Funny Business

Sharon’s Note: Happy Halloween! This is the first outing of a character I hope you’ll be seeing a lot more of; Sarah, the Conjure Woman. If you are reading this during our Halloween contest, don’t forget to vote for me! Warning: Clowns.

I didn’t hate Halloween, but it was my busiest time of year. Supernatural creatures aren’t actually any more active in October than any other time. People are much more likely to stop and talk to the sharp toothed clown when he’s not the only one, though. Speaking of . . .

There was a man eating creature in a clown suit leading a little boy of about eight away from the haunted house. It was easy to see why the kid took his hand. There were a half dozen clowns dancing around in front of the attraction, and he was the least scary. I sighed heavily and got out of the truck to follow.

“What kind of parents bring a child that young to a haunted house? Honestly.” Caroline sniffed. Even a hundred years across the pond from England, you could still catch a ghost of the vampire’s accent. 

“I’m less concerned about bringing him to the haunted house, and more about leaving him outside alone while they go in.” I kept our pace slow, so the killer clown wouldn’t notice us and spook. That would save this little boy, but put some other kid in danger. If what I suspected was true, then the boy wasn’t in immediate danger.  “When we’re done here, we are totally calling CPS.”

“Really, Sarah, you could just let me eat the parents.” Caroline teased.

I shoved lightly at her shoulder. “Don’t eat people. Besides, even if you did, we’d still have to call CPS.”

Clown and boy disappeared into a clump of trees, giving them less visibility and allowing us to move a little faster. My vampire companion started stretching her arms across her chest in preparation for a fight. Even the undead can get pulled muscles. “So, any clue what this nasty is? Should I be expecting a challenge?”

“I’m not really sure. Without getting a better look at it, I’d say it’s some kind of fairy, probably. They’re not that strong.” I lifted my shirt and drew a pistol from the holster that hugged my ribs . “This will most likely take care of it.”

“Oh, great.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “So I am missing a killer Halloween party to go out hunting a killer clown, that isn’t even a real killer clown. I’m not going to get to show off my sexy nurse outfit because we are out chasing the John Wayne Gasey of fairies.”

“This shouldn’t take long.” I patted her shoulder, all the while keeping an eye on the little footprints in the soft dirt. “We can go shoot the bad clown and get to the party before it even really winds up.”

“What are you going as?” Caroline stepped out in front of me a little to bat down a spider web. The kid had been too short to disturb the web, but the clown should have walked right into it. It also only hit me just then that there should have been a giant pair of footprints beside the little ones. Fairies couldn’t become intangible. Just ahead, the kid screamed.

“Ah crap.” I said, and as I ran, I yelled to Caroline, “Not a fairy!”

In a blur the vampire darted out in front of me, and I blessed her speed. Ahead came sudden screechings and angry british swearing, and I broke into a clearing to see Caroline. She was standing between the killer clown and the boy, threatening the monster with its own arm. My vampiric friend had a thing for ripping off limbs.

The clown thing screeched, and its toothy jaws stretched far beyond physical possibility. I shot into the back of its head and the bullet passed straight through to hit a tree. I swore.

“Any other bright ideas?” Caroline yelled.

“Yeah, get it to hit you!” A basic rule of the universe; if something wants to hit you, it must in turn become hitable. 

“What?!” She shrieked.

“Get it to take a swing!” 

I took aim. It went to show how much the vampire trusted me, that she rushed the killer clown thing, and as its remaining arm blurred towards her, I pulled the trigger again. This time the bullet connected and the clown dropped like I’d hit the off switch. 

Caroline shot me a dirty look over the brightly dressed corpse. There was blood splattered all over her face. 

I shrugged sheepishly. “Hey, it’s Halloween. No one will notice.”

Caroline made a disgruntled noise. Dropping the disembodied arm with the rest of its body, she picked up the trembling kid and hiked him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. The boy didn’t protest, so neither did I. 

“So, what was that thing?”

“Honest answer?” I shrugged. “I have no idea. Some kind of carnivorous spirit, maybe? I’ll look it up when I get home. Come on. You can clean up at my place and we can still hit the party.”

“So, what are you going as?” Caroline asked as she followed me back towards the haunted house.”

“Red Riding Hood.”

“I thought you broke up with that werewold arsehole.”

Again, I shrugged. “Yeah, but I still had the costume.”

