double-bagging-adventures

[double-bagging-adventures]

The Nature of Things

The place my folks took me to, they call it a zoo but it’s as fake as Disneyland. I’m 17, turning 18 in October, still under my parents’ roof and under their rules and therefore forced to go on this vacation I didn’t want to take.

The place is called “Animalia Extravaganza” and it was a tourist trap in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho. It was a sad and strange place that was part animal reserve and part carnival and low budget all over. They’ve got exotic animals that have no business being in the Midwest and crappy souvenirs for bored families on the highway who need to stretch their legs on road trips.

Nobody ever really wanted to go to Animalia Extravaganza and that includes the visitors, the employees, and the animals. Despite this, it somehow stayed in business. It was practically a landmark at this point; a testament of how little there is to do here.

I didn’t want to go and I told my parents so. Pops got pissed. Ma got distant. It’s like a reflex action for them now. I knew two things about my folks at 17: that they loved me and were also profoundly disappointed with me. They didn’t want a son who wears nail polish and bright, colorful hippie clothes. They didn’t want a son who gets called a faggot on the streets, in the hall, on the way to class. But I’m what they got and we all made due.

I wasn’t really rebellious as much as I was honest. I like wearing make up because it makes me feel pretty. I wear big genie pants and sarongs because they’re really comfy. I like boys and girls because I think they’re sexy in different ways. This is just how I am, just the nature of things, and you may not agree with it but I can’t help that. So when I told my folks I didn’t want to go to Animalia Extravaganza it was another item in a long list of things I couldn’t fix for them.

If I’m being honest I knew what it was about. I was about to move out on my own and would be seeing them a lot less. I had a buddy in Denver who said I could move in with him as soon as school ended. My folks said they were happy for me but you could tell they were scared too. So they took me on a vacation suited for 7 year old me not knowing that he’d been gone for a decade. What they really wanted was to tell me how much they’d miss me and that they wanted one last day with their little boy. Why couldn’t they just tell me that?

In the car, I stared out at the flat, dead landscape rushing by.

“You excited to see Animalia Extravaganza again, pumpkin?” my Ma asked. She reached her hand behind her seat and wiggled her fingers.

I took her hand in mind and squeezed, an old ritual of ours. “Yeah, Ma,” I lied.

“When was the last time we visited?”

“I don’t know, Ma.”

“Don’t take that tone with your mother,” said Pops. Good ol’ Pops. A knight in shining armor with no dragon to fight. Always rushing to fix the problem that wasn’t there.

“But Pops,” I said. “I didn’t-“

“Don’t talk back to me,” he said and I didn’t.

The family motto: Don’t talk back. I once asked my father why I never allowed to have an opinion in arguments. He said it was because “he’s the dad”. I grew up both hating and loving my parents and often fearing my father. His temper was unpredictable and, on a few occasions, violent. We drove the rest of the way in silence.

When we arrived at Animalia Extravaganza, it looked just as sad and old as I remembered. I don’t think it’s ever been new, it’s just always existed as this perpetually sad and old roadside attraction. We parked in the vacuous parking lot and walked towards the main gate with the faded and chipped welcome sign. I could see some little kids in a petting zoo with a zebra (a zebra in Idaho for Christ’s sake) and a wailing kid on top of a camel. This place oozed unhappiness.

We spent some time looking at exotic birds and I made Ma laugh when I said the emu looked like Aunt Reese. My mother had a beautiful, amazing laugh and I always beamed with pride on the rare occasions I could pry a chuckle out of her. Pops was struggling to get the audio tour guide to work and failing. It made me smile to see his brow furrowed, making stabbing motions at the iPod and it made me love him even more despite everything.

We went into the reptile house while Pops waited outside. He was deadly afraid of snakes even though he didn’t like to admit it. Ma and I stopped to admire the boa constrictor which flicked it’s tongue at us.

Ma said, “I’m gonna go find your father.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “I’m gonna hang here for a minute.”

“Ok,” she said. “Want to meet us by the primate house in 20 or so?”

“Sure.”

“Ok, Pumpkin.” She smiled at me. “Let’s circumcise our watches.”

