TEH K1NG IN Y3110W (PART TWO)

©2009 by Richard S. Crawford

about 1,500 words

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Crowds always made Hastur nervous. Especially crowds of human beings. He was not used to wandering the streets of human cities like San Augustin; in the past, whenever he’d had to visit Earth, he’d always stuck to the small towns, or even the tiny villages in remote forests or mountains, places where his cultists tended to gather. Cultists rarely gathered in the large human cities. Hastur wasn’t sure why that was, but he suspected it was because the people in the cities were just too pressed for time. When you’re in the city, it’s just too easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of daily life. The rituals and summonings just took up too much time for the average city dweller.

SO MANY PEOPLE, Nodens mused. HOW DO THEY TELL EACH OTHER APART?

“There are subtle differences,” Hastur said. He pointed at one of the humans, one of the busier looking specimens who was rushing past, eyes downcast and feet moving so fast they were almost a blur. “That one’s a female, for example. You can tell by the bumps.”

FEMALE? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

Hastur sighed. For someone who claimed to hold dominion over a realm that human beings visited regularly, Nodens was shockingly ignorant. “Um. Kind of like Shub Niggurath.”

HE DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE GLOBULAR.

“No, I mean… The female’s role in the species is to produce more of their kind.”

AH. FEMALES ARE FERTILITY AVATARS. ARE THOSE LUMPS ON THEIR FRONTS WHERE THEY EXTRUDE THEIR OFFSPRING?

Hastur shrugged. “Yeah. That’s right. Exactly.” He had no interest in correcting Nodens’s misunderstandings of human anatomy and reproduction. Or maybe he just didn’t have the energy. Whatever, he just wanted to get going. He and Nodens were here on Earth looking for an artifact that Nyarlathotep had mentioned once in a speech a few eons ago. Something called a “shining trapezohedron”. Whatever the heck that was. Hastur wasn’t even sure if “trapezohedron” was really a word. Then again, he spent a lot of time hanging out with creatures whose names weren’t really even names anyway.

Anyway, if what Nodens had come up with was to be believed, then the Shining Trapezohedron would be the key to putting a stop to whatever Cthulhu had in mind. If Cthulhu’s plan involved something called an “interstitial translator” which could somehow cause events in one layer of reality to affect events in another, then hopefully the Shining Trapezohedron would somehow counteract that and make Cthulhu’s whole plan fall apart.

What worried Hastur the most right now, though, was that he and Nodens were wandering the streets of this city undisguised. Hastur could pass as human, at least — granted, a very tall human completely enshrouded in yellow clothing and with limbs that weren’t just double-jointed but were triple- and quadruple-jointed as well. Nodens, however… Well, he, too, could pass for human, though his beard was a mass of writhing tentacles and his skin was a mostly translucent blue. The humans were staring at the pair of them, pointing and making remarks. Hastur knew enough about humanity to recognize that he and Nodens were causing a scene, but Nodens was apparently blissfully ignorant.

He grabbed Nodens’s arm. “Come on. We have to figure out where the Shining Trapezohedron is and get it and get back right away.”

Nodens nodded. VERY WELL, he said. TAKE ME TO IT.

Hastur had no idea where the Shining Trapezohedron actually was located. His intention at this point had simply been to pull Nodens off the street and into someplace where the two of them wouldn’t be observed and wouldn’t thus interfere with the people surrounding them. Fortunately there was an alley between two large apartment buildings, and Hastur ducked into it, pulling Nodens along with him.

Nodens looked around the alley and whistled low. WHAT IS THIS EXOTIC PLACE?

“An alley,” Hastur replied. He looked around and tried to think. The Shining Trapezohedron. What did he know about it? He’d heard the stories and the rumors, of course. Who hadn’t? The Mi-Go were always going on about it, like they had invented it themselves, even though it was well known to everyone that the Mi-Go hadn’t invented anything for centuries, and none of them had memories before that point in time anyway. The Hounds of Tindalos also bragged about the Shining Trapezohedron, but they were all insane. Who knew if they actually knew anything at all.

I HAD NEVER EXPECTED THE WORLD OF LIVING HUMANS TO BE SO BEAUTIFUL, Nodens said. He bent and picked up an empty beer bottle in one nearly insubstantial hand. WHAT EXQUISITE CRAFTSMANSHIP. THESE HUMANS ARE QUITE CLEVER.

“Listen, Nodens,” Hastur said. “The Shining Trapezohedron. Do you know who created it?”

NO, OF COURSE I DO NOT. I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU ALL THAT I KNOW OF IT, AND THAT IT IS IN THE POSSESSION OF HUMAN BEINGS. ALTHOUGH… He hesitated and rubbed his chin. Tendrils of his beard entwined themselves around his fingers.

“What?” asked Hastur.