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Not Enough Time in Forever

James’s Note: One of the major themes of vampire literature is always the curse of immortality. The idea that too long a life would be empty and meaningless. Well, dear friends, I think that’s bullshit, and so does a certain person in this story. This is just a little story that happened once, in a bar.

My name in Nathaniel, and I am a vampire. I have been alive for over two hundred years, and the strangest event of my entire existence happened to me a week ago. I’m writing this down, hoping it will help me make sense of it.

My mind was in a dark place as I visited a little bar down the street from my apartment were people like me like to gather. Not everybody there is a vampire, but it is a favorite of the non human crowd. I was sitting at the bar, trying to drown my sorrow. When you’re a vampire, this is almost impossible. Alcohol won’t get us drunk, even if it is one of the few human foods our undead bodies can handle, along with sugar and dairy. This lead to this particular bar having a rather unique menu. 

I sat, staring deeply into my rum and coke, and contemplating meeting the sunrise. My bleak thoughts must have shown on my face, because the man sitting next to me glanced over, then spun around on his bar stool to face me. 

He was short, with dark curly hair, and swarthy skin. He reached out to clap me on the arm, flashing a smile that showed just a hint of fang. I relaxed a bit, knowing he was definitely one of the tribe.

“Forgive me for saying so, son, but you look like you got a lot on your mind.”

I sighed, resigning myself to actually be drug into conversation. It wasn’t like it was going to matter anyway. “Yeah, you could say that.”

The strange vampire’s smile was not unkind. “Let me guess. Some one from your human life just died, either that, or it was a human lover, right?”

I narrowed my eyes, taken back a little. “She used to be, well, special to me. Never my lover. I knew someday this would happen. She just died of old age.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” His eyes seemed full of real sympathy.

I scoffed into my drink. “Sorry she died? Isn’t that just what humans do?”

He didn’t quite roll his eyes at me. “No, son, I’m not sorry she died. I’m sorry she wasn’t your lover. You were so afraid of losing something that you never bothered to have it.”

I must have looked like he slapped me. I turned on my own stool, facing him now. I struggled not to raise my voice. “And what would you know about it? I am over two hundred years old. Every human I knew in life is dead. My wife is gone. Our children are gone. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll realize that if you let a human get close, it’s just an invitation to watch them die.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Son, I was your age before the Egyptians built those pointy little tombs of theirs everyone is always going on about.”

I was about to call him a liar when I felt it. He wasn’t trying to hypnotize me, he was just flexing enough of his psychic power for me to be able to feel it. It felt like it had the weight of a freight train behind it. There was no doubt he was the oldest vampire I had ever met; by far.

 He patted me gently. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve been there. You know how many times I’ve been married? Thirteen, if you don’t count all the ones that were just damn good times.”

I looked at him in horror. “How could you possibly bear all that grief?”

“You see, it’s like this. Yeah, it hurts like hell every time you lose someone, but pain passes. The memories, the love, that’s what lasts. Eventually, time heals the wounds and all you’ll remember is the good stuff. It takes a lot of time, but that’s something we’ve got plenty of.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to admit he was right, but in my heart, I guess I knew he was. “Fine, but even with that, how can you bear to live so long? I know vampires barely twice my age that have walked into the dawn because they didn’t have anything left to live for. I mean, haven’t you seen all there is to see?”

“Now, that’s a huge load of bullshit. Yeah, I’ve seen a lot. I saw people first figure out how to build a city. I was in Ur when they figured out how to burn one down, too. I got to see Rome rise and fall, the age of steam, and the atomic bomb. That last one was scary as hell. But I ain’t seen it all. You know what question everybody asks me, once they find out how old I am?”

My amazement was plain on my face. “What?”

“They ask me if Jesus was real. If he was a flesh and blood real live person. You know what I tell them? I tell them I haven’t a bloody clue. I was in China at the time, advising the new Emperor. I didn’t even hear about it until I visited Rome about fifty years later. See what I mean? That might have been the most important event in human history, and I missed it. Even we can only be in one place at a time.”

I slammed my drink down on the bar. I couldn’t have said why, but for some reason, I was baring my soul to this ancient stranger. My voice was raw with emotion. “But what do I do now? Vampire politics are stupid, pointless games. All the human things just seem so small compared to our lives. What can we possibly do with all this time?”

“How many languages do you speak?”, he asked me abruptly.

“Two, maybe three, if you count Creole”, I answered, legitimately puzzled.

