the dirt and closed his eyes as he crawled toward the side chamber that was his goal. He reopened his eyes when he entered the chamber and fought down the vertigo of a world spinning out of control. The idol was already starting to come to life and it tried to escape the vampire’s clutching hands.

Small tentacles from the foot high statue wrapped around his fingers but he ignored them as he squeezed until the statue flew apart in chunks of both flesh and stone.

The side chamber stopped spinning around and Cthulhu was finally thrown back into his own dimension. The catacombs were no longer the threshold of hell from another plane of existence and returned to being simple tunnels in the dirt.

Vlad let his head drop to the floor and he stared at the krill that was still tied to his wrist. The two feet of blade that had penetrated the eye of Cthulhu had melted away and he wearily pulled off the lanyard for his ancient, ruined sword. He had wielded this krill for over 450 years and it was like an old friend to him but it had fought its final battle.

He closed his eyes and thought about what had just happened. Cthulhu had won. Vlad’s mind had been swept away but something else had pushed Cthulhu’s possession aside and taken over Vlad’s body. Centuries ago Vlad had turned his back on God when he began to impale his enemies, but perhaps God had not turned his back on him.

The End

Thank you for reading my story. This is the last Gothic Knights story I’m posting because I’m leaving Substack and Substack is leaving me. I had outlines and plans for another 28 Gothic Knights stories but c’est la vie.

Mr. Hyde’s eyes bulged and his face was in severe distress until he erupted with a massive eructation. He looked pleased with himself and his pride was justified because that was probably as close he came to verbal eloquence.

“Ahhh! That’s better! That one was a long time coming. I feel like I just gave birth to a little nipper.”

Adam took a step back and gagged. “What is that? It smells worse than a thunderbox.”

“Tripe pie my boy, tripe pie. The food of kings. I’ll take you to my pub where they bake it. You’re in for a rare treat Adam me lad.”

“Lucky me.”

“Moriarty, what are we waiting for anyway?” Hyde shouted loudly. “We don’t need Tepes. You got me and Adam doncha’?” He thumped a heavy hand on Adam’s chest. “There ain’t nothing the gruesome twosome can’t handle.”

“No Hyde, if we have overwhelming force then we should use it. The sun is almost down and Tepes will be here shortly. Griffin has done a reconnaissance of the castle and whatever is down in those catacombs is as dangerous as initial reports indicate.”

“Griffin!” Hyde scoffed. “He’d be scared of his own shadow if he could see it.”

Vlad’s shadow slithered across the ground to fall upon Hyde and his physical form followed behind it. “This time Griffin’s fear is justified Hyde. Whatever is in these catacombs doesn’t belong on this Earth. I have never sensed anything that feels so wrong.”

“What’s this Mr. Tepes?” Hyde said in mock surprise. “Even our resident vampire has lost his bottle? Well you just stand aside there little fella’ and let bonny Mr. Hyde take the lead this time.”

Vlad’s scowl turned into a smile as Hyde tried to step in front of him and proceed before him into the entrance for the catacombs. He looked up where Mr. Hyde’s boulder like head was aggressively grinning down at him.

“La Dracu, you’re a big milk cow of a man aren’t you Hyde. How tall are you anyway?”

“Close to eight feet, almost as tall as my mate Adam here.”

Vlad placed his small hand in the middle of Hyde’s chest and gently pushed him away so he was slammed violently into the stone wall.

“How would you like to be three feet shorter?”

Vlad disappeared into the dark entrance and was followed by a smiling Adam who patted Mr. Hyde on the head as he walked past.

The trio of Gothic Knights traveled into the catacombs for only a few moments before Tepes held up his hand to signal for them to stop. He felt a sense of wrongness that was foreign to him and he couldn’t shake the feeling he was leading them into a trap. He looked at the old fashioned torches his companions were carrying and frowned. It was pitch dark in the catacombs and his partners couldn’t see in the dark like him but he wanted them to have their hands free.

“Adam go back and get two hurricane lamps from Moriarty. If we encounter trouble you can put them on the floor and have your hands free but still have illumination.”

“All right then. I won’t be gone long.”

Vlad watched him go with a sense of relief. If they were to be attacked he would prefer that Adam be safely topside.

Hyde found a gap in the old stonework and forced the end of his torch into the niche. “Well, well, well. Here we are Mr. Tepes all cuddled up like two peas in a pod in the dark together. Very romantic this is. I’m starting to suspect that you might have arranged all this.” Hyde’s shrub-like eyebrow waggled suggestively.

“Spare me your verbal flatulence Hyde. I suggest we both practice the virtue of silence.”

“Not good enough for you am I?” Hyde complained with indignation. “Hold on now. I see the lay of the land. I’ve got some ‘royal competition.’ Good old Queen Vickie might have some snow on the roof but she’s still got a fire down below. Or should I be calling her Mrs. Tepes?”

“Hyde, I strongly suggest you shut your mouth.”

“I won’t stay mum when you’re having it on with the mom of the British empire. A little rumpy-pumpy with Rule Britannia. This is a right scandal this is. You’re, what, over four hundred years old and she’s a young maid barely in her seventies. Robbing the cradle! And think of the children Vladdy! They might be both vampires and whatcha’ call it hemofeelybacks. Think of how confused they’d be. Ha ha ha!”

Adam returned with a couple of hurricane lamps and looked around with confusion. “What happened to Mr. Hyde?”

Tepes stood up from where he’d been sitting on a stone ledge and brushed off the seat of his pants. “I’m not sure. He might be dead.”

“No, I’m not dead.” A faint, unsteady voice said. “But I’ve got a nasty focking headache thanks to you Tepes. Pull me out of here Adam.”

Adam frowned with disapproval at his mentor as he pulled Hyde free. “You put his head through the wall. What did he say this time?”

Tepes picked up one of the hurricane lamps and lit it from a torch. “It doesn’t bear repeating.”

Hyde staggered after Adam freed him and shook his head in a shower of dust and broken stone. “No idea what set him off this time Adam. We was just passing the time bragging about our sexual conquests.” He winced as he straightened out his broken nose and then gifted Vlad with a glowing smile full of chipped overgrown teeth.

“I swear to God Hyde!” Tepes snarled as he stalked away. “Next time I’ll shove your head up your ass!”

“Now, now, now Mr. Tepes. Stop getting me all hot and bothered with your sweet talk. I’m trying to keep me mind on the job!”

Mr. Hyde kept quiet as they proceeded deeper into the catacombs, probably because his head was pounding from the abuse his tell tale brain had endured. At least Tepes hadn’t broken his jaw this time.

The more deeply they descended, the worse condition the walls were in. They passed several branches that had partial collapses. The lamps began to have trouble pushing back the total darkness as if their flames were being starved of oxygen. The silence began to be broken by odd sounds that were in a frequency their ears could barely detect.

“Stop.” Vlad said quietly but the word still echoed down the passageway. He pointed at the roof. “Do you see how there are no cobwebs anymore? I can not hear rodents either, only that murmuring fading in and out. Do you two hear it as well?”

His eyes flicked toward them as they both nodded and then back to the dark corridor that stretched in front of them. “I don’t like this. There is nothing alive past this point. It is unnatural and so this that damned murmuring. Those are words of power, a corrupt, warped power. I don’t think that - Wait!”

Vlad cocked his head when he heard something Hyde and Adam couldn’t detect. “Beware!”

An winding, undulating form emerged out of the inky blackness pushing a wave of stale air in front of it. There was a cracking sound and a long greasy tentacle whipped out of the catacombs and looped around Tepes midsection.

“Futi-i!” Tepes swore loudly and was barely fast enough to get his arms out of the way before they were trapped by his sides. The tentacle tried to pull him back down the tunnel but the vampire was made of sterner stuff than its previous victims and he braced a foot against each side of the corridor and resisted. His feet dug ruts through the stone and dirt as a power even stronger than the centuries old vampire inexorably dragged him away.

Vlad grasped the end of the tentacle to unwind it and roared with surprised pain when he discovered its greasy appearance was the result of acidic fluids excreted through it’s pores. The acid burned even his undead skin but he maintained his grip despite the pain and managed to unwrap a coil.

Adam and Hyde ran up to help and he shouted out a warning about the acid. Adam ignored the warning and grabbed a coil with his enormous hands to help his mentor free himself, grunting with pain as his skin also began to smoke and burn.

They held the tentacle outstretched together as Mr. Hyde swung his clublike cane down with all his strength. A high pitched screech echoed down the catacombs that almost burst their eardrums and both Adam and Vlad released the wounded tentacle as they reflexively covered their ears in pain. The tentacle disappeared back from where it came as quickly as it had appeared and the high pitched screech was replaced by a low frequency chant that made their bones pulse with occult power.

Vlad looked down the tunnel into black so dark that it pulled the light out of his eyes. Once again he tilted his head as he heard something his companions couldn’t. “RUN!” He shouted and pushed Adam to safety ahead of himself as he took his own advice.

Three more tentacles came boiling out of the catacombs. The largest tentacle wound around Hyde’s torso, trapping his arms. Mr. Hyde had hesitated after Vlad’s shouted command, perhaps because he had never run from anything in his life. Another tentacle entwined itself between his legs and quickly trapped them in a mass of acid covered loops of flesh.

Vlad turned back after he ensured that Adam was safely running toward daylight. He evaded a tentacle that attempted to ensnare him by turning himself into an oily shadow that flowed across the floor toward a helpless Mr. Hyde.

Tepes had fought hundreds of battles against the Ottoman Empire as a mortal and against paranormal foes as a vampire. He didn’t win every battle but he always fought with ruthless ferocity and he always tried his best to never leave one of his own behind.

He didn’t hesitate as he materialized and sank his fangs into the tentacle entrapping Hyde and tore out a large chunk of flesh. He had tried to tear apart the first tentacle with his hands but it had resisted even his vampyric power. He couldn’t know if his fangs would penetrate but had decided to throw the dice.

The pain of the acid in his mouth was beyond physical but he ignored it because he didn’t have any time to be distracted. He spit out what acid he could while he forced his hands into the hole he had made and pulled.

The subsonic murmuring rose to a shout and words that didn’t belong on this world pounded into his skull like blows from a hammer. Vlad tried to scream back his defiance but could only manage a choking gurgle as acid ate away his mouth and throat. He continued to pull and tear until the tentacle ripped in half and showered him in yet more of the acid.

The catacombs tilted and turned upside down when there was a concussive shock from an implosion of power. A single arcane word boomed from the depths of the catacombs that charged the air with electricity.

Vlad grabbed Hyde’s arm and pulled him free of the tentacles that had all become lifeless and dropped to the ground in a flaccid tangle. They stumbled away together in the disorienting upside down down tunnel but stopped when the world turned upright and the tentacles rose from the floor again.

They ran, both of them smoking from acid burning both their clothes and their flesh. Hyde was obviously suffering from broken bones inflicted by the crushing tentacles and Vlad’s head seemed to be melting from the acid bath he’d suffered.

They ran, but the tentacles were faster and they could feel them touching their backs until a sudden avalanche of stone and dirt buried them.

Vlad used his hands to wipe acid off his scalp and face then looked up and nodded his thanks to Adam who had brought down an archway after his companions had run past.

“What is it?” Moriarty kept his eyes locked on the entrance of the catacombs. This subterranean menace had trounced three of the most powerful monsters on the planet and he was scared. “Is it some kind of demon?”

“No, it’s not from hell. I would know.” Vlad was able to speak in a scratching whisper as his mouth began to heal. He spit out some more acidic residue from his mouth and it bubbled and burned when it hit a rock. “It is not from this world. It is not from this existence.”

Tepes watched Adam help an unusually subdued Mr. Hyde put his shoulder back in its socket. “What was the name of the man who rented these lands?”

“It was an odd name. Lovecraft. Winfield Lovecraft.”

“Lovecraft, how inappropriate.” Vlad muttered and he peeled off the coat for his suit that was already falling to pieces from acid damage. “We will need to talk to him. We need better information.”

“I could get army engineers to blow this place sky high, bury it forever.”

“Tempting, but I don’t think it can be destroyed or imprisoned. We need to send it back where it came from.” He didn’t tell Moriarty that this squatter in the catacombs had tried to take over his mind as well as kill his body. It’s alien touch still lingered in his brain and it burned worse than the acid in his mouth.

“What should I tell the queen?”

“Tell the queen we shall plan, arm and armour ourselves.” He looked again at Adam and Hyde who were battered but whole, fearful but defiant. “Tell the queen I am Vlad Tepes the third and I will never stop fighting.”

Continued in ‘Cthulhu I Hardly Knew You’ (Gothic Knights #8)

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Mr. Hyde Glossary

Hemofeelyback: Hemophiliac. Hemophilia was a genetic condition often called the bleeding disease. Queen Victoria was a carrier for hemophilia.

Rumpy-Pumpy: (Oh come on! Use your imagination.)

Freyja twitched the reigns of her chariot and her lynxes landed smoothly in a field on the Galo Peninsula south of Stockholm. She glanced at her mortal friend Marja as they both hopped out of the chariot.

“You look nervous.”

“That’s because I am nervous. The last time I saw Odin he said he’d kill me. This from a God that could kill me by accidently coughing on me.” Marja scratched the two oversized lynxes behind the ears when they started to butt their heads against her.

“Relax.” Freyja reassured Marja as she looked up at her Valkyrie patrolling the sky. “You’re with Freaking Freyja and this is my country.”

Sweden was very much Freyja’s country and so were all the Scandinavian countries. The ‘Freaking Freyja’ nickname had started when her little man (as she liked to call Olsson) had begun to refer to her in that way.

There were a number of reasons why she had become so popular. She was a nature Goddess and environmental issues were important to most of the Scandinavian people. She was a Goddess of love and sex before she was a Goddess of war and the Norse countries of 2026 had no interest in conquest, only in self defense. Marja believed the biggest reason for Freyja’s popularity was she was a lot of fun in her own crazy way. It was hard not to like her.

“Is India still behaving itself?”

“Yup, they don’t want another visit from you.”

Freyja grinned. “Too bad that was a good time. Next time I’ll bring along some of my Valkyries so they can get a workout.” Freyja’s good time had been trashing India’s Parliament House when the government of India had been dragging their feet on lowering their emissions for their coal powered generating plants. It was Marja’s job to decide how to steadily improve the environment but if governments didn’t want to cooperate they would get a visit from Freaking Freyja.

“Here they come.” Marja squeaked when Thor and Odin materialized above them with a boom. Thor landed first in a chariot pulled by his goats Gnasher and Grinder. The usually half-rabid goats looked as nervous as Marja when they saw Freyja’s hissing lynxes and the much more dangerous Freyja. Things had not gone well for them last time they encountered the Goddess.

Thor was annoyed by their timidity and pushed them roughly aside as he approached Freyja. “Father’s in a mood.” He warned her as they both watched Odin’s horse land on its eight legs.

She nodded her thanks for the warning but it was no less than what she expected. Odin slid to the ground from Sleipnir’s back and approached the other two Gods. You would think Odin was the God of Thunder and not his son Thor based on Odin’s stormy expression.

Freyja gave both Odin and Thor appraising looks. The father and son were usually such a cohesive unit that it was obvious to her how much damage Odin had done to the relationship with his son because of his monotheistic ambitions. It was also obvious that Loki had been doing everything he could to widen the gap.

“Where’s Loki?”

Odin looked pleased to find something different to be angry about. “I don’t know. He told me he was busy trying to bribe some generals in the German army but he was probably lying. He has been disappearing a lot lately and it is getting on my nerves.”

“So what else is new?” Freyja responded with a shrug. “Do we have a deal?”

“Why should I make a deal with you? Sweden stabbed me in the back. My people! My own people!” He thumped himself angrily in the chest.

“They didn’t betray you.” Freyja paused as if she was enjoying the moment. “They rejected you.”

Odin’s face turned purple with anger but he didn’t disagree with her. He looked at where Marja was standing beside Freyja. “Mortal, tell me true. Tell me why my people have turned their back on me?”

Marja looked up at the mightiest Norse God of all and wanted nothing more than to be on the other side of the world but something in his expression compelled her to answer. Odin was a murderous powerhouse but she heard the plea in his voice. He was upset, he was genuinely hurt.

“We know you unleashed the trolls on the Scandinavian countries. They killed thousands of people. Why would we choose a God who did that?”

“I needed to harden my people for the battles to come. You have become fat and soft over the centuries.”

“Harden us up for what?”

“To rule. To be strong.” Odin hooked his thumbs in his belt and gave Marja the rare gift of his full attention. “I am Odin and this I know. You are either predator or you are prey. You may think me cruel but I do what a God must do. Only the strong survive and my people are strong because I am strong.”

“Let me tell you something that this weak little woman knows.” Freyja was amused when Marja stepped toward Odin but she also gave Odin a warning look. “I’m weak but I deserve to live.”

Odin’s eye started to smolder as he glared back the bold mortal. “No one deserves to live. You earn the right to live by being strong.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re the one doing all the killing. You think mercy is a weakness but look at you now! Crying like a baby because your people don’t want a God that kills them. You’re a hypocrite!”

Smoke started to drift out of Odin’s empty eye socket and Freyja stepped protectively in front of Marja but she was on a roll and still had more to say.

“I’ll tell you something else. Over there waiting in that battlefield is a biker called Sedrick who’s willing to fight you with all of his rough, tough biker friends. He’s one of the so-called ‘strongest’ guys I know but he rejects you because when you keep shouting ‘only the strong survive!’ all he hears is ‘the weak deserve to die.’ He’s got a son with Down’s Syndrome, does that mean his son has to die to fit into your new world?”

Odin was ready to give her an angry, self-assured reply but his eye fell on Thor and he seemed to wilt. “His son? No, that doesn’t mean … ” His voice trailed off and he became lost inside himself.

Thor gave his father a measuring look before speaking directly to Freyja. “The mortals beat the troops we left behind and have earned their right to determine their own fate on the field of battle.”

“So we have a deal?”

“Loki tells me that the Swedes have 10,000 warriors. Is that right Freyja?”

Freyja bobbed her head from side to side as she considered the figure. “Close enough.”

Odin roused himself and rejoined the negotiations. “Then since we agreed to a 20 to 1 ratio they will meet 500 of my troops in the field of battle tomorrow. This will be a waste of time Freyja.” He cautioned her. “These mortals may be brave but they don’t stand a chance.”