I AM NOT CERTAIN NOW WHETHER THE SHINING TRAPEZOHEDRON IS HERE IN THE PHYSICAL REALM OF MORTALS, OR IN THEIR DREAMLANDS.

Hastur sighed. “Oh. Great. That’s not at all useless.”

EITHER WAY, I BELIEVE IT IS NEAR A RIVER.

“Why do you say that?”

THE HUMAN I SPOKE TO WHO POSSESSED IT LAST, HE SAID THAT HE HAD PLACED IT IN A RIVERBANK.

“A riverbank?” Hastur pondered that, furrowing his brows. It was awfully hot inside his outfit, but he did not dare remove any element of his clothing. This all seemed like so much trouble. Stupid Cthulhu. “Did he say which river?”

IT WAS QUITE AN UNUSUAL NAME, Nodens said thoughtfully. I AM AWARE OF A VAST NUMBER OF RIVERS. LETHE. STYX. TIGRIS. EUPHRATES. NILE. GANGES. BUT NEVER HAVE I HEARD OF A RIVER CALLED… LET ME SEE. He stroked his chin again, then dug his finger in his ear, and examined the results. AH YES. IT WAS CALLED THE FIRST NATIONAL. THE FIRST NATIONAL RIVER.

Hastur looked around. “The First National River Bank?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

YES. QUITE SURE.

“Thanks.” Hastur stepped out of the alley and into the street. He was sure he had seen it just a moment ago. And… Yes, there it was. Right across the street. The First National Bank. Whoever had held the Shining Trapezohedron last had put it into the First National Bank. Probably in a safety deposit box. Something like that.

He ducked back into the alley. “I think I know where the Shining Trapezohedron is.”

EXCELLENT. WHERE DO YOU BELIEVE IT IS?

“Hush! Keep your voice down.”

APOLOGIES. WHERE DO YOU BELIEVE THE SHINING TRAPEZOHEDRON IS LOCATED?

Hastur pointed. “Right over there. In that bank.”

THAT DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE A RIVER.

“No, it isn’t.” Hastur didn’t want to spend time explaining human economics to Nodens. The Old Gods and Elder Deities all used a strict barter system for exchanging goods and services. Explaining the notion of money, how humans stored it and hoarded it, would be nearly impossible. He decided he didn’t want to bother. “Come on. Let’s go back to my place.”

CAN WE NOT GO BACK TO THE DREAMLANDS? I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH THE THING IN THE PALLID MASK THAT I DO NOT WISH TO MISS.

“That’s me, you idiot. The Thing in the Pallid Mask is one of my avatars.”

OH YES. OF COURSE.

Hastur took Nodens by the arm and performed a quick teleportation. They ended up back in his apartment. Hastur immediately turned the television back on, then went to the refrigerator and took out a beer. He sat down in the sofa in front of the television and cursed the poor reception.

WHY ARE YOU NOT THINKING? Nodens asked.

“Hush,” Hastur replied. “I do my best thinking like this.”

Indeed he had a lot to think about, a lot to plan. This was going to be a bold and daring escapade, afer all. It certainly would not be the first interdimensional bank robbery that had ever been performed.

But if he and Nodens could pull this off, it was going to be the most daring.

The quarterback threw the ball. The opposing team fumbled. Hastur cursed the team, cursed the reception, and considered throwing his beer bottle at the television. And thought more about how two Outer Gods from beyond the human sphere of existence and perception could pull of the biggest interdimensional caper of all time.

WHEN DEATH CAME TO THE FAST FOOD FRANCHISE

©2008 by Richard S. Crawford

about 1,700 words

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The old man sat in his booth and dreamed impossible dreams. When the waitress whose name was Sally approached him and asked for his order, the old man looked at her and said, “Get the hell away from me.” Only not so polite.

Some time later, a young woman came by and smiled at him on her way to the ladies’ room. He said to her the same thing that he had said to Sally the waitress. The young woman stalked away furiously, blushing.

The restaurant manager, whose name was Bill, grew frustrated with the affair around noon, but couldn’t bring himself to give them old man the boot. The old man stayed in the booth all day and into the night. He had forced several customers to leave the restaurant with his pungent body odor and his vexatious habit of staring hard at people, eventually causing them to check their flies or their hair uncomfortably. Then the customers become upset and leave without even ordering.

At nine o’clock that night, Bill approached the old man. “Are you sure that there isn’t anything at all that I can do for you?” he asked.

The old man glared at Bill. “I am waiting for somebody,” he intoned. It was the most he’d said to anyone all day.

Bill nodded his head. “Well, it looks like they won’t be here today. Perhaps they’ll be here tomorrow. Or somewhere else,” he added quickly.

“He will be here today,” the old man said with conviction. “And when he arrives, I shall kill him.”

Bill looked back at Sally, who only returned the stare, then turned again to the old man.