“Why not more? It’s not like you don’t have time. There are languages that I am the only living being that can still speak. There’s even more that go extinct every day, when their last speaker dies. I don’t have time to learn them all.”

He took a sip from his drink. It was a tumbler of whiskey with a scoop of ice cream in the center. “You young vampires start thinking life is so long as soon as you outlive your human life span. But you don’t get it. I’ve seen the world change over and over, and it just keeps changing. I’m waiting to see where we go from here. I can’t wait until we reach the stars. Do you think vampires will be able to dance in the vacuum? Will the light of alien suns burn us? If you’re lucky you’ll get to find out.”

He stood up, drained the last of his whiskey float, and grabbed his hat off the bar. He gently touched my arm as he started to the door. “You hang in there. This age is the hardest, but it’s just a faze. It’ll all start making sense before long.”

As he was walking out the door, I called out, “Wait, I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it. You have a good night, son.”

I stared after him dumb founded. I must have sat there like that for the rest of the night, until the bartender kicked me out so I could beat the sunrise home.

It’s been a week, and I still have no clue who the hell I talked to in that bar. I’ve never even heard of one of us as old as him. I mean, he couldn’t be the first vampire, right?

Either way, he changed the way I look at the world. I’ve realized he was right. There’s just so much to do and see.

There’s not enough time in forever.

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A Good Place for Bad People: Part 2

Sharon’s Note: The problem with moral questions is there’s rarely a single, resolute answer. Sometimes, you just have to choose the solution you can live with. Warning: Only more questions. There are always more questions.

“The upper levels are for those inmates that have been here for a while. You know, the ones we can trust not to try to escape out the airlock and get themselves killed.” The Warden walked Jensen to an elevator, that had a single, relaxed but alert guard. “We’ll need to go to the lowest level.”

“You consider a serial killer trustworthy after four years?” Jensen was incredulous.

Holden barked out a laugh. “Hell, Mateo has been on this floor for over a year. Like I said, he had some trouble adjusting at first, but we . . . put him through our most rigorous program, and he quieted right down.”

  “What program?” The smaller man’s impatience grew. He’d read about some of the brutal and illegal experiments that people had tried in prisons over the years. They were barbaric, and something he would not tolerate.

“I’m trying to show you, just have a little patience.” The warden typed in a code on the elevator control panel, and the cylindrical room began to rapidly descend. “We’re going down to solitary.”

“What’s in solitary?” Jensen asked warily.

“You remember about a year ago, there was a guy, he made all the news feeds? Carl Stark.” 

“Of course I remember.” The mere thought of the case made Jensen shudder. “He killed his wife then went to his son’s school. He locked himself in a classroom with the entire class. Before police could get through the door, he’d stabbed and killed the teacher and eleven of the children, including his son.”

“Twelve as far as I’m concerned. Little Rose Ramirez died of complications from her injuries three months ago.” Holden wrinkled his nose. “He was a mess when they brought him to us. Aggressive and unrecalcitrant, he caused a whole mess of trouble. He’s been in solitary for most of the six months he’s been here. We’re finally starting to see some progress, but it’s a little hard to look at, so brace yourself.” 

Jensen held his tongue, and waited to see what they were doing to Stark. If it was as unacceptable as he feared, he would make sure they were stopped and brought up on charges. 

Solitary confinement at Red Sands looked much the same as it did in a dozen other prisons, except for the cell at the end. Jensen barely recognized Carl Stark. The man in the pictures he had seen had been proud and angry. The man Jensen saw now was a whimpering mass that huddled against something that looked like a vault door at the back of his cell. Stark stroked the door like it was his beloved.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jensen’s eyes were wide with fear.

“Nothing’s wrong with him.” The Warden said, soothingly. “At least, there won’t be for much longer. He was a very bad man and the worse they are, the worse it gets.”

Jensen paled. “The worse what gets?”

“Our ‘treatment’.” Holden walked over to the wall display next to the cell, and brought up what looked like a camera display. Jensen thought it looked like a cave. On further inspection, he saw something moving in the dim light that shone down from behind the camera. It was indeed a cave, but inside was a mass of pale gray rock, brittle and full of holes like coral. In and out of the holes weaved long white worms. 

Stomach revolting, Jensen asked, “What the hell is that?”

“Our treatment.” The Warden repeated. “Everyone who was involved with the building of Red Sands knew about the extensive caves under the building, but I don’t think anyone knew about the things that live under it. They didn’t start moving towards the surface until the construction bots cleared out and people started moving in.”