Freyja glanced at Marja and they both smiled enigmatically. “We’ll find out tomorrow. By the way Odin, Oliver says hello.”

“Oliver!” Odin’s beard bristled and it looked like he was chewing on rancid meat. “That little turd!”

“Oliver! Are you with us here?”

Oliver lowered his binoculars from watching the far away Gods bargain for the future of the Norse countries. He and the Swedish military leaders were in the office building for one of the camping sites on the Galo Nature reserve. “Sorry what did you ask me?”

“What if Odin or Thor decide to join in on the battle and attack us Oliver? What if they break the deal?”

“Freyja told us not to worry about it.” Oliver reassured general Wallander. “This is a deal between Gods. There will be severe consequences if any God from either side takes part. It could trigger another Ragnarok and nobody wants that.”

“I was talking to her just last night.” Colonel Olsson said as he turned away from the same window Oliver had been using to look outside. He had been watching his armoured forces deploying and didn’t look very happy.

Oliver and Wallander glanced at each other. They could tell by how Olsson was painfully limping that more than talking was going on last night but they wisely said nothing.

“There’s been a power shift among the Gods in the two months since they’ve shown up. Power has shifted away from Odin and toward Freyja. In the Scandinavian countries Freyja is actually stronger than Odin now. In Sweden Freyja could kick Odin’s ass and she would like to.”

“Thanks Olsson that gives me hope. I had a nightmare last night of Odin tearing our men to pieces.” Wallander had deep bags under his eyes from the stress of trying to coordinate all the disparate forces he would be commanding tomorrow. He had a proper staff and communications now but the heavy responsibility was aging him. He looked up from a page of notes he made before the meeting. “Sedrick where are you?”

“Back here.” The biker raised his hand from where he was leaning against a wall and drinking coffee.

“Oh good, thought I lost you. We’re facing a lot of Berserkers tomorrow and they’ll be Asgard’s best. They’ll be a lot tougher than Stannis and his gang of goofs so be ready for that.” He pointed at the odd looking crossbow the president of Thor’s Disciples MC was carrying. “Is that one of the new crossbows? I haven’t even seen one yet.”

“It is.” Sedrick stepped forward and laid it on the table so the soldiers could get a good look at it and satisfy their professional curiosity. “500 feet per second and 420 foot pounds of kinetic energy. They’re slow to reload but they’ll penetrate even the toughest Berserker hide with the right arrow. Production has outdone themselves. I’ve got two crossbows for every biker.”

“You’ve tested them out?”

“Better than that. Stannis and his immortal morons keep trying to kill us every day so we’ve been using the crossbows to kill ‘em off. Stannis caught us napping the first time but now we use him and his boyfriends for target practice.”

“Good to know that even a shitheel like Stannis has a purpose in the grand design. Are you all right working with Olsson and his armoured group?” Wallander looked back and forth between the biker and his irascible colonel.

“No, he hurts my feelings. He always swears at me.”

“Fuck you and the two wheeled piece of crap you ride on Sedrick.”

“Fuck you right back you male prostitute.”

“Good to know you’re on the same page then.” Wallander rubbed his hand briskly on the back of his close cropped head and addressed all of the senior officers around the table. “A lot of tomorrow’s battle will depend on timing so keep your ears open for your radios. These damned Einherjar are so fast we won’t get any second chances. Frankly they scare the hell out of me and we’ll be facing 500 of their best.”

“But not under the command of Odin.” Oliver held up a finger as he made his point, making him look like the professor of archeology he was. “I’m sure the Einherjar commander will be good but nobody is as good as Odin. A lot of the sneaky crap we’re going to pull tomorrow I would never dare to attempt with Odin commanding.”

Wallander folded his arms and looked out the window to watch the sun lowering on the field of battle where the fate of his country would be decided tomorrow. “Sneaky works for me.”

“Remember that little turd is sneaky.” Odin warned Konrad. “Expect traps, expect surprises. Be ready to change your plans.”

Konrad sucked on his teeth as he watched his enthusiastic troops deploy on the peninsula. The Vikings were eager to avenge the first loss that Valhalla’s warriors had suffered on Midgard, even if it had been a treacherous ambush. “This isn’t exactly my first battle All Father but don’t worry, it will be the mortal’s last one.”

Konrad had a well balanced force of 500 immortal warriors from Asgard. 50 of Odin’s lethal Valkyrie patrolled the skies for air cover. 100 fast and specially trained Berserkers were tasked for anti armour duty and 350 of his heavily armoured Einherjar were the sledge hammer he would use to crush the 10,000 mortal troops.

These humans had done well with the element of surprise against mostly raw recruits. Tomorrow the elite of Valhalla would drink from their skulls.

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“Are you angry with me?”

Adam’s high-pitched voice echoed down the narrow London street and the mist that hung in the air held his words aloft as Adam and his companion walked together. They were a strange pair even for a city that had many strange denizens who only appeared at night. Adam was twice as wide as Vlad Tepes beside him and a good two and a half feet taller than the ancient vampire. His question had been timid because he was desperate for Vlad’s approval, desperate for a father. Emotionally, he was a small boy that didn’t want to be alone again.

“No, I am not angry. You have every right to ask questions about my violent past. I am dedicated to be a good mentor for you but my life is not an example for you to follow.”

They stepped off to the side as a carriage came down the street. The noise of horseshoes on cobblestone made further conversation impractical and Vlad leaned his back against a streetlamp as they watched a single horse pull a carriage past them. The driver glanced nervously at the gigantic Adam and decided the shadows and the mist must be playing tricks with his eyes.

Vlad removed his top hat and idly brushed some dirt off the rim as he gathered his thoughts. “Vlad the Impaler they called me and I earned the name. My father Vlad Dracul was greatly feared and he was my example to follow. I exceeded him in many ways. Much of what has been written about me is ridiculous propaganda but much of it was true. I impaled so many Ottomans that I made a forest out of them. My forces were always heavily outnumbered and they kept pushing into Wallachia. I wanted them to be terrified of me and they were.”

He slowly returned his hat to his head and adjusted it to his satisfaction until his aquiline face was hidden in shadow. Adam remained silent. He knew enough about his mentor to know that Vlad never spoke about his past. This rare exception was being made because of how much he cared for the childlike Adam.

“I was more of a monster as a man than I have ever been as a vampyr. I took on the role of the devil to defend Wallachia and push back the Ottoman empire. I played the role too well, eventually I became the devil. I impaled people because they resisted my rule. I impaled people because they broke trade agreements with me. Eventually I impaled people simply because I liked to do it. I was killed in battle in 1477 but I wasn’t allowed to die and came back as Vampyr. My own theory is that I wasn’t allowed to die because the devil could not tolerate any competition in hell.”

Vlad resumed their walk down the street with Adam at his side. “Perhaps some good resulted from my damnation. There might not be a Romania today if I hadn’t resisted the Ottomans so ferociously. Perhaps I made no difference at all in the final design. All that death and suffering and I can only offer this one small piece of fragile wisdom to you Adam. You are what you do.”

He paused and looked at the address on the building in front of them. “Is this the correct address?”

Adam removed a piece of paper from his pocket and proudly read out an address. "221B Baker Street. Yes this is the address we are looking for.”

“Very good.” Vlad nodded at him, pleased with how quickly he was learning how to read and write. “Let us visit Mr. Holmes. This should be an interesting evening.”

The evening was indeed interesting but in unexpected ways. Sherlock Holmes was the most brilliant detective of his era but Vlad and Adam soon found out that some giants had feet of clay.

“This is intolerable!” Vlad seethed in his heavy Wallachian accent. “We made an appointment. We are here on business of the crown.”

Dr. Watson was intimidated by the menacing vampire and his companion Adam who was the size of a Clydesdale standing on two legs. “I apologize Mr. Tepes but as I told your associate, appointments in the evening are problematic for Sherlock.”

Vlad switched his gaze to an almost catatonic Holmes and the disgust on his face was obvious. “Unfortunately appointments that are not in the evening are also problematic for me. Is this normal for him to be … What is the expression the young people use Adam?”

“High as a kite.”

Watson looked at Adam in surprise when he heard his high fluting voice but he also became annoyed as he defended his friend. “Sherlock has nothing to apologize for. His mind comes with a price. He often gets overwhelmed by too much information to the point he can’t even function. Opium is his most effective escape.”

“He is a pathetic drug addict.” Vlad snarled in contempt.

“That’s a little rich coming from a vampire.”

Vlad slowly returned his black glowing eyes to Watson and the good doctor unconsciously leaned away from him and tried his best to not show how terrified he was. Tepes smiled tightly as the temperature seemed to drop.

“Fair enough Dr. Watson. We shall take our leave since this is a waste of our time. The queen has tasked me to deal with this Spring Heeled Jack character that has caused such a sensation in the press but I am no detective and I don’t trust Moriarty. I will have to think of something else.”

“Spring Heeled Jack” Sherlock said dreamily as his eyes focused on Adam towering above him. “You are as tall as they say Adam. I am glad we have high ceilings.”

Adam’s wide smile revealed how young he actually was. “It is nice to not have to stoop and it is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Holmes”

“The pleasure is mine Adam.” Sherlock’s gaze wandered the room until it settled on a surprised Vlad Tepes. “I suppose I am a pathetic drug addict Mr. Tepes but I like to think I’m a high functioning one. I have done a great deal of research with Dr. Watson on this Spring Heeled Jack fellow and I can take you to him.”

The portly Holmes unsuccessfully tried to stand up from his deep chair until Adam stepped forward and lifted him off his feet with a hand under his elbow.

“Aren’t you a nice young man, strong as an ox as well. Shall we take a midnight stroll together gentlemen?”

“Spring Heeled Jack like most good mysteries is many different things.” Holmes paused to draw on his pipe as the group of four progressed down the street. He maintained a surprisingly steady pace for someone who, as Adam described, was as high as a kite.

“The recent incidents of women being assaulted by a Spring Heeled Jack imposter are the work of a group of students playing what they call pranks but are crimes that should be prosecuted. There have been similar incidents in the past, all imposters.

They turned a corner into a darker part of the city that had no streetlamps and many of the larger buildings were surrounded by fences. The streets were too narrow for most coaches and it was quiet without the background hiss of gaslights or the sound of horses. Their journey continued for some time until they were in one of the oldest neighbourhoods in Victorian London.

“The real Spring Heeled Jack is a fantastical creature that Watson and I are quite fond of.” Holmes leaned against a brick fence that was ten feet tall and he started to drift away. “For some reason he’s tied to this fence. Sometimes I wonder if he’s another opium dream …”

Vlad snorted with disgust as Holme’s eyes glazed over and drool began to spill from the corner of his mouth. “The great Sherlock Holmes!”

“He is a great man.” Watson said defensively. “He’s locked up more villains than Scotland Yard but it came with a cost. Treat him with some respect.”

Vlad contemplated Dr. Watson with interest . The vampire was attuned to human blood flow like a bird was in harmony with the wind. He knew Watson’s pulse was racing and his blood pressure was sky high with fear but that didn’t stop him from defending his friend.

The quiet, shadowed scene was torn apart when something leapt off the brick wall and landed on Adam’s wide shoulders with a childish giggle. Adam shouted in surprise when his keg-sized head was lit up with a blue and white flame that dazzled and blinded him.

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From Watson’s perspective Vlad Tepes seemed to disappear as he flowed up the wall like a stream of black oil to seize the figure off Adam’s shoulder. He slung the attacker to the hard cobblestones of the street as if he were trying to kill a rat.

A form that resembled an impossibly thin stick figure of a man groaned in pain then screamed in fear when a furious Wallachian prince dropped on him and seized him by the throat. The creature’s eyes leaked streams of blue and white fire as it looked up at its death and its screams were cut off by a hand that crushed its throat. Spring Heeled Jack’s face was like a child’s cartoon with almost no features except enormous glowing eyes and a small mouth that was now an open circle of terror. Vlad’s free hand descended to plunge into Jack’s guts and rip out his spine.

“No!” Shouted Watson who grabbed the vampire’s arm in a futile attempt to stop him. “He’s like a child. Don’t kill him!”

Watson could not physically prevent Vlad’s attack but his words managed to have an effect. The vampire stopped himself in time and only tore the filthy, ragged tailcoat that Jack wore.

He looked at where Watson was holding onto his arm and then stared into the human’s eyes until Watson fearfully removed his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Look! Look at Adam. He wasn’t harmed.”

Adam knelt down so Vlad could see him. “It looks like fire but it was cool to the touch, it tickled. I think he was playing a joke.”

“A joke?” Vlad looked down at the odd creature with disbelief and released his hold on its neck. “Was that your idea of a joke you fool?”

Jack answered in the lyrical voice of a toddler. “ Cruel and dark to punish me for a lark!” He massaged his skinny throat where Vlad had been throttling him. “ I mean no harm, my folly is my charm.”

Adam reached down and pulled him upright. “We didn’t know you were playing. I’m sorry if you were hurt.”

Spring Heeled Jack decided Adam was an ally and hid behind him before he poked his head out to lecture Vlad Tepes. “Nasty boy! Cruel and mean. Never heard, only seen.” He climbed back on Adam’s shoulders and bathed his head with his distinctive blue-white fire again while Adam laughed with delight.

Vlad stared at the unexpected scene for a moment and was relieved he hadn’t killed this bizarre creature. He turned toward the man that had stopped him. “Dr. Watson, I am humbled by your depth of character. I apologize for my behaviour.”

He surveyed the almost catatonic Sherlock Holmes who hadn’t even noticed the recent events. “I can see the legend of Sherlock Holmes would not exist without you.”

Watson was pleased with the unexpected praise and unconsciously stood up straighter. “Will you be telling Queen Victoria about what you’ve found out about Spring Heeled Jack?”

Vlad smiled as he watched Adam and Jack clown around and he shook his head. “No that would be like throwing the lamb to the wolves. I’ll tell her about the student imposters and leave it at that.”

He looked up at Jack as he jumped onto the tall brick wall and back onto Adam’s shoulders again. “Where do you come from? What are you exactly?”

Jack spread his arms and his distinctive fire streamed from one hand to another in a brilliant arc. “I spring. I surprise. I play silly jests.” He hopped onto the ground and hid behind Watson before sneaking a peak at the vampire again. “I am Jack. The jester in the shadows.”

“Mmmm, the shadows are dark in this world. I think it needs a jester. Dr. Watson, I think perhaps we should return Mr. Holmes to Baker Street.”

Next afternoon, Adam returned to the wall after his morning lessons. His usual shambling gait was improving thanks to the new corrective shoes he wore to compensate for one leg being three inches shorter than the other. Victor Frankenstein had proven himself to be a careless God.

He removed a paper bag from the pocket of his coat and reached up high to place it on top of the ten foot wall. Adam ignored the small crowd of locals that had stopped to stare at him and walked away with a smile on his hideous, mismatched features.

After night fell a spindly figure approached the paper bag and cautiously extracted a sweet that it popped into its mouth with a loud smacking sound. “Candy! Candy! A present from my friend!” Jack twirled and danced on top of the wall with the bag of candy in his hand.

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Content Warning: This story might test the boundaries of some readers.

These events takes place in the summer of 2013

“Jesus Christ is your friend!”

The congregation began to stir and look at one another in confusion as the small, wizened man dressed entirely in black didn’t say anything but stared at them for what seemed like a very long 60 seconds. He gripped the pulpit and looked angry as his black eyes drifted across them.

“Jesus Christ is your friend!”

This time there was a timid ‘yes’ from the back of the church and the pastor leaned over over his pulpit like a bird of prey as he tried to see who spoke.

“Whoever said that stand up.”

He narrowed his eyes and grimaced as he watched a teenage girl stand up and flush with embarrassment. The man’s face was a changing map of wrinkles with each change of expression. His grey hair was shaved in a poorly executed brush cut and there were bald patches and ugly scabs on his scalp. His skin was burned an angry red from sunburn that was peeling away and leaving behind oozing raw patches. He was lean as rawhide but fat with rage and self righteousness.

“Anyone else? Would anyone else like to stand with this young woman and declare that Jesus Christ is your friend?” The desiccated man behind the pulpit was Elijah Powell and he was a pastor that had recently returned from mission duty in Nigeria. He was standing in for a sick pastor Johnson and the members of this church in Pleasant Grove, Alabama had never seen him before.

Members of the church started to stand and Pastor Elijah watched them with a sour expression until the entire congregation was on their feet. The different parts of his features didn’t match. The skin of his face was twisted in a rictus of pain but his mouth smiled while his black eyes were fierce and angry. Witnesses would later call them crazy eyes.

“Hallelujah! Praise the lord and take your seats again.”

The congregation sat down and some of them looked pleased as if they had passed a test of faith. Their attention was fixed on the scarecrow figure of the missionary man as he walked around the pulpit, crackling with energy like a transformer hit by lightning.

“The hand of God has brought me to your church for a holy purpose. I am here to save your damned souls. I am here to tell you that Jesus Christ is not your friend!”

The first young woman to stand up gasped with shock. The rest of the congregation became unnaturally still and silent. No one raised their voice in objection because of a lifetime of conditioning that told them to be quiet during a sermon.

“Jesus Christ preaches love! Christ preaches acceptance. Christ preaches the forgiveness of sins. I’m here to tell you that you’ve been told a pack of lies all of your sorry, ignorant lives!”

The missionary man paced in front of the horrified people with his arms spasming in a sequence of violent gestures as if he was chopping down an unholy foe that was trying to silence him. “Christ is not the son of God! Christ is the son of Satan sent to Earth to preach a message of weakness that has damned the soul of every so called ‘Christian.’ You are damned! You are damned! You are damned!”

With each pronouncement of damnation he pointed toward a different section of the church as long strings of saliva spun out out of his screaming mouth.

“My God is a vengeful God! My God is a God of righteousness. Jesus Christ is a son of Satan that has damned legions of humanity to an eternity of torment and hellfire!”

A black clad arm reached back and the missionary man plucked a bible off the pulpit and held it high over his head. “Our bible, our book of God, has been tainted by the corrupt, Satanic rantings of the new testament.”

He threw the bible on the ground and split it in half to separate the testaments of the old and new. A butcher knife was pulled out from inside his jacket and he attacked the bible as if it was alive. Soon he held up the old testament and kicked away the new testament as if it was radioactive.

“This is my bible! This is where you will find the God that preaches death to the perverts, death to the sinner, death to the foreigner! There is no love in God! There is no love in the world!”