“That’s very interesting,” he said, trying not to sound infuriated. “Unfortunately, we don’t allow murders in the restaurant. It makes too big a mess. And besides, the police become very upset.” He had hoped that a jovial attitude would help move the old man along.

“I’m sure that they do,” the old man said. “But, as I have said, I am waiting for someone. And when he arrives, I shall kill him.”

Neither Bill nor the old man said anything for several seconds. Eventually, Bill looked up again at Sally for help. Sally only shrugged. There was no help from Randy the cook, either, who was leaning nonchalantly against the cash register. “Well,” Bill said, “I have to close up now. If you’ll please go outside, we’ll be able to do it quickly and go home. You may return tomorrow and whomever it is you’re waiting for may be here then.” Immediately Bill wished he hadn’t said that.

“He will come today,” the old man said. “Now,” he added, and finished with the same thing he had been telling people all day. It was a very insulting phrase and, frankly, an anatomically impossible one.

“Very well,” Bill said, and retreated. “Call the police,” he said in a very loud whisper to Sally. Sally nodded and crept noisily to the telephone. The old man ignored the interchange. He just checked his watch and became very serious and alert looking. He went back to dreaming his impossible dreams.

“My ulcer is killing me,” Bill muttered under his breath. He called for Randy to bring him his stomach medicine.

#

Ten minutes later, two policemen arrived and, after Bill had explained everything, they went to the old man. “So,” said the older policeman, whose name was Joe, to the old man in a diplomatic tone. “How are you today?”

The old man repeated his litany.

Joe was unaffected. “I see. Look, sir, these good people would like to close up for the night. Your presence here is preventing them from doing so. Now, will you please leave immediately, or shall I arrest you for disturbing the peace?”

The second policeman was a rookie named Alfred, and he looked at Joe with admiration. “Well done, sir,” he said.

Joe looked at Alfred. “It comes with experience,” he said sagely.

Then Joe turned back to the old man. “Well?”

The old man stuck out his tongue.

“Very well, then,” said Joe. He turned to Alfred. “Give me the handcuffs.”

At that point the old man jumped up suddenly and violently. “There he is!” he cried, pointing out the window to the parking lot. “Out by your police car!”

Joe and Alfred looked. Bill looked. Sally looked. Even Randy, who was nearly asleep on the counter, looked.

There was nobody there.

“Are you all right, sir?” Joe asked.

“I’m fine, you fool. Look! He’s coming in the door!”

Sally started to say something to Randy, but Bill motioned for her to keep quiet.

Joe sighed. “Now, look here…”

The old man left the booth and went cautiously to the door. “He’s coming in!” he whispered hoarsely, and the door swung silently open, as if pushed by an invisible force, and then shut again.

Bill told himself it was the wind and tried to calm his roaring stomach.

“All right, you bastard!” the old man said to the empty doorway. “For too long you have terrorized mortal mankind and ended his dreams with fear. For too long have I hunted you down and avoided your icy trap. Now, I tell you, no more shall we be victims to your whims and follies. This time, Death, you are beaten!”

The old man pulled a gun from somewhere in the folds of his thick jacket and aimed it at the door.

“Look out!” cried Alfred, ducking.

“Get behind the counter!” Joe ordered. “He’s got a gun!” Joe crouched and removed his own gun from his holster.

“Take this!” the old man cried, and he fired. The bullet struck the glass door and cracked it. The old man looked surprised. He fired again and the door shattered. Pieces of glass fell to the ground. Then the old man bent over suddenly, and, clutching his chest, he cried out in pain. He dropped the gun. Joe dove for it and grabbed it.

“Now, sir,” Joe said to the old man. “Are you all right?”

The old man made no answer as he continued gasping for breath. He fell to the floor and writhed around weakly for a moment before finally taking a long, weak, shuddering breath. Then there was a quick gasp, and the air came out slowly with a soft and peaceful whoosh. There was no further inhale.

“Call an ambulance!” Joe ordered Bill. “Alfred, get over here and help me administer CPR!”

The two policemen dropped to their knees. Joe made a double fist and placed it on the old man’s scrawny chest while Alfred inhaled and put his face to the old man’s.

Then there was a low, rasping voice from the doorway.

“Don’t bother,” the voice said. “He is no longer of this world.”

No one spoke for some time. Then a low wail came from Sally’s throat. The wail quickly rose in volume and became a scream which lasted for about ten seconds. Then she stopped, inhaled, and started screaming again.

While Sally was busy screaming, Joe and Bill were busily backing away, terrified. Alfred fainted, and Randy looked like he was trying to crawl into the cash register.

In the doorway was Death. The long, black cloak was drawn in about its shoulders, and its hood was drawn up over its head. Its face was completely in shadow, except for just a hint of a skeletal chin.

“I’m dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience,” Death wheezed. “This old man has been avoiding my grasp for two hundred years. But now, no longer will he do so. What a prize for my collection.” The asthmatic voice seemed to chuckle for a moment. Then the shadowed face turned to Bill. “I shall dispose of the body for you, sir. Please believe me when I say that he has no family nor friends to mourn him.”