“What are they?”

“I can’t rightly say.” Holden shrugged. “I can tell you what they do. They fix people. You ever heard of using maggots to clear out a wound? You can put them right in the meat, because they’ll only eat the flesh that’s infected. I figure these worms do something similar, only for the mind. I think they have some kind of psychic field. They eat the bad parts of your mind. The anger, the ugliness, they eat it all. Unfortunately, for people like Carl and Matteo, after you cut away all the bad parts, there’s not much left. I figure that’s alright, though. Even if it does leave them a little empty, they seem happier.”

“What . . . but . . . this is monstrous.” Jensen stammered.

“No.” The warden shook his head. “We’re getting rid of the monsters, and leaving only the people. Think about it. We haven’t had a single violent criminal released from here in the ten years since we opened. That’s because the badness is gone.”

A sudden light of zeal lit the Warden’s eyes. “Think about it, Jensen. Think about the good we could do, that you could help us do. I’ve already gotten a couple of other warden’s on Earth onboard, and they’ve started colonies at their facilities. With your help, we could get a colony at every prison in the world. We could eradicate the bad that people do. What do you say, Jensen? Will you help?” 

Jensen looked away from Holden to the man in the cell. Here was a monster of a man reduced to something that was a mere shell. Was that better than making him live in a cage for the rest of his life? Did they have that right? What even were these things? If they got to Earth, would they stay in prison with the men they fed on? 

Accidentally, Jensen said out loud, “What if they got out?”

The Warden’s chuckle slid like ice up Jensen’s spine. “And what if they did? They only eat the bad parts, remember?”

If you missed Part 1 click here

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The Witcher Man and the Case of the Wolf That Wasn’t: Part 7

James’s Note: In this episode, we get a peak into some of the Witcher Man’s magic, and learn what Druidic arts are all about.

This land is my home, and it’s where I practice my druidic arts. Of all the magics I’ve studied, and I’ve studied most of them, druidry makes me the happiest. In its most basic form, druid magic lets you commune with living beings and communicate with them on their level. 

It’s not like my orange trees can spy on humans for me, because without eyes, trees are ill equipped to pay much attention to humans. Well, most trees, anyway. On the other hand, they can tell me all about the acidity of the soil and let me know when the kiwi vines growing up them are taking too much of their sunlight. I can also give them some helpful nudges. 

By the stream, for instance, I have a Japanese pagoda tree whose trunk has grown a very convenient bench and whose shade is so thick it’s almost a good as A/C. My food forest is one of my masterpieces, completely full of edible and useful plants, all growing in harmony and creating a flowing web of life. The only time it really needs me is to harvest all the wonderful things it makes and occasionally negotiate with some of the local wildlife so they don’t eat ALL my strawberries.

The garden I sat in was a different story. It’s where I plant all my annuals, all those plants that have grown up with human help to need us in their systems. If my food forest is my iron bull that just keeps growing and doesn’t need anybody, this garden is my little glass butterfly. That’s why it was so nice to sit with my fingers dug deep into the soil, feeling the life in the garden going about it’s business. Sometimes it’s nice to be needed.

As the morning sun washed over me and the garden, it filled the plants with the energy to grow strong and plentiful. At the same time, it filled me with peace. Unfortunately, the sound of a souped up engine pulling into my driveway shattered the oneness with the universe I was cultivating. I closed my eyes hoping vainly that if I ignored the situation that it might go away. 

As predicted, this tactic failed and Damien came walking around the side of my house. He trudged across the yard and came into the garden. Luckily for him, he didn’t trample any of my plants. He looked down at me quizzically. 

“Are you trying to sleep?”, he asked, looking puzzled. 

“Nope”, I responded, “just trying to wish you away. Is it working?” 

For just a second, he looked concerned. “You can’t actually do that, can you?”, he asked, a tiny note of worry in his voice.

Maybe it was the look in his eyes that suggested that just for a second he thought I might wish him into the cornfield, but that struck me as the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. The result was me falling over on the ground in a paroxysm of laughter, almost knocking the bottle of molasses over.

I finally managed to pick myself up, tears streaming down my face, and my heart much lighter than it had been.

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A Good Place for Bad People: Part 1

Sharon’s Note: It won’t be long before mankind finds its way to Mars. The red planet holds a literal world of potential. We may even understand some of what we find there. Warning: Futures in the mirror may be closer than they appear.