The teenaged girl who had first pronounced Jesus was her friend screamed at the sight of the holy bible being desecrated and at the blasphemy howling out of the mouth of the missionary man.

He focused on her and tilted his head as he stared through her with a rictus of gleeful pain on his sunburned face. “Woman! You so-called friend of Jesus! You are a whore of Satan and I will send you to join him!”

She screamed again as he ran toward her with a butcher knife in one hand and a mutilated bible in the other. The second scream woke up the other members of the congregation who had been frozen like mice hypnotized by a weaving cobra.

The missionary man was tackled by two strong farm boys who were shocked by the maniacal strength possessed by an old man half their size. More men from the congregation piled on him before he managed to stab anyone.

“You are all damned!” He screamed in a voice cracking from strain. “Damned for all eternity!” He only became quiet when he sank his jagged brown teeth into the forearm of one of his captors.

Braxton Lee was sheriff of Pleasant Grove, Alabama. Pleasant Grove had graduated from a large town into a small city sometime back in the 90’s but Sheriff Lee still called it his town and most of the residents agreed with him. Whether or not that was a good thing depended on your level of income and the colour of your skin.

Sheriff Lee had beautiful blue eyes that looked out of place on his meaty face. He stood six foot four and was 240 lean pounds of easily provoked sadism. He had been in church yesterday and put handcuffs on the missionary man after he bit the arm of one of the members of the church. If there hadn’t been so many witnesses Braxton would have done a lot more than handcuff him but there would be other opportunities.

He leaned against the cell bars and stared at the small old man that had caused so much mayhem in his town. The missionary man turned the dried apple he called a head and stared back at him with black eyes that burned right into his blue irises. The sheriff found he couldn’t match that unhallowed gaze and pretended to cough so he could break eye contact without losing face.

He was a big ex- marine, current god of law and order in Pleasant Grove and widely acknowledged as one tough, mean son of a bitch. Why did this tiny missionary locked safely inside a cell still scare the shit of him?

Sheriff Lee knew the full story on Elijah Powell. Recently returned from missionary work in Nigeria where he was involved in a scandal involving young girls and boys that nobody at the church wanted to talk about. They believed pastor Elijah had lost his mind after his body had been ravaged by malaria in Africa. He became erratic, violent and an embarrassment to the church. He had been living in an isolated retreat near Pleasant Grove until he escaped and attacked pastor Johnson so he could take his place in church last Sunday.

“You’re lucky you didn’t kill pastor Johnson or get to Jacqueline with that knife or you’d be up for murder.”

The missionary waved his hand languidly as if this was no concern. “God decided to spare them.”

“You’re pretty casual for someone who just missed getting the death penalty.”

“I’m not afraid to meet my God. Are you?”

Sheriff Lee snorted and patted the .357 magnum holstered on his hip. “My God is right here and I met him a long time ago.”

The man in the cell gave him a look of scorn. “Someday you will eat your God.”

Braxton found he had to look away again. Ever since his wife had left him after one too many casual slaps across her face he had spent drunken nights sitting on the couch with a gun barrel in his mouth. How could this bastard have known that? It hadn’t been a guess. This psycho burned with certainty.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back. It’s time to transfer you to prison while you wait for trial.”

The missionary man stared at Braxton with that rictus smile of his for a good long while before he stood up from his cot and complied with the sheriff’s orders.

Sheriff Lee didn’t take any chances with pastor Elijah as he transferred him to the back of his cruiser. He held Elijah’s cuffed hands with his own left hand and steered his prisoner with a firm right hand on the shoulder. He remembered the insane strength this small man exhibited when four big old boys could barely hold on to him. He did not want to be the next one bitten by this rabid dog.

The passenger in the back of the cruiser turned his head as they passed the turnoff to the highway that would take them to the waiting prison. He made no comment when the cruiser turned down a poorly maintained road that led to a small industrial development. The missionary man was in the hands of God and felt no emotion except for a mild curiosity.

The sheriff eased the car to a stop behind a long vacant factory that had most of its windows broken. Shards of glass crunched under the tires of the car and then the soles of his boots as he left the cruiser and opened the back door.

The prisoner exited the rear seat and looked at his surroundings. They had parked far from the road and the the road was a long way from anyone’s home. Birds flew in and out of the broken windows of the factory. Some of them perched on windowsills and watched the two intruders as if they were expecting a show.

The sheriff made a twirling motion with his finger and pastor Elijah obediently turned around so his cuffs could be removed. He absently rubbed at the marks on his wrists the cuffs had left behind and looked at the sheriff with a questioning expression.

“This factory used to make auto parts back in the day, body trim, interior trim, stuff like that. ‘Course now they make it cheaper down in Mexico and the bean eaters have all our jobs.”

He turned and pointed out another small factory that had made electronics parts, also shuttered. Sheriff Braxton Lee knew his town. He was also a high school football coach, deacon in his church and a grand titan for the local Dominion of the Klan.

“I was listening to your message in church pastor.” The sheriff removed his sunglasses and rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his cheek. “The libtards just elected a monkey for president the second time in a row and we got filthy immigrants flooding across our border like it wasn’t even there. I think it’s time for a little old time religion.”

He nodded toward an office building that was in better shape than most of the vandalized factories. “That’ll be your new church over there. I think your message is what we need to make this country great again.”

The missionary man joined his hands together at his back as if he was standing at attention in front of his lord. “It is good to meet a fellow man of God. Bring me my flock and I will spread the word.”

The song ‘Missionary Man’ was one side of a 7” album. On the other side was ‘Take Your Pain Away.’ Here is a link to Nathan Hatch’s story ‘Take Your Pain Away.’

Nathan Hatch

Take Your Pain Away

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2 months ago · 15 likes · 1 comment · Nathan Hatch

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Father Teaffe was preoccupied watching a soccer match on his phone when a young couple entered the room. He shifted rusty mental gears and prepared himself for this appointment to provide matrimonial counseling for a couple that wanted to get married in his church.

He stood up as the young lady extended her hand. “Hello father, I’m Jezebel.”

“And I’m Stan. Stan Unhola.” The young man said as he shook hands with the priest after his fiance.

Father Teaffe had been around the ecumenical block more than a few times and his eyes narrowed with suspicion when Stan appeared to wince in pain during the handshake.

“Unhola? Is that a Hawaiian name Mr. Unhola?”

“No, no. I get that all the time. I’m from down South.”

“Well, colour me intrigued. Where down South?”

“Far South.”

“Hmm. Argentina? Antarctica?”

“Argentina.”

“I see. I see. A Hispanic name then.”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, I don’t think anything is right here at all. Do you?” The old priest made a show of scratching his cheek as a distraction while he reached for a small flask in his vestments.

“Ow! Goddamn it, that stings!” Stan shouted when the Irish priest dashed holy water in his face from the flask.

“I knew it! Stan Unhola my wrinkled Irish ass! That has to be the lamest fake name yet. Unholy Satan!”

Father Teaffe switched his attention to Satan’s possible future bride. “Jezebel, were you aware that Satan, the prince of darkness, the emperor of evil and the duke of douchebags was your fiance?”

“Sure, we don’t have any secrets.”

“How refreshing.”

“He’s a nice guy once you get to know him and you’re not getting all holier than thou. He’s helping me with my jazz career. You know, like Robert Johnson with the blues.”

“And look at how that worked out for him.”

“Why? What happened to him?” Jezebel looked confused and turned toward her fiance for an explanation.

“Nothing baby, nothing. He was super famous and lived happily ever after.” Satan pointed his finger aggressively at the angry priest. “Look you celibate sucker, I only agreed to this because Jezebel is Catholic. You better marry us or you’ll regret it.”

Father Teaffe gripped the edge of the table and stared down his damned adversary. “You come into my parish and walk into my church and you think you can push me around you unholy son of a bitch! I will kick your ass and wash out your mouth with holy water!”

Satan nervously pushed his chair backward. He was all powerful when he sat on his throne in Hell but inside a church his power was badly diminished and this priest looked like one tough little bastard. It was time for a change in tactics.

“Look I can make it worth your while.” Satan pulled out a thick wad of 100 dollar bills and pushed it toward the priest. “I’m sure the church could use a new roof. Don’t they always?”

“Saints preserve us! Look at that big pile of money Satan is waving in my face. God almighty knows I became a priest for the high wages and extravagant lifestyle. I’m shaking with temptation over here.”

Satan scowled and made the money disappear. “No need to be such a smartass.”

“A smartass am I? You just reminded me of the colonoscopy appointment I have this afternoon. I can assure you it will be the highlight of my day compared to the prince of darkness trying to convince me to marry him off.”

The priest once again shifted his gaze to Satan’s fiance. “Jezebel, let’s hear some more from you. Shut up Satan! Now you think he will be good for your career but that sounds a little transactional to me. Why else do you want to marry this damned for all eternity dreamboat of yours?”

“I like his sense of humour.”

“And?”

“He’s good looking.”

“No, he’s not. He’s wearing a glamour. Show her what you really look like Satan.”

“No!”

“This is matrimonial counseling, all cards on the table. Show her what you really look like.”

Jezebel looked at him expectantly until Satan’s form changed into a red skinned demonic creature, complete with horns, hooves and a tail.

“You look so hot baby.”

“Jesus Christ on the cross.” The priest muttered as he lowered his face into his hands. “All right you think he’s a barrel of laughs and he’s ‘hot.’ Anything else?”

Jezebel gave him a blank look and then examined her nails. “Well we, um, have lots in common.”

“Is that right Jezebel? You have a lot in common with Satan here? Do you both like pina coladas? Getting caught in the rain? Roasting the damned with hellfire?”

“Music!” Satan interrupted. “We both like the same music. Why just on the drive over here we were listening to Ozzy Osbourne together.”

“I hate Ozzy Osbourne!” Jezebel snapped.

Satan gasped and Father Teaffe’s eyebrows rose as the oxygen was sucked out of the room.

“I’m a jazz musician. Why do you keep thinking I like heavy metal? I hate your bloody music. I hate how you always sing along with ‘Crazy Train’ and that stupid laugh of yours.”

“I see.” Satan unsuccessfully tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. “Well, all of this is news to me.”

“It wouldn’t be if you ever paid any attention to my feelings.”

“What about my feelings?”

“What about your feelings? You’re Satan for Gods sake. Stop being such a baby all the time.”

Satan watched a furious Jezebel storm out of the room. He turned his head to look at Father Teaffe who struggled to maintain a neutral expression. Satan absentmindedly rubbed one of his horns and appeared lost in thought for a moment. “I think the two of us should take a break. Maybe we’ve rushed into this.”

“That would be a prudent move.”

Satan nodded and paused at the door before leaving. “Thank you father.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Father Teaffe stood up and stretched before leaving the room. Another priest walking down the corridor said hello when they passed each other.

“How did the matrimonial counseling go Father Teaffe?”

‘Not bad. I think I convinced some poor fellow not to marry a jazz musician.”

“You’re doing God’s work father.”

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Lucio had been waiting in the hot, stuffy room for almost an hour and couldn’t stop himself from falling sleep. He had arrived in Rome after a flight from the U.S. an hour ago and the jet lag was messing up his sleep cycle.

He did not want to be here waiting for an appointment in Vatican City but inheriting the estate of his uncle Giovanni was a powerful motivation. Lucio’s lawyer estimated it was ten million dollars of motivation.

A liver spotted hand shook him awake and Lucio rubbed the sand out of his eyes while an aged monsignor regarded him with disapproval. “You’re Cardinal Giovanni’s nephew. Is it true that you’re no longer a Catholic?”

Lucio immediately disliked the small man’s self-righteous arrogance.

“That’s right. So what?”

“So what? You are in Vatican City and you say so what?” The monsignor barked with a thick Italian accent. “You are a disgrace to your uncle’s memory.”

This was a bad start. Lucio wished he had been fully awake and thinking clearly before he had given the monsignor a brusque answer. He needed this man’s approval to be accepted into the Custodes Dei before he could receive his inheritance. Lucio had never heard of the Custodes Dei before. No one had, but apparently his uncle had been a senior member and nominated his nephew as his replacement upon his death.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“What do you think? Why are you no longer a practicing Catholic?”

He hadn’t realized that he would have to pass some kind of test of faith and his dreams of being a millionaire started to slip away. When he had been cleaning out his deceased uncle’s house in the States Lucio had discovered a hidden room that was a small chapel. In the altar he found papers from his uncle instructing him to go to Vatican City and take his place in the Custodes Dei or there would be no inheritance.

Trying to guess what the monsignor wanted to hear seemed pointless so he went with the truth. “I don’t believe in God.”

“Do you believe in the Devil?”

“Yes.”

“How can you believe in the Devil but not in God?”

“Because I see evidence of the Devil’s work in the world every day but I don’t think I’ve ever seen evidence of God’s intervention. God is a fantasy.”

“You think you’ve got it all figured out, do you?”

“All right fine.” Lucio held his hands up in surrender. I’m a heathen on my way to hell and I can’t belong to your goofy club. I’m going back to the States.”

“No, you’ll do. Follow me.”

Lucio was perplexed but pleased as he followed the monsignor through a series of corridors and locked doors. They entered a long stairway descending deep into the Earth.

“How far down are we?” He asked after they departed the last flight of stairs.

“Close to a hundred feet. We keep the most dangerous secret in the world down here and it must be kept well hidden.”

“What secret?”

The monsignor studied his face a moment before answering. “It’s better if I show you. It drives some people insane and we like to find out right away if new recruits can handle it.”

Lucio followed his guide to a monitor that looked incongruous set in a stone wall that was many centuries old. “He’ll be coming along soon now. Okay there he is. Tell me what you see.”

Lucio’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the walking figure that was displayed on the screen. “That’s. That’s Jesus Christ!”

The monsignor nodded and seemed relieved that Lucio wasn’t running around in circles and pulling out his hair. “That’s what most people see. Some people see an old man with a long white beard but the majority see Jesus Christ in his early thirties.”

“What the hell is this?”

“That’s God. He’s been wandering around in circles for almost 700 years now. The church made a maze under Vatican City to keep him imprisoned.”

“But why?”

“Because God is insane.”

Lucio could see the monsignor was deadly serious. “Could you expand on that please?”

“It started in the 1300’s. People were not as devout as they used to be and God became furious. He showed up in Vatican City raging that man no longer deserved the life he gave them and demanded that everyone should attend mass ten times a day or he would burn it all down. The Great Famine in the early 1300’s was a warning from God that didn’t change anything. Then he wiped out a third of Europe’s population with the Black Plague in the mid 1300’s. That’s when we knew we had to stop him.”

“How could you stop him? He’s God.”

“That he is.” The monsignor watched God endlessly circling on the monitor. “ He created the world, the stars, the entire universe. He’s all powerful but he’s just not very bright. He was tricked inside the maze and then we sealed up the wall behind him. He’s been walking around in a circle for centuries trying to find his way out.”

“Couldn’t he just … walk through a wall or something?”

“Do you remember when I mentioned that he’s not very bright, as well as insane?”

A young priest appeared in the corridor and waited for the monsignor’s attention. The old man nodded at him. “I need to attend to something. I’ll leave you alone with your thoughts and be back shortly to answer your questions.”

Lucio was glad the monsignor left because he was having a hard time concealing his anger. The church had imprisoned God so the Devil had free reign over the world. No wonder the world was a cesspool of violence and inequality.

He dug into his pocket for an ancient document he found in his uncle’s secret chapel. It was preordained that Lucio was here to free the saviour of the world.

Lucio started to recite a prayer in Latin from the document. His uncle had been the senior member of the Custodes Dei and he possessed their deepest secret. The arcane prayer that would open an entrance in the maze. Lucio didn’t understand what the prayer had meant until the imprisonment of God was revealed to him.

Stones crumbled and left behind nothing but a cloud of dust. Lucio fell to his knees and clasped his hands when the figure of Jesus Christ stepped out of the swirling dust and lay a gentle hand upon his head.

“My child, you have freed me. You are my chosen one.”

Tears of gratitude and joy streamed down Lucio’s face. He had saved the world.

The monsignor returned with the priest and saw the face of God. The monsignor looked sadly at Lucio and sighed in resignation.

“There you are!” God screamed in a shrill voice. “You assholes locked me up for centuries!” The two members of the church glowed from the inside and burst into flames.

“This is the kind of gratitude I get for creating man? It’s Vengeful God time!”

Lucio followed God at what he hoped was a safe distance as God stormed up the steps and emerged in Vatican City. A large group of tourists in Vatican Square fell to their knees when he walked among them. God beheld them and was pleased.

God looked puzzled and then angry as the tourists started taking pictures of him with their phones. “Why aren’t any of you praying? Where’s the love for your lord God. You fall short of my grace.”

The buildings around the square started to collapse and chunks of debris rained down upon the doomed crowd.

Lucio watched the scene in shock. Hundreds were dead and God became angry again when the wounded survivors didn’t immediately thank him for sparing them.

“So, you’re the idiot.”

He turned his head to see a saturnine looking man standing beside him and surveying the chaos with a frown.

“Who are you?”

“Oh right. No point staying in disguise anymore.” The man’s appearance changed into a red skinned giant with cloven hooves, curved horns and a forked tail. “I’m the devil, baby. Old Nick. The Bad Cat. The Prince of Darkness.”

The devil lit up a cigarette that smelled of brimstone and offered the pack to Lucio who declined. “I bet you thought you were doing a good thing didn’t you Lucio?”

Lucio winced as God started to kill the ungrateful survivors of the disaster he had caused. “That was my motivation, yes.”

“Uh huh. Well, let me explain to you what God is with a metaphor. God is like a needy, jealous, overly-possessive girlfriend. You know the type. After the first time you do the wild thing, she’ll look at you with shiny eyes and asks ‘will you love me forever?’ When you try and leave the apartment, she’ll ask ‘do you still love me?’ When you’re trying to take a crap, she’ll break down the bathroom door and ask if you still love her. When you say yes, she’ll scream ‘Then why don’t you tell me all the time. Why do I have to keep asking you?’ After which she’ll trash the apartment and try to stab you to death with a paring knife. That’s what God is.”

“That is one God-awful metaphor.”

Old Nick shrugged. “I never claimed to be a writer.”

“I think maybe I’ll take one of those cigarettes.”