“Thank you,” Bill didn’t say. Sally stopped screaming and started to whimper, which was an improvement but not much of one.

“Christ, why is it that no one ever talks to me?” Death said. It waved an enshrouded arm and the body of the old man vanished.

The hooded face of Death scanned the room. “Whom shall I take next?” it said and paused to let the statement sink in. “Actually,” it said when it was done pausing, “no one here is due for quite some time. I just like to say that. And besides, you probably won’t see me when it’s your time anyway.” It looked at each of the people in the restaurant in turn. Then it shrugged its shoulders. “Well, good evening, then.” It paused. “I can find my own way to the door. Don’t bother seeing me out.”

Death turned and started for the door. Then it stopped. “One more thing. A piece of advice. This man whom I have taken this evening tried to rebel against the Unknown, against Death itself. I would warn you that if you do not know against what you are fighting, you are doomed to failure. Some things are simply part of the natural order and shouldn’t be fought against. Just a piece of friendly advice. To make your job easier. And mine.”

Then Death stepped to the shattered remains of the door. It stopped again. “Sorry to be so preachy,” it said. “I don’t get much practice in conversation, you see.” It paused expectantly. Then it stepped through the broken door and stopped just outside.

“Christ, why is it no one ever talks to me?” it repeated.

Then it vanished.

#

Long after Joe and Alfred had left, Bill was staring at the remains of the glass door.

“My ulcer is killing me,” he moaned. He turned and asked Sally to bring him his medicine.

THE LITTLEST CHRISTMAS TREE

©2008 by Richard S. Crawford

about 2,400 words

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<!– @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –>

By the time Christmas came around that year, those of us who were left were living on a farm at the edge of Snowy Rock. Snowy Rock was a safe haven from the tumbleweeds since me and the guys from Beau’s Bar had fought them off a few months back, and we thought we had things all set up to keep us protected, but apparently we were wrong.

It was Christmas Even when Little Timmy insisted that in spite of everything we continue on with Christmas. You can’t blame him for that. After all, the little jigger was only eight years old, and he still remembered Christmas from the previous year, back when the world was normal. Plus, his dad had got eaten up by a nasty Russian thistle just a few weeks before, so we had to do anything to keep Little Timmy happy.

It’s hard not to blame him, though, for everything that came after that. Especially when he was waving those branches and proclaiming victory over the human race. But all that came later.

The tumbleweeds hadn’t gone away, not by a long shot. They still hung around the perimeter of the town, and sometimes one or two of them would come up just a little closer, as if daring us to do something to it. Of course, we always did. We would torch them, just like always, and that seemed to keep the others away for a little while. We seemed to have made some kind of truce with them, which was a good thing. Still, no one wanted to venture far beyond the edge of town, which is why we all lived on the farm.

Well, that, plus there was still food that there.

Me and Duke were sitting on Zeke’s porch one night in December when Little Timmy came up to us, hobbling on his cane and looking as weary and tiny as ever. It had obviously been a chore for him just to make it to Zeke’s hut from the hut he shared with all the other orphans. “Hey, when are we gonna go get our Christmas tree?” he asked us in his thin little voice.

Duke was a hard man, and the first thing he did was to laugh at Little Timmy. “Christmas? How could we possibly have Christmas? What with the end of the world and all?”

Zeke looked at Duke in horror. “How can you say such a thing?” he asked, even though I knew the thought of Christmas hadn’t even entered his mind this year. “What about the spirit of Christmas?”

“Pfah,” Duke scoffed. “Christmas spirit. Who can think about Christmas with the world the way it is? People dying everywhere, the tumbleweeds taking over. What’s there to be merry about? It’s humbug, I say.”

I saw Little Timmy’s lower lip begin to tremble. “Give it a rest, Duke, will ya?” I said. “He’s just a little kid.”

“Yeah,” Zeke added. He turned to Little Timmy. “I’ll go with you to pick out a Christmas tree,” he said. “We’ll just go to that little forest over there. Bound to be free of tumbleweeds, I reckon.”

“Nah,” I said. “You’re too old. You’d keel over dead in a few yards, and how would that make Christmas for Little Timmy? No, I’ll go with him.”

“You’re just as old as me, Jake,” Zeke replied.

“Yeah, but at least I’m healthy.” I stood up, ignoring the way my hips and knees protested as I did so. “Come on, Little Timmy. Let’s go find us a Christmas tree.”

#

We stopped by Widow Harbinger’s house on the way out of town, because Little Timmy always liked Widow Harbinger. God knows why.

“Of course I’ll go with you!” she cried out in delight when we asked if she wanted to come along, in spite of my hopes that she wouldn’t. “I’ll bring some cocoa and cookies too.”