Jensen and Warden Holden walked side by side down the hall. It was a transparent tube connecting the admin building to the rest of the of the prison. The fine red sands of Mars shifted slowly in the winds, making an effect not unlike rippling silk. Jensen found it inspiring that something so lovely could exist in on cold, barren Mars.

“I am glad you could fit me in on such short notice.” Jensen said, earnestly. He was having to take many more steps than the Warden, to make up for the taller man’s long stride. “Really, your rehabilitation numbers are all anyone talks about at the office these days.”

The Warden chuckled. “Well, a little time on the red planet is good for the soul.”

“Your programs must be phenomenal.”  The smaller man pried, hopefully.

“Well,” Holden pondered for a moment. “Yeah, we have classes that teach trades, and shrinks on staff to help the inmates talk through their issues, but that’s not what makes Red Sands special.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here.” Jensen tried to coax more from the quiet Warden. “In the last ten years, there has been a ridiculously low number of reoffenders from Red Sands Penitentiary, and none of them were violent. If we could figure out what you’re doing here that’s working, we could duplicate it in all our other facilities.”

The Warden smirked. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping you can help me with. Come on, Mr. Jensen. There are some things I need you to see to really understand what we’re doing here.”

“I am at your disposal.” Jensen’s eyes lit up as they passed the airlock check point, admitting them into the main part of the prison. Through five years on the job, Jensen had inspected many prisons. Some had been clean and well ordered, and some had been little slices of hell. It was Jensen’s proud duty to review all the facilities, so that those places that did not fit his standard were brought to task. 

The inside of the prison was beyond anything he had seen before. He had seen facilities as spotless and well repaired, but the feel of the place was just so alien. As they moved through the blocks, the mood was calm, and almost friendly. There were none of the frightened or hostile looks exchanged between prisoners and guards that Jensen was used to. Postures were relaxed, and smiles were common. One face caught his eyes, and he seized the Warden’s arm, who looked back in puzzlement.

“That’s the Ripper of Rome.” Jensen whispered.

The larger man glanced at the inmate who was vacantly smiling at people as he pushed a cart down the row of cells, handing out what looked like old paper books. “Who, Matteo? Yeah, I guess. I’d forgotten that the media had given him that stupid monicer. He was a little rough when he came in, but he’s an alright guy. Maybe he’s a little slow, but that’s no reason to judge a fella.”

“He killed and butchered eight women.” Jensen stared at Holden in vague horror. “How is that alright?”

The warden waved this off. “Well, I didn’t say he was ever getting out of here. And, yeah, he did some really bad things, but I think he was mostly confused when he killed those women. I’ll let you read his psych reports. They’re really interesting. His past aside, though, he’s better now.”

“Better now?” Jensen’s voice rose an octave. “That kind of behavior doesn’t get better.”

Again, that knowing smile. “It does in Red Sands.”

Unease settled further in Jensen’s stomach. “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Let me show you.”

Read Part 2

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The Witcher Man and the Case of the Wolf that Wasn’t: Part 6

James’s Note: Here we join Daniel for some magical CSI investigation and delve deeper into the mystery at hand.

I managed to get my examination of the body and scene complete with a minimum of molestation. I was starting to develop a theory as to what did this, and I didn’t like it one bit. The conventional wisdom is to think horses, not zebras, but in my line of work, not only could it be zebras, they were likely to breath fire. This was going to be a zebra kind of job. 

I dug in my messenger bag, looking for a vial I had made up for just such a situation. It contained a viscous concoction of oily liquids that smelled like a cross between camphor and fear sweat. I took it out, along with a long cotton swab, which I thickly coated in the victim’s blood, then dropped into the vial. I swished the contents of the vial, watching the liquid bubble. It would take about a day, but based on how the color and consistency changed, it would give me a positive ID on the killer. 

Nodding to myself, I stood up, ready to make my escape, when I heard a female voice shout, “Witcher Man!” I groaned deeply and turned around, all hope fleeing me forever. Anna had seen me, which was the point at which my night took a nosedive.

I spent the rest of the night being batted back and forth between the two faction leaders like a shuttlecock. Anna wanted to know what I intended to do about the city’s werewolf problem, while Wolfgang insisted continuously that I confirm definitively that his people had nothing to do with the matter. Caught between haughty vampiric condescension and (admittedly classy) werewolf bravado, I spent the rest of the night repeating in every way I could think of that I couldn’t tell them anything for twenty four hours. I said it in so many times, I was considering using different languages. Before the night was over, I was about to pull out my phone and look up how to say it in Klingon. It was ridiculously late before I managed to extricate myself and make it home to gratefully collapse into my soft and wonderfully downy bed.