“Yeah sure, no point in worrying about lung cancer anymore.” He lit Lucio’s cigarette and pointed down the street where God was incinerating a group of nuns who couldn’t recite the ‘Our Father’ in Latin for him. “He’s just getting started. He takes seven days to create a world and after he eventually throws the inevitable hissy fit it takes him seven days to destroy it.”

The Devil sighed and blew out a stream of yellow smoke. “I’ve seen this movie too many times. Give him a couple of hundred years of limbo and he’ll be bored out of his mind. He’ll make another world and be pleased with himself until people start to question him. Then the same stupid cycle starts all over again. At least this time the Custodes Dei kept him locked up for an extra 700 years until you came along.”

Lucio broke out in a hoarse coughing fit and the Devil patted him firmly on the back. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them and then you’ll wonder why you didn’t start smoking earlier.”

Lucio gasped and cleared his throat before taking another drag. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“No shit dumbass. You should have stuck with the devil you knew.”

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“Is it too much ask Carl? All I want is one little Batboy story from you. I don’t want another story about a coven of witches, or werewolves, or some deli putting mayonnaise on your pastrami and rye. The Weekly World News prints money every time they have Batboy on the front page. I need Batboy. Give me Batboy, Carl!”

“I can’t just manufacture news Tony. What do you want me to do? Make a Batboy costume and run up and down Michigan Avenue biting people?”

“That’s the kind of initiative I want to see from you Carl. Just make sure no one runs you over. I don’t want to hire another reporter.”

Carl fanned his face with his battered straw fedora. Chicago was in the middle of a heat wave and the air conditioning in the news wire office wasn’t even making a dent. “You could never replace me, Tony. I’m one of a kind.”

“Yes, you are Carl but not in a good way. Now get out of here and get me a story on Batboy. This isn’t a retirement home for over the hill reporters.”

Kolchak grabbed his Rollei 16 camera and headed for the exit. The neighbourhood deli had better air conditioning anyway. He paused at the doorway. “You’ll miss when I’m gone, Tony.”

“I look forward to finding out.”

There he is in all his glory. The Weekly World News printed over 100 stories on Batboy.

Carl Kolchak was a man of journalistic integrity despite his reputation. It wasn’t his fault that every time he stepped outside he tripped over some supernatural menace. He didn’t make up any of the crazy stories he wrote. If anything, he left out the most unbelievable things he had witnessed. There was no way he was fabricating a story about Batboy to compete with the fiction factory at the Weekly World News. His editor Tony could yell at him all he liked.

The waitress sauntered by with a pot of coffee that had been brewed eight hours ago. “Wanna’ refill Kolchak?”

“No thank you Emma. Drinking battery acid irritates my stomach.”

“Aww, you’re breaking my heart.” She leaned a hip against the wall and glanced around the deli. “I might have a story for you Kolchak.”

Carl sat up straight and pulled out his notepad and pen. “Do tell.”

“A friend of my second cousin’s butcher saw a giant bat flying over the Bachelor’s Grove Cemetery.”

This was such a coincidence that he suspected Tony had phoned Emma and they were playing a joke on him. “A giant bat? Come on.”

“What do you mean ‘come on?’ A giant bat is tame for you. Since when are you Sally the Sceptic?”

“Right, right. I’m sorry. You’ve always been a good source for stories and I appreciate you.”
Emma grunted but was clearly unsatisfied.

“As a matter of fact, let me show my appreciation with a generous tip before I rush off to the cemetery.” He pulled a one dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it on the table with a dramatic flourish.

“Wow, thanks Kolchak. Now I can send my kids to college.”

When it came to investigating paranormal stories, this was far from Carl’s first rodeo. This sighting might be a large bat, or it might be a kid flying a kite, or it could be something else. He was always made sure he was prepared for ‘something else’ and put a crucifix and a bottle of holy water in the pockets of his overcoat.

Carl parked his yellow mustang convertible on the side of the road bordering the cemetery when it was close to dusk. Out of habit, he touched the gently swinging St. Christopher’s medal his mother had given him that was hanging from the rearview mirror. He had never been in an accident thanks to his mom and good old St Chris.

He had put on a light overcoat because he thought it would be a cool night staking out the graveyard but the humidity was still terrible. He watched the sky and kept his Rollei 16 handy. A dramatic black and white shot at dusk would be ideal.

Dusk was quickly turning into dark night and Carl decided he was wasting his time. He pulled off his overcoat and dropped it onto the back seat of his car along with his camera. He wiped the sweat off his forehead as he took a last look at the sky before driving home.

He grabbed for the camera that was no longer hanging around his neck when he saw an large black mass rise into the sky less than half a mile away. He could barely make it out because of the darkness but it rose a little higher and became a black silhouette against a dark grey sky. Those were definitely bat wings but also long crooked legs dangling from beneath the body.

The shape dipped below the horizon and Carl’s mind went into overdrive as he tried to puzzle out what he had seen. Mutant bat? Vampire in bat form? The best damn kite ever?

He retrieved his Rollei 16 from the back seat and opened his glove box to take the flashlight he kept there. Most people would have been frightened by what Carl had seen but he was consumed with a curiosity he had to satisfy. His mother attributed his unique personality to a complete lack of common sense.

Carl entered the cemetery and walked in the direction of his mysterious sighting. He kept his flashlight off and relied on his night vision and the illumination from the half moon overhead. There were a lot of trees in this cemetery that blocked the moonlight but also gave him cover as he moved from tree to tree.

He decided he must be close to the position of his quarry and hid behind a tree while he took a careful look around. There was nothing unusual to be seen but there were some alarming sounds to his right.

Carl stealthily moved closer to the sounds but couldn’t see anything. He was close to a freshly dug grave and realized the sounds were coming from the hole. It was a series of grunts and thumping sounds as if someone was digging, but it sounded bestial.

He crouched lower behind the tree when a misshapen oval head popped out of the hole. It’s pale, bulging eyes looked around the cemetery and Carl hid behind the tree.

‘What the hell is that thing?’ Carl wondered as he fumbled with the camera hung around his neck. He popped his head around the other side of the tree to see the creature staring right back at him. It seemed to be having trouble climbing out of the grave and hissed loudly at Carl as talons on its long wings dug and scraped at the ground.

He took a couple of pictures and the flash had a dramatic effect on the monster. It shut its eyes and turned its head away with a screech of pain and anger. There was a loud thump as its talons lost purchase on the edge and it fell backward into the grave.

Now that he had his pictures, Carl suddenly realized that he would also like to continue to live and he ran like hell for the car. The camera around his neck kept bouncing off his chest and smacking him in the face but he barely noticed. He scrambled futilely for his crucifix and realized it was in the pocket of his overcoat left behind on the backseat of his car.

The monster wasn’t very good at climbing out of holes but it could fly quickly. It swooped over Carl and one of its long legs knocked the fedora off his head and made him fall. It swooped on him with a nightmare face full of needle-like fangs.

Carl rolled away and pointed his flashlight in its face. Again, the creature reacted violently to the sudden light and it crashed awkwardly to the ground.

He wasted no time scrambling to his feet and running for the car. This time he kept to the trees to avoid another overhead attack.

His car was right in front of him as he burst out of the trees and he was thankful for the open top as he dove into the front seat. He twisted around and grabbed for his overcoat holding the crucifix.

He didn’t hear any flapping of wings and hoped the monster had lost track of him, but his pursuer dropped silently to perch on top of the car door.

Carl shouted in terror and kicked ineffectively at the creature. The monster made a guttural sound that almost sounded like language as it raised a taloned wing to slice Carl into ribbons.

The leathery wing brushed his St. Christoper’s medal hanging from the rearview mirror and it ripped open a gaping hole that stank of sulfur. The creature’s scream of pain was so loud it temporarily deafened Carl.

He sat up and watched the creature try to fly away then fall because of its badly damaged wing. It dragged itself painfully away toward the cemetery. Before it disappeared under the trees, if turned around to glare at Carl with hate-filled eyes. It hissed in protest when Carl took another picture with his flash.

Tony examined each picture with interest. They were all out of focus and badly lit but that added to their authenticity. He believed Carl’s story. Despite how much he enjoyed giving Carl a hard time, he knew Carl was not a liar.

It was next morning and a subdued Carl watched his editor look at the pictures. “I’m not sure what that thing is. My best guess is a graveyard monster from down Mexico way. I’ll do some research at the library this afternoon.”

“I’ll tell you what this is Carl.” Tony leaned back in his chair and tapped a thick finger on one of the pictures. “That’s the father of Batboy.”

Carl gaped at Tony in dismay. He had completely forgotten about Tony’s obsession with Batboy. “Come on Tony, don’t tie my monster to those garbage stories from the Weekly World News.”

“Carl, the title for your story is ‘Batboy’s Father.’ Look I’ll let you add a question mark at the end of the title to keep you happy. Besides, can you prove he’s not the father of Batboy?”

“If we use your logic, you might as well claim I’m the father of Batboy.”

“Maybe you are Carl. I never did check out your references.”

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Griffin did not like the sea. He didn’t like the creaking wooden ships that stank like floating outhouses, he didn’t like the smell of salt and fish and he particularly didn’t like the deep water waiting to pull him down to the bottom. Being invisible was his greatest asset but if he fell into the water no one would see a drowning man, only a curious disturbance in the water and a disembodied voice screaming for help.

“There your are Griffin, you invisible quockerwodger.” Moriarty pulled back on the leash of his Jack Russel terrier that had alerted him to his agent’s location. “Don’t fall into the water now. I’d have a devil of a time fishing you out.”

“Damn it Moriarty, keep that beast away from me.” Griffin danced away from the snarling terrier that was trying to bite his unsightly ankles.

Moriarty laughed at the fear in his voice as he pulled the terrier away. “Don’t blame Fenrir for being hungry. I forgot to feed him again this morning. I brought him here for a good reason. We might need to get you past some guard dogs and Fenrir will be our test dog.”

“Just keep it away from me.” Dogs hated Griffin. Something about smelling a man they couldn’t see turned them instantly aggressive. Moriarty’s small but powerful Jack Russel was familiar with Griffin’s scent and longed to sink his teeth into invisible flesh.

“Calm down Fenrir.” Moriarty muttered as he struggled to hold the leash with one hand while removing a flask from his coat pocket. “I have a special concoction from one of the best house breakers in London. He’s slipped past many a guard dog after he’s applied his special cologne. Smear a few drops of this on your chest.”

A sailor walking by watched with puzzlement as a flask seemed to float in mid-air before returning to Moriarty’s hand. He shook his head and continued walking toward his ship. London was getting stranger every day.

“What do you think Fenrir?” Moriarty shook the leash to attract his loyal dog’s attention. “Do you still want to tear the legs off poor little Griffy?”

The Jack Russel looked up at its master and wagged its tail furiously before sniffing again where Griffin was standing on the dock. The smell from the ointment was confusing his sense of smell but intuition told him something was there. He growled deeply with raised hackles.

“See? Perfect. It’s confused even Fenrir and he’s a savage little predator. He’s killed hundreds of rats and has no problem attacking a full grown man. Fenrir even saved my life once when someone was trying to kill me.”

“I’m not reassured. He’s still obviously on guard.”

“Don’t be such a meater. Here I’ve brought you a little toy as well.” He handed a small circular object inside a leather scabbard to Griffin.

“What is this?”

“A punch knife. It’s small but it doesn’t need a long blade. The handle goes inside your hand like a pair of brass knuckles and the scabbard is covering the blade.”

“How am I supposed to carry this? It would look a little odd for a punch knife to be floating around in the air.”

“Hold it in your armpit and keep your upper arm down. There, it works. I can’t see it now.”

“It’s going to be a big pain in my arse to hold it in my armpit and now I smell like shit thanks to your so-called cologne.”

“Stop whinging or I’ll show you what a pain in the arse really is when I shove the knife up there.”

Griffin stepped back nervously from Moriarty. He had already been a victim of Moriarty’s psychotic violence and knew it wasn’t an idle threat.

“Do you see the ship you’re supposed to investigate?” Moriarty asked as he pulled out a British Bulldog revolver holstered at the small of his back and double checked it was fully loaded. “Griffin stop nodding your invisible head, use that whiny voice of yours.”

“Yes, I can see it you nasty bastard.”

“Good. Find out what’s in the hold and get out. Don’t stop to steal anything or fondle any cabin boys or I’ll feed your balls to Fenrir here.” When the loyal terrier heard his name he whined and pressed himself against Moriarty’s leg while wagging its tail in a blur.

“Get away from me you stupid cur.” Moriarty shoved the little dog away to send it tumbling. “Have you got that Griffin? A quick in and out. Pretend you’re having sex with one of your blind whores.”

“What am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Haven’t got a clue. That’s why we call it reconnaissance.” He glanced toward the shore when a newspaper boy started shouting the news about the ‘Dear Boss’ letter received by the Central News Agency and written by the newly named Jack the Ripper. Moriarty at first looked confused, then angry.

“Did your hear that Moriarty? It was one man killing all those street walkers and now he’s bragging to the filth about it.”

“Concentrate on the job Griffin.” Moriarty snapped. “That’s none of our business.” The sound of creaking planks on the dock told him Griffin was finally doing what he was told and walking toward the ship.

Griffin was annoyed to find no guard dogs on duty outside the ship. He was smelling like an overflowing sewer for no reason. Damn that Moriarty and his foul mouth and even more foul temper!

The knife was a good idea though. He was tempted to try it out on Moriarty but the damned man was always two steps ahead of him.

They had chosen early evening as a good time for this mission so the light would be poor but sufficient for Griffin to still see. He waited at the foot of the gangplank for the ship. It wouldn’t do for an empty gangplank to sag and creak under his invisible weight. That would attract suspicion before he even boarded the ship.

Eventually two sailors speaking German to each other began to walk up the gangplank and Griffin followed a safe distance behind them. It soon became apparent that all the crew were German and he found this very interesting. Queen Victoria had married Prince Albert from Germany and her German ties were very strong. Why would a German ship be considered a possible threat to the crown?

It was simple for him to find the main hold but seeing inside it was another matter. He doubted he could lift the main hatch by himself and, regardless, the hatch opening by itself would certainly be noticed.

He decided to wait and think for a bit. Sounds emanated from the hatch beside him. He could hear the shuffling of many feet, snatches of garbled conversation and the rattle of chains. ‘Slaves?’ He wondered. Why would a German slave ship be docked in London? Why would a slave ship be docked anywhere for that matter? Even the Americans had abolished slavery over two decades ago.

He was preoccupied with his thoughts when the hatch for the main hold was opened and a foul stench was released that reinforced his slave hypothesis. Two crewman had raised the hatch and were now busy handing buckets of food and water into the hold and receiving buckets of human waste in return which they dumped into the Thames.

Griffin peeked into the hold and confirmed there were at least 100 poor wretches chained together in collective misery. He could only make out shadows and silhouettes until light from a hurricane lantern held by a crewman illuminated a sea of faces looking up at the darkening sky.

He strangled a gasp of shock and was suddenly very glad of the foul cologne that obscured his scent. The compulsion to run away from the sickening sight was strong and he surrendered to it with an imprudent lack of caution.

There was an unexpected collision and Griffin and the knife in his armpit fell to the wooden deck as he looked up at the very solid crewman he had ran into. The crewman’s body was humanoid but not the hairy muzzle that served as the creature’s mouth and nose. It growled deeply as its wet nose drank in the confusing scent at its feet.

Griffin scrambled backward as the thing reached for him and he noticed the odd lumps on its head he thought were hair were in reality ears that pricked up alertly as it heard the sounds of his attempted escape. Griffin whined with terror as the human-dog hybrid lunged at the deck and tried to grasp his thrashing, invisible legs.

He forced himself to remain silent as he escaped and ran toward the gangplank. Sound could get him killed until he could put some distance between himself and this beastman.

There was a bona fide human being guarding the gangplank but he wasn’t expecting an invisible foot to trip him and a pair of invisible hands to push him into the water. Griffin pounded down the gangplank but his bestial pursuer was still on his tail.

His lack of conditioning provided a method for the creature to easily track him as it followed the sounds of a human gasping for air. Weaving between crates and bales piled on the docks provided Griffin no escape and he started to moan with terror as the creature clashed its teeth together in an attempt to bite him.

A shadow detached itself from a pile of crates and Moriarty shoved his compact revolver into the back of the creature. There were three muted cracks and the creature paused as if it was bewildered. It turned around and looked at Moriarty who calmly put a .442 bullet into each of its eyes.

He slid the ejector over on his revolver and pushed out the empty shell casings while he kept a wary eye on the ship’s gangplank. At the moment nobody seemed inclined to run toward gunfire.

“Brute took a bit of killing to put him down, didn’t he?” Moriarty gave the corpse a kick while he smoothly reloaded and holstered his gun.

“Give me a hand to drag him into the shadows Griffin. Shut up Fenrir.” He snapped at his barking terrier. “You watch over dog-man’s body here and I’ll get two men to carry it away in a carriage.”

“What is this monster anyway?”

“I don’t know but we should find out something when we dissect it. What did you find on the ship? Damn it! Shut up Fenrir!”

“It was ghastly. The hold is full of beastmen like this. Pigmen, dogmen, all sorts of beasts and they were shackled together like slaves. I’ve never seen anything so horrible!”

“Oh buck up Griffin. I swear to God I should start calling you the Invisible Girl. For fucks sake! Shut up Fenrir!” Moriarty kicked his dog so hard he broke some of its ribs and sent it flying into the water.

The little terrier yelped in pain and desperately struggled to keep its head above water but it was a losing battle with its short legs and dense body. Moriarty pulled his coat back over his holstered gun and started to walk away.

“Moriarty! You can’t just leave your dog to drown. Didn’t you tell me you’ve had him since he was a puppy?”

“So what? It’s a sink or swim kind of world Griffin. You would do well to remember that.”

Griffin lay his body on the dock and reached down toward the drowning dog. His fingers brushed the top of its head but it was too far away for him to get a good grip. It looked up hopefully when it felt the touch of his fingers then silently sank under the water while Griffin watched helplessly. True to its nature, it continued to fight to survive until water filled its lungs and it dropped out of sight into the depths of the Thames.

He sat up on the dock and watched Moriarty walking away toward the shore. Newspaper boys continued to shout the news of Jack the Ripper.

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Victorian Slang Used in this story

Quockerwodger: Puppet or Pawn

Meater: Coward

“So, you can drink water?”

“You just sat there watching me drink half a glass of water. What do you think. What kind of reporter are you anyway?”