“Yay!” shouted Little Timmy before breaking down into a series of weak-sounding coughs. I picked him up and let him sit on my shoulder.

The Widow Harbinger bundled herself up in her coat and shawl, grabbed a basket of food and a couple of battered Thermoses that she had set aside, and joined us on her porch. “Here,” she said, handing me a cookie. “Try this.”

I took a bite from the crumbling thing, and nearly gagged though I did pretty well at hiding my reaction.

“Good, isn’t it?” she asked me. “It’s a corn cookie.”

“Corn?” I asked dubiously.

“Yes. Corn and chocolate chips. Things being the way they are, I have to be creative, you know. When we get back from getting the Christmas tree we’ll have a great feast in the common room. How does that sound?”

I shrugged. I knew there wasn’t much to eat around the farm, so it probably wouldn’t be much of a feast, but what the heck. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get going.”

#

It really wasn’t that far from the Widow Harbinger’s hut to the edge of the little pine forest where we had decided to find the Christmas tree, but by the time we got there I was limping and cursing both Christmas and Little Timmy, who apparently had to be carried on my shoulder the whole way.

“Oh, look!” the Widow Harbinger said, pointing up. “Mistletoe!”

Before I knew what was happening, she had grabbed me and dipped me like we were at a couple’s dance and was kissing me. Little Timmy fell off my shoulder, but landed on a pile of pine needles, so I guess he wasn’t hurt that much. When the Widow Harbinger was finished doing what she was doing, I stood myself up again. “What the hell was that?”

She actually blushed. “Mistletoe,” she said. “Remember? That we’re supposed to kiss under the mistletoe?”

“Oh.” I’d actually forgotten. You know, what with the end of the world and all, there’s only room for a few things left in my old brain. I went over and helped Little Timmy stand up, and handed him his crutch. There was no way I was carrying him any further.

It didn’t seem to bother him, though. Little Timmy jumped right up and hobbled his way into the forest. “Look!” he shouted over and over again. “Look at this tree! Oh this one is so pretty!” It was amazing how fast the little kid could move on that bum leg and crutch.

We followed him for awhile, until he finally stopped in front of a tiny little tree, something that looked like a scrawny stick that someone had stuck into the ground, then glued a few desperate little pine needles onto.

“I want this one!” he said. “It’s small, and it’s broken. Like me.” I looked at his face and damned if he didn’t have a tear in his eye.

I heard the Widow Harbinger sniffle beside me. “What a dear, sweet little boy,” she said.

“Enh,” I said, shrugging. At least it wouldn’t take much to cut this tree down. I took out m saw, and with one cut, the tree was down.

“Hooray!” Little Timmy shouted. It was indeed the littlest Christmas tree in the forest, and now it was being taken back to our little community by the littlest child. It was truly a Christmas story in the making.

#

We all agreed that the best place to put the Christmas tree was on Duke’s front porch. Since he was a cynic and a Scrooge, we figured that he might benefit the most from this blatant display of Christmas joy.

He didn’t seem too pleased with having the tree on his front porch, but he didn’t complain either. Not much, at least. But he didn’t take it down, either.

After we put the Christmas tree on Duke’s porch, we went back to the Widow Harbinger’s house for the feast. There were about a half dozen people there, and someone had managed to find a goose — a scrawny little thing with more feathers than meat — and the rest of the feast consisted pretty much of what we were eating the rest of the time anyway. Nuts, corn, some berries, that sort of thing. Even Duke came, though he grumbled the whole time.

It was the next day, Christmas Day, when things just went to hell.

#

“Jack, the Christmas tree! It’s gone!”

It was the Widow Harbinger, pounding on the door of my hut and shouting through it. I got up from my bed and opened the door. “What?”

“Little Timmy’s Christmas tree. Remember we put it on Duke’s front porch? Well, it’s gone now.”

I sighed. “Dammit Duke,” I muttered. I knew Duke was a jackass, but I never figured he’d go out of his way to ruin a little boy’s Christmas. I put on my clothes and stamped over to Duke’s hut, fully intending to give him what for. I paused at the porch, just to double check that the Widow Harbinger wasn’t pulling a prank on me or having hallucinations again, but she was right. The Christmas tree that had been placed on Duke’s porch was now missing.

I went up to the door and knocked. To my surprise, the door swung open easily; Duke had always been careful to keep his door firmly shut and locked. “Uh oh,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” the Widow Harbinger asked.

“Just a sec.” I pushed the door all the way open and stepped into Duke’s hut. The place was a disaster. Duke’s few belongings had been smashed into unrecognizable splinters, his clothes torn apart and spread all over the place.

The worst part was Duke himself. Duke — or what was left of him — lay on what was left of his bed, shredded and bloody, and covered with pine needles.

“Aw, hell no,” I found myself uttering.

“What happened?” the Widow Harbinger asked. “Is Duke okay?”