It was something my grandpa used to say. Instead of saying “synchronize” he’d say “circumcise”. I could never tell if he was trying to be funny or if he was genuinely confused on the meaning. I was bored of looking at reptiles. I saw a “staff only” door and casually slipped in. You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you act like you’re supposed to be there. I was in the area behind the cages. The air was rank with animal smells and random hooting and squawks. I took out a pack of Marlboro Reds I wasn’t supposed to have and began absent-mindedly slapping the pack on my palm. I’ve never understood why smokers do that but I’ve always seen it in movies.

A door to a break room opened and an Indian guy in a employee uniform walked out. I did my best to look like I belonged there. Behind him, a gorilla followed him. The Indian guy opened a cage door, took out his wallet, and gave the gorilla 20 bucks.

“Good work out there today, man,” the Indian guy said.

The gorilla snorted, took the money, and lumbered into the cage. After the employee had secured the door, he looked up and saw me.

“Oh shit,” he said. And then, “Hey, what are you doing back here?”

“Why’d you give that gorilla 20 bucks?” I asked.

“I asked you first,” he said.

“I asked you second,” I retorted.

I saw his name tag. It read “Mowgli”. I said, “Hey, like in the Jungle Book.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “That’s me.”

“Wait,” I said. “You’re actually Mowgli from the Jungle Book?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

We stood there staring at each other for a beat.

“Wanna cigarette?” I held one out.

“Shit, yeah.” He took the proffered cigarette.

I lit my own and then handed him my lighter. It had a cartoon cowboy on it and said “Honky Tonk Hank”. We sat on a couple of fold-out chairs.

“Cowboy killers,” I said, trying to fill the silence. “I pretend I don’t know my ma still smokes and she pretends not to know I steal them.”

Mowgli blew out blue-gray smoke and stared at me. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Paul.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this, ok?” We’d be in a shit ton of trouble is anyone ever found out.”

“I always thought the animals here were a little too willing,” I said. “Has it always been like this?”

“Basically, yeah,” said Mowgli. “The animals promise to make themselves interesting for folks and we give them a share of the profits. Worked pretty well so far.”

As we were talking, two more employees walked in. One was a tan and muscular surfer-looking dude and the other guy had blonde hair and a 50’s looking haircut. He was dripping wet.

“I’m telling you, man,” said the wet guy. “The trout are little bitches. They’re always looking for a bigger cut.”

“Yeah, well,” said the surfer dude. “At least it’s better than Sea World, right? I hear Shamu is an asshole.”

“Shamu’s dead, man.”

“Oh yeah. Well, I hear he was an asshole.”

They were about to walk into the break room behind us when they finally registered what was going on. The surfer dude looked at me and then said to Mowgli, “What the hell is this?”

Mowgli took a drag and said, “It’s cool, man. Kid’s with me. This is Paul.”

“Hey,” I said. “You’re Tarzan. And you, are you Aquaman? Who’s next, Dr. Doolittle?”

“Nah,” said Mowgli. “It’s his day off.”

“Does he know?” Aquaman asked Mowgli. Mowgli nodded and Aquaman said, “Goddamn it, we gotta start locking that door.”

“What the hell is this?” I asked. “You guys are like big deal fictional characters. What are you doing in Idaho in this shithole?”

Tarzan and Aquaman pulled up fold-out chairs and sat opposite me and Mowgli.

“It’s an ok gig, man,” said Tarzan “The pay isn’t great but at least it’s steady. And we haven’t been ‘big deal’ in a long time. When was the last time you read a Tarzan story?” When I didn’t say anything, he said, “Exactly.”

“What about those Disney movies?” I asked.

Tarzan and Mowgli shuddered.

“Ok then what about Aquaman? You’ve still got comics and that new movie coming out.”

“Oh yeah,” said Aquaman, sarcastically. “I’m sure there’ll be lines around the block for that. Listen, I’m not holding my breath, kid.”

“But you’re a hero,” I said. “All you guys are; folk heroes. Everyone knows who you guys are.

“Nobody cares anymore,” said Mowgli, stamping out his cigarette. “We’re washed up.”

“So you guys just gave up making stories because it’s not the popular thing to do anymore? You’re just gonna deny who you are because of what other people think?”

“I mean,” Tarzan said. “Basically, yeah.”

I stood up. “That’s bullshit, man. You’re just like these animals: caged up. You should go and make new stories. Who cares what other people think? You gotta do you.”

All three of them were staring at me as I left. I didn’t look back. I met my folks at the primate house and we decided to go home. We got in the car and started to pull away.