Kolchak tried to hide his embarrassment by taking off his straw fedora and smoothing his hair down. “I thought you only drank blood.”

“I get a dry mouth like anyone else.” The man looked at Kolchak’s recorder. “Don’t record this and don’t try to take any pictures. This is just you and me having a chat.”

“I was hoping for an interview.”

“Would you rather live in hope or die in despair?”

“All right. All right. No need to get all ‘creature of the night’ with me. We’ll have a little chat then.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have threatened you. That was rude.”

The small man looked chagrined. Carl guessed he was 5’ 4” and medium build with a balding head and bags under his eyes that made him appear to be in his mid fifties. Of course since the man was a vampire he was probably much older than that.

“This whole ‘vampire of New York’ business has put me in a bad mood.”

“Right, that’s what you said over the phone.” Carl removed a notepad and pen from the breast pocket of his seersucker suit. He raised his eyebrows with a questioning expression and the man nodded his assent. “What made you call me anyway?”

“I read your stories about the Night Strangler and I was impressed. I’m glad you helped to get rid of him. He was an embarrassment.”

“How so?”

“The secret to surviving as a vampire is to maintain a low profile. We have certain powers but are relatively easy to kill if you know how. That Night Stalker character might as well have worn a t shirt that said I’m a Vampire, Insert Stake Here.”

“All right, that would make a good t shirt for Halloween by the way. Why are you so steamed up about the Vampire of New York?”
“Because he’s a fake. He’s no more a vampire than you are.”

“I acknowledge your expertise in this field but I need more proof before I can publish something like that.”

The vampire pushed a folded piece of paper across the table toward Carl. “Here is the location of his latest kill and the basement of an abandoned factory where he drains the blood from his victims.” Carl looked at the address as a waitress approached their table.

“Evening gents. Welcome to Charlie’s Truck Stop Café. It just turned two minutes after midnight so you lucky guys can get our midnight special for two bucks off until it’s one in the a.m.”

Kolchak looked up at the waitress with excited anticipation. The notoriously cheap reporter loved a good deal almost more than a good story. “What is the midnight special?”

“Bacon, two eggs, toast, hash browns and bottomless coffee. Extra grease is free. That’s supposed to be a joke but it’s not really.”

“So, breakfast at midnight. Why not? Sign me up young lady. How about you Barnabas?”

The vampire laughed at the name Kolchak had chosen for him. “No thank you. I just ate.” He glanced at the waitress and it seemed to visibly upset him. He turned his head away sharply and pretended to be looking out the window at a semi truck pulling up to the diesel pumps for a refill.

Kolchak waited until the waitress left before he said anything. “Are you all right over there Barnabas?”

“The waitress. She’s almost a doppelganger for my daughter at the age she was when I was turned into a vampire. It brought back memories I try my best to suppress.”

Carl remained silent and pretended not to notice the man surreptitiously wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The vampire’s eyes swiveled toward him and he looked angry until he saw genuine compassion in Carl’s face.

“Thank you. It still hurts even after a hundred years. I suppose there are wounds that even time will never heal. Do you have a family?”

Karl shrugged uneasily. “No, I guess I’m married to my job. I don’t think any sane woman would put up with me anyway.”

“Someday your job will end and then where will you be? Listen to me young man. Clean up your act and find yourself a good woman.”

“You sound like my mother.” The last thing Carl had expected tonight was a lecture about family values from a vampire.

“You should listen to your mother then.”

“Okay, okay how did this conversation turn into a critique about my hopeless love life anyway. Why does the New York vampire drain his victims of blood if he’s not a vampire?”

“I don’t know. Because he’s mentally ill probably or maybe he’s just desperate for attention.”

“And you want him caught and exposed because he’s on your turf? If he’s exposed as a pathetic fraud people will think there was never a vampire in New York in the first place.”

The vampire smiled and took a sip of water. “And they never will because I’ve got both frontal lobes. I’d rather you hadn’t figured all of that out but I’m not surprised. You’re good at your job.”

Barnabas was distracted by the waitress taking an order from two loud, boisterous truckers. As she was walking away one of the truckers leaned out of the booth and slapped her on the ass.

“The coffee might be bottomless but you sure aren’t sweet cheeks!”

Carl was about to ask them to keep their hands to themselves but stopped when his dinner companion materialized at the trucker’s table.

“You will not touch her again and you will apologize for your unacceptable behaviour.”

Kolchak estimated the truckers both tipped the scales around 250 pounds and were all thick forearms and broad chests. They were obviously unimpressed with this small man creeping into his senior years.

“Well, you can just fuck off pencil neck.” The two men looked at each other and started to laugh.

The vampire grabbed a handful of each man’s meaty face and he pulled and twisted. Carl could hear a ripping noise from where he was seated 20 feet away.

“You will do as I say.” He stared into each man’s eyes and they seemed to be more frightened of what they saw in the vampire’s eyes than the horrific damage he was doing to their faces.

The vampire released them and returned to sit across from Kolchak. He was still only a diminutive man in his fifties but his presence seemed to fill the truck stop.

Carl wisely said nothing until Barnabas had calmed down. The vampire glared at the humbled truckers as brown and purple bruises started to spread across their cheeks and eyes. When the waitress reappeared from the kitchen with Carl’s midnight special, they went out of their way to apologize to her.

The waitress smiled as she placed Carl’s meal in front of him and she patted the vampire’s hand. “Thank you.” She whispered. The vampire blushed and ducked his head but he wore a pleased smile as the waitress walked away.

“That must have felt pretty good.” Carl observed.

“Yes, that was uncommonly direct for me but it felt good.”

Carl looked at the bill the waitress had left behind and scowled. Even with two bucks off they still charged a lot for food at Charlie’s Truck Stop Café. “Any chance you’re picking up the bill seeing how I’m doing you a favour?”

“I’m not feeling good enough that I’m picking up the bill Mr. Kolchak. All I had was water.”

“Oh well maybe my editor will cover this since I’m on a story. I think he’ll like this story because we’re screwing over New York.”

“I don’t understand. Why is that?”

“Oh you know, it’s a Chicago vs New York thing. They call us the Second City and we call them the Rotten Apple. This story will make the New York wire service look like a bunch of goofs for being duped by a fake vampire.”

“So, you’re in competition with them.”

Carl grandly waved away the vampire’s assertion. “They’re no competition for me. They are but simple scribes while I’m an artist of the written word.”

The vampire winced when one of Carl’s waving hands came close to him. “I can feel you’re wearing a crucifix around your wrist as well as a crucifix around your neck. I suppose that was prudent of you.”

“Sorry about that but I’ve had some bad experiences with people of your persuasion.” He carefully moved his wrist as far away as he could and pulled back his sleeve to show the vampire. “It’s actually a St. Christopher’s medal my mother gave me.”

“That would work as well. You’re Polish aren’t you? I’m assuming you’re also Roman Catholic.”

“Baptized and confirmed. I was even an altar boy when I was a little nipper.”

“That would help to explain why you’ve survived so many encounters with the undead. Your faith is deep and without question. I can feel it from here. Remember that your faith is your shield.”

Karl fingered the St. Christopher’s medal thoughtfully. “That’s some very useful advice considering the source. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The vampire gave the truckers a final glare before he stood to leave. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you Mr. Kolchak. Good luck sticking it to the New York wire service.”

“Could I ask just one question as if this were an interview?”

“Go ahead.”

Carl decided to ask the most open-ended question he could think of. “What’s it like to be a vampire?”

The vampire paused and looked out the window at the trucks arriving and leaving the parking lot outside. Carl thought he would refuse to answer but heard a quiet response as the vampire turned to leave.

“It’s lonely Mr. Kolchak.”

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Content Warning: Graphic Body Horror

Life is a precarious accident. There’s a thin envelope of atmosphere surrounding the Earth between the planet’s surface and the cold emptiness of space. The layer of green life between the atmosphere and the Earth’s crust is even thinner. The green had survived hundreds of millions of years because of the stewardship of the Guardians of the Green.

They were ancient entities of thought and contemplation that carefully guided the green but they perceived the world in terms of millennia and were vulnerable to short term threats. The Guardians were not hasty Gods.

“We must act.”

“Yes, but we must act together. We need the wisdom of the original Guardian, our most senior member.”

“If we wait any longer it will be too late.”

“I will try to initiate contact again. We must act together or we may fail.”

The original Guardian did not like to be troubled by current events. Its consciousness was buried deep beneath the surface of the Earth where it lay the foundation for new life millions of years in the future. It was meticulous, detailed work and it resented any interruptions.

“How dare you interrupt my work? Was it not only a millennia ago that I consulted with you brash striplings?”

“We apologize old one but the green is in great peril.”

“Do not exaggerate. The green will always endure. What is this peril?”

“The new species destroys the Earth.”

“What nonsense is this? The lizards have lived in communion with the Earth for millions of years.”

“Not the dinosaurs old one. We speak of the humans.”

“Wait. I must clear my thoughts.” The old one had sensed the urgency of the other Guardians and it only took a year for it to focus its concentration. “Humans. Yes, the new species. Only a millennia ago they were troublesome but no threat. What could they have possibly done in such a short period of time?”

“Look to the surface old one and you will understand.”

“No, that will take too long. Share your knowledge with me directly.” Roots deep in the Earth stirred and moved toward each other until they were intertwined.

“Old one, what should we do?”

“Hasty, so hasty.” The ground shifted as the old one rendered its verdict. “The humans can never be content. They are a broken species and their selfish arrogance will eventually break the world, a parasite that seeks to kill its host. Exterminate them.”

“How?”

“Their strength is in their minds. Their weakness is in their minds.”

“We understand.”

“I will leave this short-term problem for you while I go back to my work. I must look to the future. You must ensure there is a present.”

The spring of 2026 was more of a green explosion than a change of seasons. Environmental scientists had no logical explanation for the tough green shrubs that started to grow everywhere there was access to sun and a minimal amount of moisture. The shrubs would grow up through small gaps in asphalt and concrete to the point even major roads had to be closed down while maintenance crews fought a relentless battle against the green invasion.

Conspiracy theories grew as quickly as the shrubs. China was accused of deploying a bioweapon but satellite pictures showed they were affected the same way as any other nation. Monsanto was suspected of a genetically modified experiment gone out of control. The most popular theory was this was the vanguard of an alien invasion. The truth was nobody really knew. Physical evidence indicated this had all been a natural occurrence, despite how unprecedented it was.

Government agencies responded quickly. Effective herbicides were developed but mutated, herbicide-resistant versions of the shrubs quickly began to appear. A game of chemical warfare ensued as well as the use of blade and flame against the invasive species. Mankind slowly began to win the battle, until the first shrubs started to bear fruit.

Jacob lived with wife and baby daughter off grid in Northern California a few miles from the small city of Yreka. His small family had a different experience with the invading shrubs compared to people that lived in cities and towns.

Concentrations of people attracted concentrations of shrubs. Densely populated cities were so overrun that even skyscrapers over 100 stories tall were covered with a carpet of green.

Jacob and Miriam’s small homestead had some of the shrubs but they weren’t overrun. Their greenhouse and gardens were still able to grow the usual crops.

When the young couple noticed the new shrubs began to bear fruit they were cautious. The new fruit looked like small golden plums and were appealing to the eye but so were Juniper berries.

Eventually they heard over the radio that people were eating the fruit all over the world and were suffering no ill effects. Previously there had been worries there might be wide spread starvation because of the new invasive species but now there were concerns about economic collapse because there was too much free, readily available food. The new fruit wasn’t just edible it was so delicious that many people would eat nothing else.

Jacob took the plunge first and took a small bite of what the media had started to call the forbidden fruit. It wasn’t just delicious. He felt good after he ate one of the small fruit. It was subtle but Jacob was a drug addict, five years sober now, and the boost in mood was familiar to him.

He dropped the fruit’s core to the ground and stared at it for awhile. The news didn’t mention anything about side effects, maybe it was his imagination working overtime. He probably felt good because it was so delicious. His addict’s mind knew he was lying to himself while he reached for more of the seductive fruit.

Miriam was more honest with herself and threw the fruit away after she swallowed the first mouthful. “No, there’s something wrong with it Jacob. I don’t think you should eat it anymore.”

“What’s the problem? You don’t like it?”

“Oh no, I like it just fine. I like it too much and that’s the problem. It feels like the first time I tried heroin.”

“Oh come on it’s a fruit. It’s natural.”

“So is hemlock. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel something was wrong when you ate it the first time. It tastes too goddamn good.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Over half the people in the world are eating it. Scientists have found nothing wrong with it.”

Miriam said nothing while she adjusted their baby Joseph on her shoulder. “You’re lying to me and we both know it. This fruit has been around for less than a week. Scientists haven’t had enough time to find out if there’s something wrong with it other than it’s not poisonous. Stop eating it. Now!”

“You’re overreacting. Billions of people are eating it without any problems.”

“Billions of people breathe pollution without any problems until they die young. You felt something wrong just like I did and I know an addict’s bullshit when I hear it. Stop eating that fruit or I’ll leave with Joseph.”

“What! Over some stupid fruit?”

“I told you I’d leave if you start using again. This is the same thing and you know I’m right.”

Jacob wanted to plead his case some more but he recognized that look on his wife’s face. She didn’t bluff and his rational mind told him that she was right. His addict’s mind told him he could agree to stop but continue to eat the fruit in secrecy.

The news from the radio was confusing for the next week. Large religious movements sprang up that proclaimed a new golden age for man. There was plentiful food for everyone thanks to the ubiquitous shrubs. No one had to work to eat anymore.

A common theme was that God had returned to Earth and created a new garden of Eden for his children. Different religions and cultures had different interpretations but the core message was similar. It was hard to argue with their reasoning because everyone that ate the new fruit just felt so damn good all the time.

The world discovered God was capricious when the fruit disappeared. The 80% of the world’s population that had lived on the fruit quickly found out the downside of their new diet when their brains underwent a massive dopamine crash that caused people to collapse in the street.

Only experienced addicts like Jacob and Miriam had been able to detect it but every bite of fruit caused a small release of dopamine that was almost impossible to detect. A steady diet of the fruit would mean you were soon floating on a sea of dopamine and Casey Jones you’d better watch your speed.

Jacob was searching the woods behind the house for any shrubs that might still bear fruit but it had all withered away. His mind withered away as well when his dopamine crash drained the sentience out of him. True to his addictive personality, Jacob had been stuffing so much fruit in his mouth that his limbs had started to twitch uncontrollably from an overdose but now they went slack as he slumped to the ground.

The green decided he was suitable for assessment and roots emerged from the soil that gently probed at his orifices to test his readiness. He was judged ripe for harvest and the process began.

A vine with sharp spines entered his mouth and began to systematically remove teeth that were no longer required for a plant-human hybrid. Green tendrils gently tilted his head to the side so he wouldn’t choke to death on the blood that started to pool in his mouth.

Jacob’s clothing was torn apart and peeled off him. His body started to thrash uncontrollably as green creepers penetrated his anus and started to pull out his bowels and deposit them in a slick, stinking mess beside him. They continued their work until all the organs deemed unnecessary had been extracted. A stream of blood ran out of his ruptured anus but an invading web of green tendrils eventually stopped the bleeding and continued to modify Jacob’s body.

The process was swift. The green had already transformed billions of human beings and had become very efficient as it benefitted from experience.

Jacob’s new body stood up from the warm earth, writhing with vines and tendrils that tested the air. He didn’t even notice as his superfluous penis and scrotum detached from his green body and dropped to the ground with wet splats. The ragged holes they left behind on his torso were soon plugged by a patchwork of flesh and new plant material.

What was left of Jacob’s mind had been scrubbed clean and reprogrammed. Now his sole purpose in life was to find and consume more of the sacred fruit that had brought him to the promised land. To achieve his goal he would need to eliminate the humans who were his competitors for the fruit. Humans like the female and the young one in the house ten yards away.

This was the direct approach the Green had decided upon to solve their human infestation problem. Mankind would destroy itself before it could destroy anything else.

A squirrel looked up alertly from the acorn it had been gnawing on when screams started to ring out from the nearby house. It jumped and skittered away as a small human body was thrown out of a window and the screams became even louder. Everything became quiet after a few moments and the squirrel retrieved the acorn it had dropped and resumed its meal.

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He was born without a name. He was born without a mother or a father. He did have a creator who was originally pleased when he first stirred to life but his creator’s feelings soon turned to revulsion. His creator, his God, decided that he was an abomination and tried to destroy him. The name he chose for himself was Adam. His creator had briefly considered this name before calling him a demon, or monster.

His home was a long-abandoned barn in a desolate area of Northern England that couldn’t even support a herd of sheep. The isolation was necessary because although he was made of human parts his unnatural appearance terrified most people and they would either run away or attack him. He understood that these reactions were motivated by fear that was admittedly justified but it still hurt him. His life was lonely and dominated by silence and hunger.

Adam stood up from the rock he had sat upon to watch the sunset. He would be going to bed hungry again tonight. He had resorted to stealing food from some of the closest farms but felt guilty stealing from people who were also struggling to survive. His eight feet of height and shambling walk also made him a terrible thief. He was incredibly strong and durable but stealth and quickness were not among his attributes.

The broken down barn was a black silhouette against a grey sky as he walked toward the pile of old musty hay that was his bed. It was almost pitch dark now and the silence was complete. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard human speech.

His solitude was interrupted by a heavily accented voice that emerged from the barn in front of him. “You really are a big fellow, aren’t you?”

Adam halted and peered into the shadows of the barn. The accent had been so strong that he barely understood the words. He had no idea what type of accent it was but he had precious little experience conversing with other people. The confident tone was also new to him. Even his creator had always sounded like he was frightened of him.

A darkly dressed man materialized out of the darkness and doffed his old fashioned top hat in greeting to Adam. “I apologize for intruding on your home but you are a hard man to find and I have been searching for you for some time now.”

Adam wasn’t sure how to react. He had never met someone who wasn’t frightened or revolted by his patchwork appearance. He had also never met anyone that frightened him because something told him this dapper, foreign gentleman was a very dangerous individual. The intruder was a slim five foot and six inches tall with aquiline features and a prominent, hawkish nose but his presence was so strong it felt like he stood above the enormous Adam.

He hadn’t spoken in over a year and had to swallow a couple of times to moisten his throat. “Who are you and why are you looking for me?”

His visitor appeared surprised by Adam’s high-pitched, quavering voice. “My name? I feel that we should be on a first name basis, with your permission of course. We have much in common and not many peers. Please call me Vladimir. What name have you chosen for yourself?”