“We’ve got to get inside!” I told her. “Something’s going down that I don’t like.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Truth be told, I didn’t want to share my suspicions with her yet. “We need to find Little Timmy and make sure he’s safe.”

“Because it was his idea.” Then a thought occurred to me, something dreadful that made me sweat in spite of the cold. “And I was the one to cut it down,” I added.

“Jack, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Never mind. Let’s just get going.”

We went to other huts in the compound. The occupants of some of them had met the same fate as Duke had. Others seemed safe and fine, and apparently had no idea that there was anything going on. I warned each of them to stay inside their huts, and not to open the doors under any circumstances.

What we didn’t find, though, was Little Timmy.

Finally, Zeke told us that he had seen Little Timmy walking off into the forest, along with his little friend.

“What little friend?” I asked. “Little Timmy is the only child in our community.”

“Spiky guy,” Zeke said. “Real scrawny kid, but with kind of a fat bottom.” He rubbed his nose and looked me and the Widow Harbinger up and down. “Guess you’re right about Little Timmy being the only kid, though. This kind of throws a wrinkle into things.”

“Come on, Zeke,” I said. “We need to find Little Timmy.”

The three of us went into the forest, hunting for Little Timmy. We found his tracks early on and followed them on in.

“Stop right there!” called out a voice.

The three of us stopped. The voice was hard to recognize at first. It was scratchy and hoarse and strangely high pitched.

“Who’s that?” called out the Widow Harbinger.

“I think you know perfectly well who this is,” replied the voice.

“Little Timmy?” Zeke asked. “Is that you?”

Little Timmy stepped out from behind some trees. He looked bad. His skin was pale, almost green it was so pale, and he was scrawny and thin, nearly emaciated. And parts of his body looked like wood.

The worst part, though, was his eyes. His eyes were gone. In their place were two bundles of green needles that stuck straight out from his sockets.

At least he wasn’t leaning on his crutch anymore.

“What happened to you, Little Timmy?” I asked. “What’s going on here?”

“What’s happening,” Little Timmy replied, “is that things are changing. Humanity’s time has passed, and it’s time for a new host of living things to take over.”

“But why?” asked Zeke. “Were we bad stewards of the earth? Did we pollute too much? Did we not respect Mother Nature the way we were supposed to?”

Little Timmy shrugged. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. It’s just that the tumbleweeds decided it was time for them to have a piece of the action. And now it’s time for the trees.” He lifted some branches off the ground and waved them over his head. “The trees have spoken!” he cried out. “The trees proclaim their victory over humankind! And now you will all die!”

Well, the three of us hightailed it out of there as fast as we could.

There weren’t that many of us left in our little community at that point. The littlest Christmas tree, in league with the littlest boy, had gone through the town and killed plenty of people. But we figured Little Timmy wasn’t going to be hard to spot if he came back into town, so we posted guards around the edge, and waited.

And you know what? All those other trees. They might be angry, they might be homicidal, but they were still just trees, and still rooted to one spot. They weren’t gonna go nowhere.

Me, now I just sit in my hut, sometimes eating dinner with the Widow Harbinger, and hoping like hell that the corn and the beets don’t get no ideas.

TRIAL BY SEWER (SANGRILICIOUS III)

©2008 by Richard S. Crawford

about 420 words

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I landed with a loud splash, and found myself in muck that came up to my knees. My jeans were drenched immediately with liquid foulness. The stench was overpowering, and I staggered for a moment. Only some miracle kept me from falling over in a faint. I don’t swoon easily. My sire had tried to teach me the trick, telling me it would be good for someone in my position to pull off a good swoon now and then, but I said no, just like I said no to the Vampirella costume.

“Hooo-EE!” Cletus’s voice rang out. I couldn’t see where he was, and the walls of the sewer echoed his voice, making it hard for me to tell exactly where it was coming from. “Hey, Little Girl, you ready to roll?”

I couldn’t see a damn thing. There was a tiny sliver of light from the sewer grate above me, but that was it. It certainly wasn’t enough to illuminate the entire sewer. “Where are you?” I called out.

A light flared into existence in front of me. I covered my eyes instinctively and, I’m afraid, cried out in surprise.

Cletus snorted. “Turn on your flashlight, Half Pint. It’s dark down here.”

“My sire told me that our kind can see in the dark,” I replied.

For a moment Cletus said nothing. My eyes adjusted to the glare from his flashlight. I could hear the splashing of the muck and water around me.

“You ain’t spent much time in the dark since then, have you?”

“Of course I…” I stopped, though. My sire had told me that vampires could see in the dark, but I honestly couldn’t remember ever actually doing it. I was sure that I had at some point, but I just couldn’t think of a specific time. My sire wouldn’t have lied to me, of course. I was sure that my memory was just faulty.

But Cletus laughed. “You were lied to, Little Girl,” he said. He turned the flashlight off. “Have fun making it out of here.”