Thankfully a good night’s sleep, even if it was too short, had washed away the monster politics and left me here, in my favorite place in the world. After a year of real estate shopping and nearly murdering two agents, I found this land. I needed to be within an hour of Houston, where my office is located. I also wanted enough land so I wouldn’t have too many neighbors to frighten. 

When my third agent showed me this place just south of Pearland, it was so perfect that I decided to let him live. I now live in this wonderful old farm house sitting on ten acres with a stream that runs through the north west corner. I’m convinced the stream must be some kind of place of power, as it is the only natural body of water in all the swamps of south Texas that is actually clear. From where I sat in my garden, I could just barely hear it as it flowed through the two acres I had turned into my food forest. 

Given that I had only been on the the land a few years, the trees should still be getting established, but since I cheat, the forest was already lush and full of deliciousness.

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Nightmare: Redacted Part 9

Sharon’s Note: The thrilling conclusion of Nightmare: Redacted! Warning: Well, at the bare minimum, it’s icky.

I had never been strapped to a table before. I really hated it. The men from the van had snatched both Ruben and me and restrained us. They had even black bagged us. They had sedated me and when I woke up, I was strapped down wearing a hospital gown and some kind of hair net thingy, in a room that looked like it was intended for surgery.

There was no one else in the room and very little in the way of things. One thing that figured very prominently in my vision was a stainless steel cart to my right with a selection of forceps and a large glass jar full of viscous black liquid. Something swam in there, causing the surface to gently roil. I turned my head away and whimpered. 

Somewhere behind me a door opened and I whipped my head back and forth trying to see who it was. “Who’s there?”

“Careful. You’ll hurt your neck.” The voice was mild and full of sympathy. A man in full surgical gear stepped up beside me. Another two figures, one male, one female, wheeled in a second cart with a computer and other equipment and began quietly conferring over something on its screen.

“Who . . .”  I began, having trouble forcing words past a shudder.

“Who, what, where, why?” The man interrupted, giving a wry chuckle. “Yes, those are the normal questions. Who I am isn’t important, other than I am a doctor here to help you. What you are doing here, is getting treatment for a nasty little infection that has gotten inside your head. Where wouldn’t do you any good at all and I believe the why is covered by the what.”

Fruitlessly, I struggled against my bonds. “That doesn’t explain anything! Let me go!”

“I’m sorry, but that isn’t in your best interest.” The doctor tisked. ‘Now, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down, or we are going to have to sedate you.”

Not wanting to be unconscious again, I forced myself to breath deep. “What kind of infection? Do you mean that nose leech thing?”

“Ah, the dream eaters.” He sighed lamentfully. “No. I am sorry for the trama you have suffered from our last treatment. It was my fault it failed. You see, you only had a day’s worth of memory to remove and I miscalculated the size of larva to use. They can only live a short time inside the human body. The bigger they are, the longer they survive. The one I put in was too young, too small, and died before getting the entirety of the infection.”

“Wha . . .” I started to scream, but checked myself as I saw the male orderly readying needles. “What infection?”

“Think of it as a verbally spread bacteria. Once you are told about it, it gets in your head, in your dreams. You’ve seen it when you sleep. We can tell it’s already hunting you. Eventually, it grows so strong it will kill you in your sleep. The dream eaters remove the memories, thus remove the infection. Think of it like putting maggots in the wound, where they eat the bad flesh.” The doctor turned to the orderlies. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, doctor.” Said the woman, holding up a pair of tongs. “We just need to know how much memory we are going to remove so we can select the specimen size.”

“Oh, it will all have to go.” The doctor said, regretful. When he turned, the light caught his eyes giving them a funny red gleam. 

“Wait, what!?” I fought my bonds again. The male orderly was moving around behind me and I couldn’t keep an eye on him and the doctor at the same time. “What do you mean, all of it?”

“I’m afraid since the infection wasn’t fully eradicated the first time, it has spread too far for less drastic measures. In order to save your life, we are going to have to remove your memory in entirety.” The doctor spoke as he crossed the room. The woman orderly stuck the tongs into the black liquid, pulling out another leech, this one as long as my palm. It thrashed wildly, and I wailed, as the orderly behind me stuck a needle into the back of my neck. Within seconds, my body started to go limp and numb. I couldn’t even scream, but my eyes were open and I was awake.