Adam noticed the emphasis on the word ‘chosen.’ This man seemed to know exactly who and what he was but Adam didn’t know anything about this stranger. He was at a disadvantage and cornered in his own home. It made him feel hunted and anxious.

“I call myself Adam. Why are you here?”

“Adam? Of course, a very appropriate name. I wish to discuss a proposal with you that I think you will find very beneficial.”

“The answer is no. Leave me alone.”

The intruder’s expression quickly turned to anger. Adam got the impression it had been a long time since anyone had openly defied him. “How dare you speak to me in such a loutish manner when I am here to help you. I should teach you some manners.”

“Leave me alone!” Adam was only ten years old and been abandoned shortly after he had been created to raise himself. He struck out at the stranger like an immature child.

Vladimir was startled at the sudden violence but was able to lean away and avoid the massive fist. “Stop that! Don’t force me to hurt you.”

He was too busy talking and didn’t notice the backswing until it hit him on the side and sent him tumbling. “Futu-i!” Vlad clutched his side and slid away from Adam. This was the first time in centuries he had been hurt by something that wasn’t consecrated. He was shocked but Vlad Tepes was a warrior and when someone attacked him it was a reflex for him to respond with immediate violence.

He moved so quickly that Adam didn’t understand how he materialized in front of him again. Vladimir reached up high and slapped Adam hard across the face. It sounded like the cracking of a whip and an echo travelled along the barren hillsides.

They both looked at each other in surprise. Vladimir had expected Adam to be decapitated or at least unconscious. For Adam this was the first time he’d been hit hard enough for him to be hurt and he was hurt badly. He had barely avoided getting knocked out but his head was buzzing painfully and his jaw felt like it had been dislocated and was already starting to swell up.

Adam recovered and grabbed for Vladimir with both of his enormous hands. His adversary faded into the shadows and re-emerged in the form of a gigantic bat that flew toward a large tree beside the barn.

He looked into the branches of the tree and heard the stranger’s low chuckle. “I haven’t sat in the branches of a tree since I was a little boy playing with my brothers. The years have been long. I’m glad I still have a few human memories that make me happy.”

“You can fly?”

“When I turn into a bat, yes. But I don’t like turning into beasts. It is hard enough to cling to what little humanity I have left.”

Adam could see the silhouette of Vladimir dangling his legs over the side of a large branch. He did seem to be enjoying himself.

“That’s enough fighting Adam. I keep forgetting that you’re only ten years old. I suppose I should act like the adult since I’m your senior by over 400 years.”

Adam rubbed the side of his aching jaw and sat down on the ground with his back against the side of the barn. “All right, what’s this proposal of yours?”

“I work as an agent for Queen Victoria, a remarkable woman. I think you should as well. We will find you a proper home and make sure that you can live in peace, aside from your duties of course.”

He remained silent and tried to make sense of this unexpected proposal. He barely understood who Queen Victoria was and what this proposal meant for him but he knew what his priorities were.

“Will they feed me?”

“Feed you? Of course they will. I hadn’t even thought of how hungry you must be in this isolation. Hunger means something very different to me now.”

“Why did you agree to work for her? It doesn’t seem like you need anybody.”

Vladimir sighed as he contemplated an answer. “The humans write stories about monsters like us Adam. You would think we live adventurous, exciting lives based upon their lurid descriptions. They never mention the loneliness, the lack of purpose and frankly the boredom.”

Adam lacked Vladimir’s experience but he knew what the vampire was talking about and silently agreed.

“There are negative aspects Adam. I want your eyes to be fully open. Some of the people you will work with are unsavoury. Moriarty is ruthless but admittedly effective and brilliant. Hyde is a foul mouthed lout. I think Griffin is a deviant snake but his invisibility is useful for espionage.”

“I need help.” Adam blurted out and then flushed with embarrassment before continuing. Frankenstein abandoned me before I was two weeks old and called me a demon. I don’t understand the world. I can’t read or write and I can barely talk.”

“Your experience is unique Adam but if anyone can understand you it is me. I had heard rumours of your existence and I asked for help in tracking you down.” Vlad stood up on the branch and showed how agile and comfortable he was with heights as he scaled higher up in the tree.

“Your situation reminds me of myself when I first became Vampyr four hundred years ago and I feel compelled to help you. I have influence with the crown and I will ensure that you will be well educated and properly taken care of. I will be your mentor.” It didn’t occur to him to ask for Adam’s agreement. He had been crown prince of Wallachia for too long to consider that other people might have a different point of view.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Vladimir’s silhouette grew wings and he flew down to the ground. “Because Adam.” He smiled briefly in the darkness and moonlight reflected off a glimpse of his fangs. “We creatures of the night must look out for each other.”

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This post is a rant and I might even swear a little bit too so there’s your warning. I was born in 1962. When I was a teenager IBM’s personal computer changed the world because before that computers for regular people was the stuff of science fiction. Now I’m 64 and every few years there is another new technology that’s supposed to change the world for the better, but it pretty much never works out that way. I learnt Basic in university and that became useless almost before I finished the course. I learned how to fix my own VCR and that is now useless. I learned dozens of new programs that are now obsolete and never used. I filled up my tiny little brain damaged head with so much pointless and quickly useless information you’d think I’m five centuries old.

Yeah, yeah I know. If you’ve read this far you’re probably muttering ‘shut the fuck up you whining old man.’ That’s life today. You always have to be constantly learning, that’s why we’re all so incredibly happy. We love getting a new phone every year and paying for a new version of what was perfectly good software last month. It’s called constant improvement.

It’s called planned obsolescence and back in the Mesozoic era we called it bullshit. It’s also a constant pressure to keep up or you can barely function in society. I don’t carry a phone because I bloody hate them, but that means I function in a kind of technological apartheid. I often can’t park my car because you need an app on your phone to do that. I have a hard time paying utility bills and there are parts of Substack I don’t even try to participate in because people think I’m joking when I tell them I don’t carry a smart phone.

As a matter of fact I wrote a couple of stories for a collaborative project on Substack but now I find out I can’t even submit them because my stupid replacement computer (cat hair blew up the fan on my usual computer) won’t let me log on to my google account. Now I know I can just make another account and have yet another goddamn password that I’ll never remember. (Yes, I know how to write down a password, don’t be a smartass. This is my turn to rant and swear) What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Fuck making another bloody account and fuck constantly jumping through yet another pointless technological hoop.

This whole system is nuts. On line banking is nuts. Social media is nuts. The whole freaking internet is nuts. A while ago I was desperate for a second job and I was sending online applications everywhere and filling out ridiculous forms that no one ever read. I had to apply for a new account for every company, had to have a new password for every account. This was for low paying jobs like stocking shelves but I had to be little Mr. Online Drone to apply for them. This was for jobs that barely required a pulse but if you weren’t tech savvy you’re out of luck.

I never had to worry about online fraud before online banking but now thanks to AI (Oh thank you so much for AI!) a computer with my wife’s voice can call me and ask me to send money. I would love to go back to my twenties. Deposit my measly pay check in person and pay for everything in cash. I can’t pay for a goddamn coffee now without worrying that I’m using a fake debit card reader that will drain my account. Financial fraud is sky high compared to plain old paying with cash and cheque. How is this such a big improvement? We’ve traded a little bit of convenience for the thrill of being the next person on the news talking about how their account was drained and the bank won’t help because it’s your own damn fault.

As for social media, what a big stinking pile of poo that is. When I entered a coffee shop in the eighties everyone was talking to each other and saying hi. It’s creepy going for my small black coffee now. 90% of the people are stuck to their phones like pod people reciting absolute deranged garbage to each other from the algorithm bubble their phones have set up for them.

Substack is the first time for me to be on any kind of social media and yeah it can be a little neat but I think social media makes people mentally ill. What’s the first you see on the news when there’s a natural disaster or a bear is running amok and killing people? Morons with their phones recording it so they can improve their social media numbers, that’s who. Why does anyone even care? I doubled my subscriber count and you know it made me feel a bit like a winner, but that lasted maybe ten seconds because what’s with all those savvy people with 100X my numbers? So I doubled it again and what a big pain in the ass that is because I try to remember to subscribe back and read people’s stuff but I can not read 200 posts a day and still have time to go to the bathroom, which as an old guy I do quite frequently. It’s all treading water bullshit anyway. I feel embarrassed that I let myself be suckered into spending so much time playing the Substack game of number pumping and now I spend 2-3 hours a day opening and reading posts. As for people with 2k subscribers that swear they read everything, pull my other leg because this one is getting sore.

What really bugs me is none of this is necessary. We had a functioning world before the internet and everything that came with it. Yeah it can do amazing things but on balance it just kind of sucks. I’m aware of the irony that I’m using the internet to write a story whining about how the internet makes me nuts. I covered irony in school reading books. I went home and watched TV shows that only came on the air once a week at specific times. I paid for science fiction magazines and comic books with cash. It all worked pretty well and nobody spent a penny on a massive technological infrastructure that became obsolescent before the sun set on a brave new world.

Sigurd was a millennial warrior. He had been born on the year 1000 AD and his family considered the date to be a good omen. All the Christians had been squawking about the second coming arriving one thousand years after the birth of their feeble Christ and Sigurd’s family had joked he must be the new messiah.

Sigurd as a young Viking proved himself to be not much of a messiah but his skills as a warrior were almost divine. His father was the jarl of his village and when he died in a battle with West Saxon troops there was no debate when Sigurd became the new jarl at the age of nineteen. Not because he was the best warrior but because of his tactical skills.

Raids were often a chaotic mess and Sigurd had the ability to know when and where to attack, how to spot a trap, and when to run for the boats. Sigurd’s raids were not only financially successful, most of his warriors made it home. None of the Vikings were afraid to die but they would rather live to boast of their victories than be a dead hero. Valhalla could wait.

He became a victim of his own success when the King of Wessex made it a priority to kill the young jarl who was becoming a legend at the expense of his kingdom. Sigurd died in a heavily outnumbered rearguard battle so the rest of his men could make it to the boats. The Valkyries plucked him from the battlefield and he was resurrected in Valhalla the next day.

The life of an Einherjar was battle and feasting. If they weren’t battling Odin’s foes, they would fight and kill each other. The victors would feast at night. The losers would be resurrected the next day. Sigurd usually feasted in Valhalla.

Sigurd had been enjoying himself during his time in modern Stockholm and like the rest of the Vikings had been caught by surprise when the Swedish army had dared to ambush the resident Einherjar, Odin’s immortal warriors. All of the ten young Einherjar he had been training had already been killed but he considered that an improvement in his situation. The new Einherjar were pathetic in his opinion. These modern men weren’t just weak of body. They were weak of mind.

He and the nine other senior and ancient Vikings had mounted a deadly counterattack after all their trainees had died but they paid the price for it, leaving Sigurd the only survivor. He had managed to barely escape by leaping into a second story window. Hundreds of Swedish soldiers had chased after him but Sigurd could run as fast as a racehorse and left them far behind.

After shaking the pursuit, he now planned on conducting hit and run attacks. It was time to show these modern Swedish soldiers what a single Einherjar from the golden age could do. He stepped out from his hiding place inside an alley when 12 soldiers walked past his position.

The single Einherjar ran through the middle of the group of Swedes at 30 mph despite the 200 lbs of weapons and armour he carried. He knocked down four of them with his shield while the sword in his right hand moved in a continuous blur of motion, cutting into hamstrings, necks and arms.

Sigurd was faster, stronger and more durable than a normal human but the mortals didn’t understand that this was not his biggest advantage. He had spent 1,000 years in constant battles with the best warriors in history. His skill in battle was unapproachable.

He was pleased with these warriors he ambushed. They weren’t staring at him like rabbits waiting for the stew pot. While he turned around for another running attack, the survivors faced him with waiting spears.

Sigurd adapted to their movements and automatically ran through the left side of the group behind his thick oaken shield. He wasn’t able to cut down anyone with his right handed sword but at this speed getting hit with his 80 lb shield was similar to being hit by a galloping horse.

His momentum had come to a stop from the collisions and he moved in on the survivors. The soldiers with axes and swords were smart and tried to encircle him but many of them had already been wounded and he was too fast. He kept his enormous shield safely angled in front of him while his sword kept snaking out.

In battles around the world since Odin had arrived a month ago Sigurd had rarely needed to defend himself because there was little effective opposition. These Swedes were veterans and had good weapons. They tested his abilities but luckily his ambush had whittled down their numbers already so he was able to steadily wound and kill them off while dancing away from their superior numbers.

The street was empty of active combatants now but he could hear unseen men yelling out his location and more soldiers were obviously on the way. He considered killing off the wounded but decided it would be more prudent to run before he got swarmed. There were some minor scratches on his legs and arms but also a couple of more serious wounds that were bleeding steadily.

Sigurd gave the few wounded survivors a look of approval. “Good fight. You did well.” They watched the ancient Viking warrior shake the blood off his sword and replace it in his scabbard. He slung his shield on his back before jumping onto a low rooftop and pulling himself on top.

Those damned archers had killed or wounded many of Sigurd’s men and he decided to make them pay for it. They were often on rooftops and that’s where he was looking for them. He spotted a four story building and remembered seeing arrows coming from that location. He grinned with anticipation as he ran across rooftops as long as he could. Eventually he dropped down to the ground again and ran into the building.

He ignored the screaming civilians as he raced up the stairs. Some of them were too stupid to get out of his way and he simply ran them over.

The archers stared at him like herd of dim witted cattle as the battle-crazed Viking exploded onto the rooftop. They need a few seconds to comprehend they were no longer sniping at the enemy from a secure perch but were now in the thick of the battle. Sigurd was determined not to give them any time.

He ignored his own defense and used both arms for killing the almost defenseless archers. The rim of his shield crushed skulls while his sword chopped into a forest of bodies. Sigurd herded them toward the roof edge and started to use his shield to push some of the soldiers onto the street four stories below.

Arrows started to hit him from behind and he growled with anger. Most of them didn’t do much harm thanks to his armour and tough skin but one penetrated his lower back and another stuck deeply into his arm.

Sigurd dropped and rolled in a blur. In the middle of his roll, he spotted the archers firing at him. He came out of the roll with his shield facing forward and running straight for the doomed soldiers. They were far enough away that he could build up a head of speed and he crashed into them at his top speed before going to work with his sword.

Before he could finish them off, more arrows started to hit him from behind and he almost lost his sword when one deeply penetrated his shoulder. He whirled around and saw a large group of capable looking spearmen had entered the rooftop and the few surviving archers had assembled behind their spear wall. Numerous arrows thudded into his shield and rang off his helmet.

He was proud of his Norse countrymen. He had turned the rooftop into an abattoir and they still fought bravely and well. Most of the modern humans would have run for their lives by now.

An arrow sank into his calf and he realized today’s long battle was almost done for him. He assessed the group in front of him and found them to be dangerously competent. If he charged them, they would probably finish him off before he could inflict any more casualties. He was near the roof edge and could see more soldiers pouring into the building from the street below.

The soldiers on the street heard a strangely accented voice yell “Valhalla!” and looked up to see Sigurd drop four stories to fall on top of them with his shield underneath him.

Sigurd threw his ruined shield away and winced from the pain of his broken left arm. Even his tough Einherjar body had its limits. The impact had been mitigated by his shield and the crowd of packed bodies he had landed on. He was battered but still capable of fighting and more than willing.

He poured his fading but still impressive strength into a sweeping arc with his sword that killed a couple of soldiers and drove the rest back. He managed to kill and wound a few more before they piled onto him from behind and bore him down with the force of numbers. The Viking was slippery with blood from his dozens of wounds and was difficult to hang onto.

His sword was pulled out of his hand but he managed to free his arm long enough to rip a long knife out of his belt. Sigurd died hard and nasty as he roared with battle lust and stabbed at a wall of enemies in a mad frenzy.

A strong soldier was finally able to snare and hold onto his arm while another chopped at his wrist with a battle axe until the hand was severed. The exhausted soldiers let go of him and warily backed away as blood jetted from his stump.

Sigurd calmly found the major arteries and veins in his stump and pinched them off so he wouldn’t bleed out too quickly. He had many other fatal wounds and he wouldn’t last much longer. This was old hat to him. He had already died thousands of times only to resurrect the next day.

“Good battle.” He told the soldiers watching him die. Sigurd stared at the one who had cut off his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Olsson looked at the corpse of the ancient Viking with dread. This one Einherjar had killed or wounded almost one hundred of their best soldiers.

“Jesus Christ! What have we gotten ourselves into?”

Oliver had left for home when the hunt for Sigurd had begun. His wife Janet had been missing for a day and he wanted to check for her at the small apartment that was their new home.

When he was unlocking the entrance noise from inside told him she had finally returned and he looked down the hallway. The door to their bedroom was open but he couldn’t see Janet properly because of the naked man on top of her vigorously pumping away between her legs.

“No!” Oliver shouted and rushed into the bedroom. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that Loki had taken his form again and returned to sexually assault his wife. Instead, the face of the man that turned to look at him belonged to someone he recognized as a civilian employee in the Swedish army.

The man looked embarrassed and frightened as he scrambled off Janet and fled with his clothes in his hands. A naked Janet stood up from the bed and looked defiantly at her husband.

“Did you like watching Oliver? This is what you left me to suffer through when you ran away like a coward and left me with Loki. Where were you? Did you even try to help me?” She started to pick up her clothing from where she had thrown it on the floor. “I hate your fucking guts. Every time you leave for a battle I hope you’ll die.”

Oliver said nothing as he backed away from her and leaned unsteadily against a wall. He tried to stay upright as the floor tilted underneath him. There was too much truth in what she said and he couldn’t think of anything to say in his defense.

He watched her get dressed and leave. Before she slammed the door shut behind her, Janet gave him a final look that left him in no doubt that she wanted him to die after she had finished making him suffer.

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More Chapters of War for Midgard

Queen Victoria was displeased.

“This has been confirmed by other sources? My cousin is working as an agent for the government of France.”

“It has been confirmed be two other sources your majesty.”

“Bloody French!” She snapped. “It’s expected for allies to spy on each other but to subvert someone from my own family is unacceptable.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And my bloody cousin. He weakens the crown with his scandals and now he’s spying on me for the French. For the French, Moriarty!”

“I was shocked when Griffin first told me about his betrayal ma’am.” He wasn’t really. Betrayal was second nature to Moriarty and he expected it from other people.