I heard him stomp away, his huge feet making epic splashes as he went.

How long I stood in place after that, waiting for my night vision to kick in so that I could see enough to move forward, I have no idea. What matters, though, is that the darkness never lifted. Once the afterimage from Cletus’s flashlight faded, I was surrounded in complete blackness.

I fumed. Was Cletus right? Had I been lied to? Had my sire really misled me about what my own powers and capabilities were?

No, of course he hadn’t, I thought. I realized that the ability to see in the dark, like so many of the other abilities that he had told me about, were purely metaphorical in nature. I wished he had given me some sort of guidelines, though, to figure out what was metaphorical and what was literal.

“Hey!” I shouted. “Cletus! Where are you?”

Cletus didn’t answer.

I looked up. Through the manhole I could see the faint glow of the moon. “Skeeter? You still up there?”

No reply from Skeeter.

I wished Flo was around. Flo was just as bad a redneck as Cletus, Skeeter and the rest, but at least she might have sympathized a little bit and gotten me a flashlight.

Well, standing here was going to do no good. The only thing to do was to move forward, and just hope for the best. I didn’t have the advantages I thought I had, and now I had all the handicaps I’d never even thought for a moment I might have to put up with. I had no clear path in front of me, I had no idea where I was going, and I had no hope of succeeding. All I had was the certainty of failure, and of starving to death down here in the sewers underneath Roosterville.

And my gun. I also had my gun.

I sighed and took a few steps forward. Water splashed around my boots and I felt unpleasant thing squishing underneath my feet. I froze, and every muscle in my body twitched. This was not where I wanted to be. Where I wanted to be was back in San Augustin, with my sire, with a glass of blood, or at least a glass of red wine, listening to music. I didn’t want to be in a sewer beneath some redneck town trying to best some redneck vampire for the prince hood of this stupid hick city.

Who the hell names a city Roosterville, anyway?

I took a careful step to one side. I figured that maybe I could reach the wall, and then just drag my fingertips along it to find my way out. I knew that if I turned right at every intersection I’d end up at the end of this maze, though I wouldn’t necessarily get out of the sewer.

Whatever. One crisis at a time.

My fingers touched the slimy wall. I stumbled when the toe of my huge combat boot clunked up against the concrete. Fine. The whole situation sucked, but at least I was making progress.

I walked forward, dragging my fingers against the stone wall. I had no idea where Cletus was. As far as I knew, he was way ahead of me, and he was going to win this stupid Trial by Sewer. What had I been thinking.

A splash sounded just behind me, and I stopped. It had sounded like a footstep. “Cletus?” I said. “Is that you?”

There was no response.

I listened carefully. There were no other sounds, except for a shallow breathing sound. That gave me pause. It couldn’t have been Cletus. Vampires don’t breathe, not unless we need the breath to talk.

There were things lurking around in these sewers, Cletus and Skeeter had both said. Monsters and demons and what not. Nonsense, of course, stuff meant simply to scare me. Or so I had thought.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

There was no response from whatever was behind me. The breathing had stopped.

It was my own imagination. It had to be. Nevertheless I took my gun from my bag and put my finger through the trigger guard. Better safe than sorry. I just hoped I’d loaded it right.

Tentatively, I took another step. I had never seen a demon or a monster before, and I had serious doubts that they actually existed. It wasn’t impossible, of course. After all, vampires were real, and I’d never believed in them before. If there were demons and monsters, I just didn’t want to run into them down here. I was sure, about eight percent sure, that Cletus and Skeeter and Flo were just messing with me.

When my foot splashed down on my next step, I stopped. I’d thought I’d heard another, second splash just ahead of me. Dammit. I listened as intently as I could. I got the distinct impression that there was another presence in here with me. I could sense it; it was just like the way your nose tingles when you hold your fingertip an inch or two in front of it.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

There was no answer.

If I still had a pulse, it would have been pounding throughout my body at that point. Every bit of terror and nervousness I felt now was just emotional. A vampire’s a dead body, after all, and so there aren’t any of those hormones or chemicals flowing around anymore, inciting flight or fight responses. My sire told me that. Any emotions a vampire feels are just memories.

Pretty powerful memories, though. “Tell me who you are!” I commanded the dark sewer.

No answer.

A few seconds later, after there had been no response and no further sounds, I reached my left hand in front of me. Nothing there. Okay. I took another step forward. And another.

Splash.

I had definitely heard it that time: a distinctive splashing sound, a heavy footstep just behind me. I stopped. Counted to three. Took another step. And heard another splash.

I spun around, lifting my gun, which seemed to have doubled in weight in just a few seconds. There was a loud roaring sound, the rage-fueled scream of a hellbound demon, as a bright light suddenly filled my field of vision, blinding me. I screamed and pulled the trigger. The pistol kicked in my hands, hard, and I almost let go of it as I fell over backwards, landing on my ass and spoiling my jeans.