“Think of this as a second chance.” The doctor urged, walking towards me with the leech still lashing in his tongs. The woman orderly strode towards me with a cotton swab in her gloved fingers, dipped in some of the black liquid from the jar. She swabbed it in a thick, cold line from my cheek to my right nostril. “You are a lot younger than Mr. Watts. You should learn faster. It will be a new start. Now, just relax, and it will be over soon.”

He placed the leech on my cheek. It was heavy, and cold. Slowly, it began squirming up my face, following the line of the black liquid, towards my nose. I couldn’t even scream.

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Shark Tea

Sharon’s Note: Life is strange. Sometimes it’s really, really strange. Warning: Creepy cute ahead.

Kate had decided it was the perfect day for reading. It was her day off, she had nowhere in particular to be, and it was raining. Fixing herself a cup of hot tea, she positioned herself in the battered recliner by the window. She alternately read a few sentences, then stared out at the gently falling rain. With her left hand, she absently dabbed her tea bag up and down in the water.

She was a little excited to try this new tea. It was an odd mixture of citrus and flowers, and they had been giving away free sample packets at the grocery store. There’d been no name on the packet, just a tiny picture of a shark on a bright orange background. 

Watching a squirrel bouncing across the lawn through the rain, Kate tugged on the string of her teabag, and there was a slight resistance when it raised up. Brow furrowed, she continued to pull until the bag raised completely out of the cup. Then she stared.

The teabag spun in the air, and dangling at the end was a tiny shark. Apparently, the package advertised things at life size, because the little shark was only about an inch long. A perfect miniature great white. Thinking that maybe it was some kind of toy, Kate reached for it. Suddenly, the little shark started thrashing, making the tea bag sway.

Unable to withstand the miniscule predator, the bottom of the bag tore. Shark and tea fell back to the murky water below with a splash. Droplets of tea speckled the table and the empty bag hung limply in Kate’s fingers. After a moment, the shark surfaced, violently seizing a piece of flower, then dragged it below. It did this repeatedly, until all the bits of flotsam tea floating on the surface were gone. Two more times the tiny shark circled, only a small triangle of fin visible, before it sank below the umber waves. It did not come back up.

Kate picked of the cup and sloshed it around a little. Nothing happened. After a moment, hoping and afraid that something would answer, she asked to the air, “What the heck am I supposed to do with this now?”

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Nightmare: Redacted Part 8

Sharon’s Note: Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether the trail is hot or cold, and the only way to know for sure is to follow it. Warning: Nearing the end.

Given the situation, it might have been inappropriate to be disappointed in the appearance of the insane asylum.

It wasn’t even like, an actual asylum. It was a specialized hospital. It was just a squat, cement building with highly mirrored windows and a nicely manicured lawn. I wanted to cry out that it was a soul crushing cookie cutter every-office building, but I couldn’t bring myself to care that much. It was too boring. Even the staff were disappointingly normal. A bunch of men and women running around in scrubs trying to get too much stuff done, but for the most part trying to smile.

The receptionist had cheerfully greeted us, and asked if Ruben was there to see Mr. Watts again. This was our first stroke of actual luck, since we didn’t have the name of the guy we were looking for. We ended up in a commons room full of small tables and comfy chairs, waiting for them to bring Watts out to us.

“Well, look, Billy! You have people here to see you.” A woman in baby blue scrubs led a man by the hand like he was a toddler. He was no toddler. If I had to guess, I’d say he was a little over six foot and maybe forty years old. There were a few white hairs in his close shaven dark fuzz, and crows feet around his eyes, but there was a child’s shy smile on his face. 

“Hi.” Billy Watts said, barely audible. The nurse was at least six inches shorter than him, but he still tried to hide behind her.

Patting Billy’s hand the nurse said, “I’m glad to see you back, Mr. Cruz. Billy really enjoyed your visit last time. Although, I don’t know what else you hope to get from another interview. The doctor told you that Billy has no memories from before being found in his apartment. There’s been no new insights into his condition.”

“Yeah, but there was a problem with my computer, and I lost all my notes.” Ruben said, smiling sheepishly. I was impressed at the ease with which he lied. “I’m going to have to redo the interview, if that’s ok?”