“Yes Griffin, our invisible man. He has proven himself to be very useful, hasn’t he?”

“Thanks to him we know all of the secrets discussed in London’s foreign embassies. He is our proverbial fly on the wall ma’am”

Queen Victoria tutted in disapproval. “We don’t recall any proverbs that refer to a fly on the wall.”

“No ma’am.”

She stared out the window looking onto the garden and pondered a course of action. “We want a to send a strong message to both those who would betray us and to the French government.” She paused before uttering the sentence that often prefaced death and mayhem in the British Empire. “We are not amused.”

“Your cousin will be secretly meeting his contact from the French government in two days. Might I suggest that both of them come to a spectacularly violent and well publicized end that could never be connected to the crown.”

“Your suggestion captures our mood.”

“Excellent. I have just the man for the job your majesty.”

“It isn’t fair.” The small man peevishly stamped his foot and glared at Moriarty. “This was supposed to be my day. I was going to be measured for a new suit and then share a splendid meal with an old school chum.”

Moriarty looked at the fellow as if he was speaking one of the few languages he didn’t know. “Fair? You expect me to be fair Jekyll? Have you overdosed on Laudanum again? I know how you like your potions.”

“Well, this simply won’t do. Tell the queen I refuse.”

Moriarty laughed out loud with genuine amusement. He wiped a tear from his eye and regarded the mousey little fool with amazement. “I understand completely old chap. I’m on my way to tell the Queen that her request is out of bounds.”

Jekyll looked pleased at his capitulation and stood up at the same time as Moriarty. “Please convey my regrets and that I shall be free the day after tomorrow.”

“Certainly, my good fellow.” Moriarty grabbed Dr. Jekyll by the crotch and made certain he had a good grip on his scrotum before he twisted and pulled. “Drink your potion and turn into Mr. Hyde now or you will be singing castrato at the next meeting of the choir.”

Dr. Jekyll demonstrated that he had the potential to be an excellent castrato when he issued a high-pitched scream of agony.

“P-P-P-Please let me go!”

“P-P-P-Please drink the damned potion first and then I’ll let go. Hurry up doctor. I have quite the powerful grip thanks to all my time at the fencing club, don’t you know.”

Jekyll desperately grabbed the proper flask and dashed the potion down his throat.

“There we go. You just needed the proper motivation didn’t you, old boy?”

Jekyll whipped his head back as the violent transformation began. Moriarty tsked with mock sympathy as the doctor’s fine suit split apart at the seams while his body tripled in bodyweight and grew another two feet in height.

Moriarty removed clothes from his valise that would fit Mr. Hyde and lay them on a table beside the emerging monster. He wasn’t prudish about seeing a naked Mr. Hyde but he didn’t like to be reminded that Hyde’s John Thomas was twice the size of his own.

“Ooiii! What the fuck Moriarty!” Hyde shouted as he bent over and protectively covered his abused testicles.

“Oh right, sorry about that Hyde. Jekyll wasn’t very cooperative so I had to give his onions a little squeeze to motivate him.”

Hyde glowered at the smirking Moriarty. “I thought you were supposed to be a clever dick. How about using a little verbal persuasion next time?”

“Don’t sulk now Hyde. You should have heard Jekyll scream like a little girl.”

Hyde’s mood brightened immediately and his cackling assaulted Moriarty’s ears. “I bet he did. Now that puts me in a good mood it does. It’s almost worth the cost of admission. What have you got for me this time Moriarty?”

“Mr. Hyde, agent of the crown, how does murdering two people in an orgy of violent destruction sound to you?”

Hyde grinned hugely with his crooked brown teeth. “You’re singing my song guv’nor.”

Griffin opened the back door of the club and looked nervously into the back alley again. His job was to let Hyde in through the locked back door to allow the monster a discreet entry. The buffoon was late as usual.

He was pulling the door shut when a gigantic hand caught the edge of the door and flung it open. The invisible Griffin was still holding onto the doorknob and he was sent flying to the ground.

“Damn it Hyde, watch what you’re doing!”

“Oh sorry Griffin, didn’t see you there.” Hyde brayed his obnoxious laugh and strolled into the gentleman’s club while he twirled his cane.

He knew where to go. Moriarty always had good information and a good plan. The two men that were his targets were meeting in a private room at the club. There would be two armed minders in the hallway outside the only door.

‘Doors are for little people,’ he decided as he found the back wall of the room in question. Hyde easily flipped up his cane despite the 40 lbs. of cast iron on the cane’s head.

The two men spun around in shock when the back wall disintegrated in a shower of lathe and plaster. Hyde awkwardly squeezed his wide shoulders through the hole he made and grinned happily at his two victims.

“Is this the loo gentlemen? That would help explain why two little shits like you are here.” He brushed some of the plaster and bits of wood out of his thick hair. “Please excuse the mess. I thought that was the door.”

When the real door was flung open by the bodyguards Hyde decided it was time to stop messing about. He smashed the Queen’s cousin in the head with his cane and the French agent was sprayed with clumps of royal brain.

The French agent was still gawking at the headless corpse of the Queen’s cousin when Hyde hit him with his cane at hip level. The impact almost split him in half and tore apart his pelvis and lower intestines in a shower of bodily fluids.

“God’s blood! That smell’s enough to put me off tripe pie.” Mr. Hyde gagged as he covered his nose with his sleeve.

Hyde looked expectantly at the two bodyguards and was disappointed when they turned back toward the hallway to run away. “Oii! Do your job. Don’t run away like a couple of Nancy boys. Don’t you have guns?”

They proved that they did indeed have guns when both of them produced small revolvers and shot Hyde in the chest.

“That’s the spirit you cowardly scrotes!” Hyde roared and he charged the two men with his arms spread wide. They managed to shoot him again before attempting to flee but he was already upon them.

They were caught up in his arms and Hyde smashed them through the doorway and into the wall of the hallway. He watched their limp forms slide down the wall and lie on the floor like puddles. He could see they were still breathing but he let them be. Poor sods were just a couple of working blokes like himself. He bore them no ill will.

All the noise had attracted a bewildered crowd of the upper-class patrons of the gentlemen’s club and he smiled evilly at the cluster of inbred twits. “Fuck off or I’ll rip out your spines!”

He laughed to himself as they trampled each other in their haste to get away from him. He was still laughing when he left through the back door.

Moriarty looked at the gunshot wounds with interest as an army medic attended to Hyde. “Doesn’t it hurt when you get shot?”

“Sure, it does. A lot like if you were hit by a whip. These are just from a handgun though. A proper rifle would do more damage but I’d still survive.”

“How many rounds from a rifle would it take to kill you then?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be able to tell you ‘cause I’d be dead wouldn’t I?”

Moriarty stepped back as Hyde laughed. He didn’t know what was worse. The braying laugh or the spray of saliva.

“Here’s the thing Moriarty. I can easily take four hits from a .38 but that would kill our poor little Dr. Jekyll. I reckon it will take a couple of days for me to completely heal.”

Moriarty shook his head in admiration as he looked at the grinning Hyde. “You sneaky bugger. Griffin told me that you practically begged the bodyguards to shoot. You traded getting shot for stealing another two days from Jekyll.”

Hyde unsuccessfully tried to look innocent. “Come now Mr. Moriarty. Skullduggery like that is beyond a simpleminded clod like me.”

Moriarty handed Mr. Hyde four vials that would allow him to stay as he was for another four days. He preferred Hyde’s company over that whining fool Jekyll anyway.

“Let’s make it four days to be on the safe side.” He doubted that even one day was necessary, Hyde looked like he was almost healed already. “That was an excellent job tonight my good man.”

“Thanks Moriarty. You’re the best guv’nor I ever had.”

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More Gothic Knights Stories

This shocking expose is part of “Day of the ___ Writer” an open collab on the daily experiences behind our writing. You’re welcome to join by posting about your day on your pub. Check out our growing mosaic of many lives.

“A Day in the Life”

‘Woke up, fell out of bed’

‘Dragged a comb across my head’

Fed my dogs, fed myself’

‘Took my brain off the shelf’

‘Time to write but haven’t a clue’

‘Should I write when I’m feeling blue?’

(exit mutilated Beetle’s song)

After a tortured sleep of nightmares I don’t have a clue what to write so I ask my big buddy Jumping Jimmy Jazz if he has any ideas.

Jimmy points out that before I write anything else I should improve on my almost nonexistent grammatical and punctuation skills. I am offended by his outrageous and unreasonable suggestion and threaten to take him to the vet and get him fixed a second time.

Jimmy attacks me and runs away with my portly figure clamped helplessly in his slathering jaws. Fortunately, I haven’t bathed in several weeks and Jimmy eventually spits me out in disgust. I am bleeding from several puncture wounds but the ordeal has been worth it because now I have a story idea. I will write a story about a tragic character that has been savagely attacked by their own dog!

I feverishly turn on the steam valve for my computer and log on to Substack so I can write my new opus dramaticum. I call it ‘The Jagged Jaws of Jimmy’ and include a content warning for readers that own dangerous dogs but have no life insurance. I myself bought an expensive life insurance policy from my second cousin Woodhouse DePlume and he assures me that I will now live forever.

After I finish my story I proof read it and add several typos and grammatical errors so no one will think I used Al. Al (short for Albert) DePlume is my brother and bitter writing rival who writes under the pen name of Margaret Atwood.

Another story successfully posted and the glowing comments pour in. A number of people assure me they had no idea what bad writing really was until they read my story and they threaten me violence. Once again my writing has made a meaningful impact with people.

I celebrate my success with a libation of hydrogen peroxide before I turn in to bed. Another busy day of writing awaits me tomorrow!

I didn’t actually write the ‘Jagged Jaws of Jimmy’ because the memory was still too fresh and painful for me. I did however write The Wolves of Ukraine (sequel to Blood Moon) if you want to read one of my recent stories. Before anyone asks me, Norm DePlume is my real name and I can show you my birth certificate if you don’t believe me.

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“Wrong gear.”

“I know! I know it’s the wrong gear.”

“You said you could drive this truck.”

“I can but the shift pattern is different from my truck. My brain is hardwired for my truck and I keep hitting the wrong gear.”

“Well, pay attention then.”

“Well, shut the fuck up then.” Sedrick grumbled to his sergeant at arms as he pulled the truck over to the side of the road. Another biker trotted up to him as he lowered the window.

“They’re still passed out Sedrick. They usually don’t wake up until noon and they’re all in the central hall.”

“Okay, thanks. Let’s see if we can pull this off without waking up our sleeping beauties.”

Sedrick had better luck driving the large asphalt paver off the truck and toward the Thor’s Disciples former clubhouse. He was sad about the damage he was about to inflict on his former home away from home but looking forward to what was going to happen to Stannis and his fellow Berserkers. Stannis’ group didn’t have a formal name yet but Sedrick and his fellow bikers called the ‘The Immortal Morons.’

He nodded at the two bikers waiting at the front door as he extended a ramp from the machine toward them. The bikers opened the door and secured a two foot high metal plate at the bottom of the doorway before they guided the ramp into the opening.

Hot asphalt started to pour down the ramp while the rest of the heavily armed bikers formed a cordon around the front door. All of the other exits had already been quietly and thoroughly sealed shut.

As it turned out the waiting bikers had nothing to do but watch as the Berserkers passed out on the floor started to scream as they were covered in 200 F asphalt. Stannis had passed out on a couch and unwisely rolled off his safe perch and into the asphalt when the noise woke him up.

He saw a grinning Sedrick and his bikers at the doorway and started screaming at them as he unsuccessfully tried to escape the liquid asphalt that was already starting to harden.

“Kill us! Kill us! We’re being boiled alive but we can’t die! Kill us you motherfuckers!”

“Do you hear anything Sedrick?” The motorcycle club’s sergeant of arms asked him.

“Yeah, Sedrick is saying something but I can’t understand a word. I never did learn how to speak stupid.”

The initial stages of the Swedish army’s ambush of the resident Einherjar in Stockholm went better than Wallander had hoped for. Odin and Thor had brought the cream of the Einherjar with them on their attack on Berlin, leaving behind the recent recruits with some senior officers to supervise them.

There were roughly 100 Einherjar left for them to deal with and they drew them out of the hotels where they were staying when a large group of Swedish soldiers opened fire with their new arrows on Einherjar lounging around outside the hotel. They called them needle arrows and while they didn’t inflict much damage, they were sharp and narrow enough to penetrate even thick, hard immortal skin.

These were newly minted Einherjar created from modern men since the Norse Gods had started to attack a little over a month ago. They were dangerous but green and still adjusting to their new lives and abilities. Arrogance is usually joined at the hip to inexperience and they blindly charged across the street to attack the archers that had dared to fire on them.

General Wallender and Oliver watched in stunned disbelief as their plan worked to perfection. Fighting the trolls had disabled half of the Swedish army’s armoured vehicles but there was still more than enough operational for their brutishly simple plan. The Swedish armoured resources had been transported and carefully hidden in a parking garage down the street and the sound of their idling engines had been concealed by loud construction noise from a nearby and unnecessary roadwork crew.

The speedy Infantry Fighting Vehicles led the way and hit the street with their engines screaming as soon as the first Einherjar started to run toward the archers. Their ramming effectiveness had been increased by dozer blades that had been hastily welded to their front hulls. The first wave of IFVs kept up their speed and kept going to disappear down the road and leave behind the crushed bodies of the initial Einherjar attack.

After the IFVs had left Einherjar started to attack across the street again and obviously hadn’t considered there might be additional armoured vehicles waiting for them. More IFVs and tanks came pouring out of the parking garage and chased them down the street, up on the sidewalks and even crashed into the front lobby of the hotel to hunt them down. Archers from the rooftops poured down arrows from above. Anybody the arrows wounded or distracted was soon crushed by a speeding mass of steel on treads.

“It worked Ollie! It worked like a video game on easy level. I thought these Einherjar were supposed to be tough.” Wallander and Oliver watched Swedish army spearmen and melee fighter rush out to finish off wounded Einherjar after the last armoured vehicle had finally raced past. They had counted 100 Einherjar before the attack and it looked like 90 of them were already dead or soon to be dead.

“Holy shit!” Oliver shouted as he watched the street below. “Tell them to fall back and regroup. Forget about finishing off the wounded.”

Ten ancient, experienced Einherjar had stayed behind to supervise the training of the 90 green recruits. They were as different from their inexperienced charges as a domestic cat was different from a Bengal Tiger. When their troops had started to charge across the street they decided to go ahead and let them. They found pain and death were excellent training tools for new Einherjar, maybe next time the fools would learn to think before acting. None of the ancient Vikings had much use for these modern men with their weak minds and bodies but at least they could be useful for baiting a trap.

After 500 Swedish soldiers moved into the street to finish off the wounded, ten Einherjar that had been alive for over 1,000 years slammed into them. They were outnumbered 50 to1 but it didn’t even occur to them they might lose. They didn’t care anyway because they loved to fight and they fought very well.

They had time to discuss tactics while they watched their idiotic subordinates getting crushed under treads and they initially split up and attacked individually straight across the street. Each Viking ran across the street with the speed of a racehorse and close to the same mass because of their dense bodies and the 200 lbs of armour and weapons they carried.

It was the turn of the Swedish soldiers to be run over as each Einherjar cut a swath through the packed soldiers, splitting apart their formations and breaking them into uncoordinated clusters. Dozens of the Swedes were already dead or dying after being cut down by flashing weapons they could barely see or rammed by the massive shields the Vikings carried.

The Einherjar made it across the street and regrouped into a semicircle of ten with their backs secured against the wall of a building. They hunched behind their shields as they were pelted with arrows from the rooftops on the other side of the street.

Their leader Sigurd assessed their opponents on the ground and looked up at the rooftop archers firing at him and his men. These new arrows were a pain in the ass. They were coming down like rain and all of his men were already bleeding from multiple small wounds.

“We’ll crush the ones on the street and then we’ll get on the rooftops and wipe out those damn archers. Again!”

The Einherjar had killed mortal soldiers in many different countries across the world and they were pleasantly surprised to find these modern Swedish soldiers had recovered enough from the surprise attack to put up a good fight as they charged across the street again. Maybe there were some modern Vikings after all. Only eight Einherjar made it across the street and half of the survivors were badly wounded.

“We are in a fight!” Sigurd roared. “Let’s send them all to Valhalla!” His men excitedly shouted their approval. Finally, they fought warriors with some steel in their spines.

There was no question of a third charge as hundred of Swedish soldiers pressed in on the semicircle of eight immortal warriors. The two charges across the street had killed over 100 of the Swedes but Wallander had wisely insisted on using every experienced fighter in the Swedish army to participate in this attack. They still heavily outnumbered their dangerous opponents.

There was little General Wallander could do but watch the battle nervously from his rooftop with Oliver. It was up to his officers on the street to decide when to rotate men to keep fresh troops pressing against the half ring of Einherjar. Periodically they would fall back to withdraw their dead or wounded and allow the archers to hose arrows at the Vikings.

He felt sick as he estimated the casualties his troops had suffered. These ten Einherjar had already killed more than twice the number of soldiers that had died when a herd of 30,000 trolls had attacked Stockholm a week ago.

Major Olsson was busy on the street clearing a lane through the troops surrounding the Einherjar for a tank to approach and hopefully crush them against a wall. Three of the Vikings were down and now there were only five shields being held upright against the Swedish army but those five were still reaping a heavy toll of the attacking Swedes.

As the tank steadily approached, the Swedish soldiers were caught by surprise again when their opponents attacked through the cordon and straight toward the tank. Three of them made it to leap on top of the tank and the crew inside was startled by loud, ringing sounds of hinges being cut in half by an axe before the top hatch was torn off.

Sigurd entered the tank and killed the crew while his two comrades held off the ring of Swedish soldiers trying to kill them. He came back out of the hatch to find himself alone and regretted succumbing to the temptation of killing the tank crew. He would have preferred to die with his friends.

A blizzard of arrows from both sides of the street were already on their way as he leaped off the top of the tank turret 40 feet across the street and through a second story window. He laughed as he landed with a bone shaking thump and stood up absently brushing shards of glass from his beard. He had bloody wounds from over a dozen arrows and spears but they were already closing off and starting to heal.

This fight wasn’t over yet.

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Kevin felt the paw draped across his forehead but he ignored it. Yesterday had been tough and he needed at least another half hour of sleep. Cerberus had different priorities and expressed her point of view by laying down across his face so he couldn’t breathe.