“OWWW!” cried out the demon in front of me. The light fell to the ground, and I saw that it was no supernatural flame, just an ordinary flashlight.

Before the demon could pick up its flashlight again, I grabbed it. I dropped my gun, and decided to let it go. It was too heavy and too scary, and I figured the demon wouldn’t be able to operate it with its huge claws or whatever it had for hands.

Screaming as loudly as I could, I ran, putting as much distance as I could between me and the screaming hell thing behind me.

#

It was purely by luck that my panicked running brought me to the exit on the other side of the town. I literally bumped into the ladder that Skeeter had lowered for me, and I climbed it without even thinking. When I got to the top, the rest of the Roosterville clan was already there, drunk as lords and whooping it up big time. Someone had brought along a huge stereo and was playing Lynyrd Skynyrd. Beer and wine and whiskey were flowing like rivers.

“Delilah!” Flo shouted as I climbed out of the sewer. I was wet and I stank, but she wrapped her arms around me and lifted me up in the air in a huge hug anyway. “Honey, I knew you’d make it! I knew you’d beat Cletus in that sewer!”

I struggled in Flo’s grip. “Put me down!” I said. I was still freaked out. I looked around. “Where is Cletus? Didn’t he make it out already?”

Skeeter shook his head. “Nope. Ain’t seen him. You’re the first one out.”

“We’ve got to go back in there!” I shouted. “The demon must have got him!”

All of the other vampires fell silent, staring at me.

“Sugar, what demon?” asked Flo.

“The demon in the sewer!” I shouted. “The one who got Cletus!” I held up the flashlight I had grabbed. “Look, I got its flashlight!”

“Let me see that,” Skeeter said. He reached over, grabbed the flashlight and looked it over. Then he started laughing. “Delilah, this here’s Cletus’s flashlight.”

I gaped. “Why would the demon have Cletus’s flashlight?”

That’s when I heard the shouting from down in the sewer. “WHERE THE HELL IS THAT STUPID MIDGET BITCH?”

I flushed again. Stupid Cletus. The other vampires around me were all laughing, probably all in on the joke with him.

Furious, I stepped up to the manhole. “Hey, Cletus! I made it out first! I won the Trial by Sewer!”

Cletus’s response did not sound favorable. “You didn’t win nothing! Get your ass back down here!”

Flo stood next to me and leaned in. “Cletus, you ass! By your own rules, you lost the trial by sewer fair and square!” She turned and winked at me. “So it seems to me, Roosterville’s got a new Prince.”

“That’s bullshit!” Cletus shouted. “She shot me!”

Skeeter stood on the other side of me from Flo. “Cletus, I gotta say this chick made it out first. So by the rules, she’s the Prince.”

“I’ve got a bullet in my gut!”

“You got lots of gut to spare,” Flo said, which caused everyone around us to laugh.

“Hail Prince Delilah!” shouted one of the other vampires, and the others all took up the cheer.

I stood up straight. I felt damp, grimy, slimy, dirty, foul, and not pretty at all. But it was nice to know that things were starting to finally go my way.

THE X OF DOOM (TAKE 2)

©2008 by Richard S. Crawford

about 420 words

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He paused meaningfully, then said, “Look! It’s the elm tree of doom!”

“What?” she asked. “Wait. What does that even mean?”

“You know. The elm tree. Of Doom!” He said “Doom” with a long, drawn-out expansion of the vowel, to make it more threatening.

“But what makes it an elm tree of doom? Why can’t an elm tree just be an elm tree? Or possibly even an elm tree of joy?”

He scoffed, shifted the car into a higher gear, and drove forward some more.

Presently: “Look!” he said. “The Sparrows of Doom!”

“What sparrows?”

“The ones in that oak tree over there.”

“You mean the oak tree of doom?”

“Pfft. Why would it be an oak tree of doom? It’s just an oak tree. You’re making no sense.”

“Oh, like you are.”

“Me? I always make sense.”

“Hah. Name one time when you’ve made sense.”

“Right now.” He pointed again. “Look! Squirrels of Doom!”

“I’m not going to even pay attention to you anymore.”

“Well, you do so at your own risk. Look! Grass of Doom!”

As she had promised, she was studiously ignoring him, and instead concentrated on her knitting.

He continued to point out the various doom-laden objects that they passed. She suggested that perhaps he could just say, “The X of Doom” just once, and be done with it, X being a variable to represent anything else in the entire universe. Well, anything of else of “Doom”, at least.

Annoyed, he kept his mouth shut, in spite of passing by more trees of doom, more small mammals of doom, and so on. Eventually, they arrived home.

And, Dear Reader, as you have probably already guessed, that was when the trees, the squirrels, and the grass of doom all attacked, bringing civilization to its knees.

If only she’d listened, she thought. She could have prevented the end of the world.

She could have prevented the Doom.