“As long as Billy doesn’t get upset, it doesn’t bother me.” The nurse shrugged. 

Billy didn’t do much talking. According to the nurse, he couldn’t. Three years ago, he’d been found in his apartment after disappearing for four days. He’d been physically healthy, but mentally had somehow been reduced to an infant. He couldn’t walk or talk or do anything else a forty three year old with a P.H.D in psychology should be able to do. With the help of doctors, he had learned to walk again, and could talk some, but it was like a baby learning. They never could find a reason.

It was horrifying. Here was this accomplished, grown man who had disappeared, just like Ruben, just like me, but instead of losing a few days, he’s lost everything. While Ruben and the nurse spoke, he quickly grew bored, and started fidgeting. Thoughtlessly, the nurse pulled a small toy car out of her deep pockets and Billy happily sat on the floor and rolled it around. Occasionally, he crashed the car gently into the table leg while making explosion noises. 

There wasn’t much to find out, except that this could have been much, much worse. When we got up to leave, the nurse had Billy wave goodbye, before taking him by the hand again and leading him away. She patted his hand asking, “So, Billy, are you ready for lunch? We’re having chicken nuggets.”

Billy skipped and made a noise not unlike a yip, “Yay!”

I followed Ruben out, my stomach churning. “Well, that was useless.”

“No, we have a direction now. We can go ask his friends and family what he was working on. There has to be something here, because I found something that made them come after me.” We made it to Ruben’s car. Before opening the door he shot me a wide grin. He was enjoying himself.

 There was a noise like wood cracking, and something like a wasp sting hit me in the butt. I slapped at it, and hit something small and hard that clattered to the concrete. Ruben shouted, pointing behind me. I turned, nausea and dizziness rising in my gut and mind. Out of sight of the front doors of the hospital was one of the black vans. I had just enough time, as I started to sway and the world began to dim, to see two men in tactical gear, loping towards us across the parking lot.

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The Witcher Man, and the Case of the Wolf that wasn’t: Part 5

James’s Note: In this episode, we talk a little about the best guns for fighting the supernatural, as well as getting our first introduction to the leader of the Vampires. Keep an eye on her. She might be important later.

I patted myself down, sure I was forgetting something. I tugged down my leather bomber jacket, making sure it concealed my shoulder holster. I kept my revolver loaded with some rounds of my own design. They were .357 magnum with expanding tips, silver cores, and some etchings of my own design that are guaranteed to ruin the day of a few selected boojums. 

If I run into anything that needs more shooting than that, well, that’s why I keep a customized shotgun in the back of the Mini. It’s magazines are loaded with rounds of all types, from slugs and buckshot to silver, salt and iron. Besides, bullets are just one of the tools in my toy box.

Suddenly my brain clicked, and I grabbed the bag of fresh dead crickets out of the little office fridge to feed my spider. I had to make sure he kept his strength up. I had big plans for him. Grabbing a pair of shades from a rack by the door, I hopped into my car and sped into the dark Texas night.

The next morning, the sun was just starting to peek over the trees to my east, gently spreading the morning light over my backyard. I sat cross legged in the middle of my garden running my hands through the soil, a thermos of coffee steaming on the ground beside me. I also had a gallon jug of blackstrap molasses. I let the cool morning mist and the living earth beneath my hands leach away the tension and help restore my zen. 

I’m not sure if there is an English word for the opposite of fun, but if there were, it would be used to describe root canals, prostate exams, and the night I’d just had. I’d started thinking the night wouldn’t end until someone drove a stake through its heart, which is kinda ironic, all things considered.

I had followed Damien to the crime scene to find it a hotbed of supernatural activity. Wolfgang was there, in the middle of a heated argument with a vampire. As if that wasn’t stereotypical enough, she was hot, female, and dressed in expensive black clothing. I also knew her be the leader of the local vampires. At least she lead the undead, blood drinking, mind trick variety. Yes, there are other kinds. 

Her name was Anna Belle, which is pleasantly low on the “gag me” scale of vampire names, and she was berating Wolfgang. She insisted one of his people must have been responsible, because she could smell the wolf sent all over the body. He was loudly contesting that she had no place being involved, since this was his territory, and, besides, she was obviously incompetent if she couldn’t see this was obviously not a wolf kill. 

I all but crept by them on my tiptoes, trying to get to the body without getting caught up in their pissing contest. Besides, that would be a contest Wolfgang would have an unfair advantage in for reasons of both species and equipment.

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