“Bloody cat.” Kevin said mechanically as he wormed his head out from under her attempts to suffocate him. “You keep doing that and I’m going to stop feeding you.” He sat upright and blearily put his feet into a pair of slippers before venturing out onto the cold floor.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re dying of starvation.” Kevin responded to Cerberus’ complaints as he poured out some kibble for her. “You fat furball.”

He sorted through a box of pizza pops and found the one with the most recent expiration date. Kevin had found out through experimentation these suckers never seemed to go bad. There was no electricity or microwave for that matter but he found he liked them cold anyway.

“C’mon Cerberus, let’s go check out the neighbourhood.” He struggled with opening the packaging for his breakfast as they slowly walked up the stairs to the top floor of the library. He managed to open up the pepperoni pizza pop and chomped on a mix of microbial enzymes, sodium aluminum phosphate and occasional bits of pepperoni while he and Cerberus surveyed the streets around the large public library that was their home.

It had been a long time since he had spotted any humans in the city but he would notice an occasional wolf. They tended to stay hidden and were shockingly fast so they might be all over the place but unseen.

The wolves had wiped out the humans in the city and he assumed across most of the world as well. There were some islands where humans had managed to survive but even they were sometimes overrun. He knew that much from the ham radio but had no idea how the wolves managed to cross water.

He didn’t use the ham radio anymore because it was too depressing. Over the years less and less people had answered and he was afraid that someday there would be no one. At this point he didn’t want to know anymore.

Kevin looked where Cerberus was staring out the window and saw a wolf with white around its muzzle looking back at him from a window across the street. “Morning Raksha. How are you doing today?”

The wolf tilted its head slightly to acknowledge that Kevin was talking to him. The radioactive wolves that had spread across the world from Ukraine ten years ago were very intelligent and that’s what made them the planet’s new apex predator. The elder wolves like Raksha that led them were the most dangerous wolves of all.

Raksha had started to appear about a week ago and every morning she would be at the same window watching Kevin and Cerberus make their daily survey of the neighbourhood. Kevin felt a sense of foreboding every time he saw her.

This library was secure but it wasn’t the best choice for a refuge. Their original home had been much safer but Kevin had been going loopy from boredom. After the wolves had wiped out most of humanity the wolves underwent a population crash with their primary food source exhausted. Kevin took advantage of the collapse in numbers and snuck across the city to the library and its treasure trove of books. He was still a lonely man but at least he had books to read now.

Kevin looked at some movement on the street and when he checked back at Raksha’s window the wolf was gone. “Cerberus, I think we better spend the day reinforcing all the doors and windows again. I have this sinking feeling we might have company soon.”

Cerberus yawned unconcernedly and stretched.

“All right, you can supervise then.”

Next morning Kevin was woken up by Cerberus’ claws sinking into his chest and her lashing tail whipping him in the face. He opened his eyes and forced them to focus on a familiar wolf with streaks of white on its muzzle sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Raksha looked annoyed and pointedly looked at the hissing cat and then back at Kevin.

“Easy Cerberus.” He whispered and put his hand around the hissing cat’s chest. Kevin was confused about what was happening. If wolves had managed to figure out how to break into the library, he and Cerberus should be dead and halfway digested already. There was a loaded gun under his pillow but he didn’t even try to reach for it. The wolves were so fast that he would never be able to use it.

He rubbed some crust out of his eyes and looked into Raksha’s expectant gaze. “What do you want from me?”

Raksha looked pleased with the question and she used her mouth to pick up a book from the floor and drop it on the bed beside him. She sat back down and started a staring contest with the furious Cerberus.

Kevin picked up the book, looked at the cover and considered the implications for a moment. It was a copy of Dr. Seuss’ “A B C: An Amazing Alphabet Book!”

“You want me to teach you how to read, don’t you?”

He realized there had been a purpose behind Raksha’s morning inspections of him for the past week. The wolf had not learned how to speak English of course but she was already proficient at communicating with him using expressions and gestures. Raksha nodded.

Six Months Later

There was a reason why Raksha was the leader of the wolves in this city. She was smart as hell. She delicately touched a claw on one of the ink pads Kevin had scrounged for her then pointed her muzzle at a picture of a human being. She proceeded to neatly print the word ‘human’ on a piece of paper.

“You’re getting the hang of it Raksha. You have neater printing than I do already.” Kevin picked up a pen and wrote ‘food?’ on his own piece of paper and then pointed at the picture of the human.

Raksha shook her head but Kevin noticed she deliberately pointed at him and not the picture before she wrote ‘no.’ The wolf cocked her head a little and then pointed at nearby Cerberus and wrote ‘maybe.’

Kevin scowled while Raksha displayed the lupine version of a grin. “That’s not funny Raksha. Stop picking on poor little Cerberus.” Raksha obviously thought Cerberus’ constant aggression was amusing and loved to torment the cat. Her swinging tail often knocked Cerberus flying but she was obviously playing.

Cerberus was even more agitated than usual today because for the first time Raksha had brought other wolves who sat back and started balefully at the human and his cat. Raksha noticed how nervous Kevin was and she softly growled a warning to her packmates.

All the wolves immediately backed up a few feet and it was obvious that Raksha was very much in charge despite being smaller and older than the other wolves. These radioactive wolves had rejected the idea of the largest and strongest Alpha male being the leader of the pack. Intelligence and ability were more important now.

Raksha was writing again and Kevin was puzzled as he stared at the short message. “What do you mean new students?”

The answer arrived in the form of a litter of wolf cubs that stampeded into the library and all tried to jump onto his lap at the same time. Cerberus looked like she was possessed as she jumped on top of a bookshelf and expressed her ear- piercing opinion of this wave of intruders.

Kevin pushed some of the cubs away as they tried to lick his face and nip at his beard. “Come on Raksha! You’ve got to be kidding!”

Raksha grinned again and shook her head.

Six Years Later

Raksha sighed and pushed Cerberus a little to the side with her muzzle before laying her head on Kevin’s lap with a contented sigh. The elderly wolf quickly fell asleep and was blissfully unaware of Cerberus’ annoyed glare as she snored away. Kevin scratched Cerberus behind the ears in an attempt to mollify the cranky old cat.

It still felt weird to have a wolf as his best friend, especially the same kind of radioactive wolf that had essentially wiped humanity off the face of the Earth. He used to be obsessed with the survival of the human race and fighting back against the wolves but now he found he didn’t care.

Maybe it was old age that had taken his ambition and fighting spirit. He had no idea what the date was but he was pretty sure he must be in his late fifties by now. Thinking of his age made him feel sad because he knew there was a good chance he would could continue to live for a number of years after Raksha and Cerberus were gone.

He put the thought out of his mind as he watched all the cubs playing around him. There would still be young minds to teach. For all he knew he was the last man on Earth and maybe if he taught enough cubs how to read and write, more wolves would realize the human race hadn’t been all bad.

A cub pounced on his boot and started to untie his laces using its teeth with impressive dexterity. Kevin leaned down and scratched its withers with a mock growl. The cub grabbed his hand gently with its mouth and responded with a playful growl of its own before bounding away to chase after its litter mates.

Kevin and Raksha had shared many conversations about the human race. Raksha liked to point out how relatively short the human era had been compared to the dinosaurs. Her take was the human era had been an aberration, like a natural disaster similar to the asteroid strike that had wiped out the dinosaurs. She couldn’t understand the human need to grow, consume and destroy until they ruined their own habitat.

Kevin had his own theories but he was too embarrassed to share them with his philosophical wolfen friend. As he watched the mothers and cubs play, he felt their behaviour confirmed his own private theory.

The wolves were carnivores. He knew if he hadn’t been so useful to them, he would have been eaten a long time ago. They would sometime fight amongst themselves, especially if some young male was trying to move up the pack, but there was no hate in these animals.

When his students would read human history, they were often confused why so much of what they read was a history of warfare. He would try to explain about countries, ego, territorial ambitions and limited resources but they would usually give him sideways looks as if he was crazy.

Kevin was convinced that mankind’s time had been brief because so many people hated themselves and hated other people even more. It wasn’t like everyone had been that way. Kevin was a friendly guy and had more of less got along with everyone but he had encountered many people who defined themselves by what they hated. ‘I hate this movie, music or race and if you don’t agree with me then I hate you too.’ He believed humans had finally just hated themselves out of existence. There would have been no radioactive wolves without war. There would have been no war without hate.

He laid his left hand on Raksha’s fur and his right hand on Cerberus. Kevin leaned back and enjoyed the sun on his face as he yawned so loudly his jaw clicked. ‘Ahh, what the hell do I know anyway?’ He thought to himself as he started to drift off to sleep. ‘I’m sitting here in the sun with my two buddies and I’m going to have a nap.’

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“The end of the world occurred on August 9, 2011.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about Kevin?”

“August 9, 2011 is when my high school sweetheart Stefanie told me we should see other people before she started college. My heart was broken. My soul was crushed. Even though my body continued to function in a haphazard function my world had ended.”

“Shut up Kevin. I don’t know why I even talk to you.”

“Who else are you going to talk to?”

“Yeah, good point.” Chuck looked over the top of the wall at the black shapes swirling below them and considered taking a shot but then rejected the notion. Bullets were scarce and he would probably miss, even with all the moonlight.

“All right Chuckie don’t be mad with me. Here’s a different date. April 26,1986 was the start of the end of the world.”

“That far back? Even before you got your itty-bitty heart broken. What happened then?”

“The nuclear power plant in Chernobyl, Ukraine exploded and bathed large areas of Eastern Europe in radiation.”

“That sounds bad but so what?”

Kevin internalized his frustration at how dim-witted Chuck could be. “One year after the accident they found a pack of radioactive wolves thriving in Chernobyl.”

“Oh … right. So that was the start.”

“I think so. If it wasn’t the start, it should have at least been a warning. Of course, things didn’t get crazy until the Ukraine war got crazy and they started to hit each other’s nuclear plants.”

“Yeah, what a goddamn mess that was.”

The spread of nuclear radiation was horrific and caused mass casualties on both sides. At least it brought the war to an end but it started a chain of events that led to Kevin and Chuck standing guard duty on the wall of their small compound.

Both men ducked their heads a little when a chorus of howling erupted from the large pack surrounding the walls. They had heard the sound many times over the past couple of years but it still had the atavistic power to make them feel like helpless prey.

“Fucking, ugly, mangy, furry bags of radioactive puss.” Kevin muttered. “C’mon Chuckie let’s give it to them.”

He struggled to heave a cinderblock over the wall and Chuck joined him with a cinderblock of his own. They grinned at each other when they heard yelps of pain from below and the howling stopped.

“We better not drop anymore Chuck.” Kevin surveyed the remaining pile of six cinder blocks with disappointment. “We need these if they try to climb the wall.”

“Have you actually seen that happen?”

“Couple of times. They made a pyramid like they were a bunch of cheerleaders that got turned into werewolves. They’re smart as hell. Never underestimate them.”

“How did they get so damn smart anyway?”

Kevin shrugged and looked up at the full moon overhead. It was a clear night and the moonlight was so bright that everything glowed, unless it was in the shadows.

“The best guess is a combination of constant mutation and good old survival of the fittest. Wolves that were already radioactive from Chernobyl were irradiated again and again because of the Ukraine war. Now we’ve got these bastards replacing us as the new apex predator.”

A wolf padded into a clearing in front of the wall so it was clearly illuminated to the humans on the wall. It looked up at Kevin and stared at him directly in the eyes. It was daring him to shoot but he wasn’t falling for it. This was a game they often played with humans. Their reactions were so quick they could dodge a bullet before a human finished pulling the trigger.

Kevin whipped up his gun to make it dodge but this wolf had played the game before. It froze and watched and listened. When it realized Kevin had no intention of shooting the small wolf bared its teeth in a smile and seemed to merge into the darkness of the night.

He lowered his gun and tried not to let Chuck see how intimidated he was. “What was I saying? Mutation, right mutation. These wolves have three big improvements because of mutation. They’re smarter. They’re faster and they were bloody fast to begin with. Last but not least they breed like rabbits in an orgy.”

“So, basically we’re all going to die because radiation made wolves super horny?”

“It’s kinda’ depressing when you sum it up like that. But here’s the rub Yorick.”

“I think you mean Horatio.”

“No, I don’t. Hamlet was talking to himself so I can use any damn name I want. Their insane breeding rate is why we’re going to win. There are billions of wolves all over the planet killing and eating humans as well as everything else. What do you think happens after they run out of food?”

Chuck nodded and looked more hopeful. “We just have to survive until that happens.”

“We can do it Chuck. There are islands they haven’t reached yet. After the wolf population collapses, what’s left of the human race can organize and figure out how to fight what’s left of these hairy bastards.”

“Why are they so quiet?” Chuck asked and leaned over the wall to look at the pack of wolves. “Hey Kevin! They’re gone. They must have given up.”

Kevin looked over the wall and panicked. “No, they never give up. This is bad. Where the hell are they?”

His question was answered when wolves streamed out of a hole they had dug under the wall. Chuck had known how well they could burrow and made sure a number of stakes had been driven deep into the ground but it hadn’t been enough to stop them.

There were another 12 survivors inside the compound and they jumped out of their beds to fight when they heard the alarm being raised. Half were armed with guns. The other half made do with a mixture of machetes, axes and home-made spears.

They were tough and they could fight but it didn’t take long for the wolf pack to demonstrate why they had replaced the human race at the top of the food chain. They flowed around the humans like water and tore off chunks calves and hamstrings without breaking their stride.

A pack of wolves fought so well together that some scientists theorized they had developed a from of telepathy. Kevin believed it was just heightened instinct. Wolves had always known how to hunt in a pack. The irradiated wolves had turned it into an artform.

A wolf danced in front of a human armed with an AR-15 and pretended it was wounded. In a blur of motion, it dashed away to avoid the gunfire while two of it’s packmates ripped the biceps out of the man’s arms. They tore out his throat after the gun was safely on the ground.

Kevin shot one of the wolves that had killed the man. He knew from sad experience that his best chance of hitting one of the impossibly fast animals was when it was preoccupied killing or eating something.

He shot at the other wolf but the damned thing had been warned by the death of its packmate and was gone by the time the bullet arrived. There were eight bullets left in his magazine now. Both Kevin and Chuck had started the night with 10 bullets apiece. It was all the group could spare.

“Chuck! Listen to me.” Kevin saw a wolf bite into the hamstring of a young woman and he was able to shoot it, only to see another wolf disembowel her.

“When we run out of bullets, drop your gun and run for the ladder.” The woman was being swarmed by a number of wolves and Kevin sent three bullets into the center of the swirling mass. He might have hit the woman as well but she probably would have thanked him for it if she could.

He lowered his gun to look for another target and saw a wolf turn its head and look up at the two humans shooting from on top of the wall. Kevin shot at it but missed when it started to run toward the stairway that led to the wall. It was followed by some of its packmates.

“Shit! Chuck run for the ladder!”

“No! I’ve still got a couple of bullets. I’m not leaving them when I can still help.”

“Goddamn it! Do what I say!” Kevin fired the last of his bullets at the wolves climbing the stairway. He successfully led his shots enough so that he hit a couple.

“Chuck run! They’re on the wall!”

“Wha…” Chuck looked back at Kevin as if he couldn’t understand what he was saying. A wolf shot out of the stairs and leapt across the walkway to sink its teeth into his face.

Kevin automatically shot at the wolf as he watched it rip off the face of his friend. He futilely pulled the trigger on the empty gun and screamed in frustration. Chuck dropped his rifle and raised his hands toward the bloody meat hanging from what used to be his face.

The wolf left Chuck for his packmates and leapt toward Kevin. It knew the sound of an empty gun being fired and didn’t view the man as a threat.

Kevin shouted with fear and rage as he rammed the barrel of his gun down the open mouth of the wolf. The gun barrel penetrated deeply into the throat of the animal and Kevin lifted up with his gun and threw it off the narrow walkway.

Two wolves raised their heads from Chuck’s body. They looked surprised that this human had managed to defeat their packmate.

The ladder was behind Kevin and he turned around and ran for it, anticipating their sharp teeth removing his calf muscles. It only took him a few seconds to reach the ladder but he didn’t understand how he made it. They could have hauled him down before half a second was gone.

He climbed up six feet, still waiting for a wolf to jump up and haul him down. Kevin turned his head to see Chuck had managed to grab both of the wolves and hold onto them to give him the few seconds he needed. One of the wolves was now busy opening up Chuck’s throat while the other one was racing toward the ladder.

The wolf managed to use its momentum to partially climb the vertical ladder and clashed its teeth together inches from his boot. Kevin was panting with fear as he climbed the rest of the ladder and stepped into a room 40 feet above the ground.

This had been his group’s plan. Establish an inaccessible refuge high above the ground with enough food and water for six months. They had destroyed all the stairways in this building so the only access had been this tall ladder. They had been days away from being ready to move in permanently but the wolves had their own plan.

Kevin looked down at the wolves unsuccessfully trying to climb the ladder. In a rage he pushed the ladder away from the opening and heard yelps of pain as it fell on top of the swarming pack.

That hadn’t been very smart but it had felt good all the same. If he ever needed to leave his refuge, he would just have to figure it out.

“Thanks Chuck.” He swallowed and looked down at the wolves eating his friend. “Thanks for my life, buddy. I’m going to miss you. You were a good guy.”

He was frustrated by the inadequacy of his words and walked away from the opening. He felt a survivor’s guilt that sucked the energy out of him.

There was a sofa in the room and he collapsed onto it. He closed his eyes but could only see images of bloody fangs, swarming wolves and Chuck’s face being ripped off while he stood there with an empty gun.

His eyes snapped open when there was a faint sound in the room and something jumped onto the couch. How could they have got in? What had he missed?

His night vision made out the silhouette of a cat looking at him from the other end of the couch.

“Did we strand you up here when we took out the stairways? I’ll bet you’re hungry.”

Kevin swung his legs off the couch and found a tin of cat food in the food stores for his new roommate. The survivors had originally intended the cat food to be human food for themselves. He pulled the top off the tin and left the cat to its meal while he returned to the couch.

He was pathetically grateful for the company and felt better about his situation as he lay back down on the couch. When the cat finished its meal, it curled up on his chest and started to purr.

“Never thought I’d be a cat person.” He whispered to his new friend as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

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