“Did you have fun, pumpkin?” asked Ma.

I looked out the back window. A monkey was perched on the trunk. Pops yelled in the front seat as an ostrich pecked at his window. A parade of exotic animals streamed out of the parking lot amid confused families who could do nothing but stare. I could see a truck being loaded with various sized tanks filled with fish by Mowgli and Tarzan who had both turned their uniforms into makeshift loincloths. Aquaman was behind the wheel with green gloves and a scaly, orange shirt. He looked at me and gave a thumbs up. When the truck was loaded, it pulled out of the lot with Tarzan riding on top. He beat his chest and let out that classic Tarzan scream. A green-gloved fist pumped out the front of the truck and I heard “To the river!” as they passed us. The animals followed the truck in a grand procession down the highway.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was pretty cool, actually.”

[double-bagging-adventures]

Echo

It seemed so mundane when it started. My son, Alex, was 7 years old and I had just taken him to his first basketball game. He didn’t really grasp the idea of basketball or even sports in general; he was an indoor kid through and through, but he seemed to enjoy the spectacle of it all. The excitement, the frustrations, the general noise and thrill of it all.

We were driving out to our new house in the country. It used to be a secluded little place back then; only a few neighbors for miles around, wild animals walking through backyards. Alex didn’t have many friends who lived nearby so he usually made them up. He had an ever-changing rotary of imaginary friends. It felt like he had a new one each week. He had a very active imagination.

So much so, when it started, it didn’t seem unusual. We pulled into the garage. Above the garage, there was a crawl space we used for storage. Alex was sitting in the passenger seat, for there was no backseat in my truck then, and he immediately shot to attention. He started looking up and out the window at the dark crawl space above.

“There’s a shadow man up there,” he announced casually.

“What?” I asked, half-amused, half-concerned.

“A shadow man,” Alex said. “Up there, in the attic. He just ran by.”

I turned off the engine and leaned forward in my seat for a better look. I was looking for a raccoon or maybe a stray cat. I didn’t see anything except for musty boxes filled with Alex’s old baby stuff.

“I don’t see him, buddy,” I confessed.

“Well duh,” said Alex like it was obvious. “He’s not there anymore.”

“Duh,” I agreed and ran my fingers through Alex’s hair. “Come on, bud. You need to brush you dee-deets and go to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.” Dee-deets is what we called teeth. I couldn’t possibly tell you why. Just one those baby talk words that stuck in our family, I guess.

Alex brushed his “dee-deets” and I tucked him in. I read the next chapter in The Magician’s Nephew and I got up to leave.

“Check for monsters,” Alex reminded me as soon as my hand touched the door knob.

“I almost forgot,” I said. I took the flashlight Alex kept on his bedside table and flashed in in the closet. A sick part of me always wondered what would happen if one night I flicked the light on and actually found a monster; a horrible pale face with sunken eyes and pale teeth, straight out of Nosferatu.

But nothing tonight. Just a laundry basket, a few stray Star Wars action figures, clothes, and a Clue board game Alex had gotten from his grandmother for his birthday.

“No monsters tonight,” I said cheerfully. My wife, Haley, said I shouldn’t say that.

“Think about it, it’s kind of fucked up,” she had said. “It implies there might be monsters another night.”

“Maybe there will be,” I had offered and she had slapped my playfully on the arm.

Alex and I said our good nights and I went out to the back porch for a cigarette. There was a massive field behind our house and the whole time I was out there, I couldn’t help but scan the tall grass for shadow men.

I heard the screen door slide open behind me and a voice, “Got one of those for me, stranger?”

I kissed my wife, gave her a cigarette, and lit it for her. She pulled on it deeply.

“Work was that bad, huh?” I asked.

“Not bad,” she said, taking a second, shorter drag. “Just long. How was the game?”

“It was good,” I said, sitting down in a lawn chair. Haley sank into the next chair and held my hand with her free one. She dug her toes into the cool grass. “Alex kept asking me which team was ours. We ran around at half time and played around on an elevator until some lady kicked us off. Oh, and we got some cotton candy we’re not supposed to tell you about.”

“Ah,” said Haley. “Glad I don’t know about it then. I’ll never figure it out when he starts bouncing off the walls.”

I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

“Oh yeah,” i said, suddenly remembering. “And he said there’s a shadow man in the garage.”

“Shadow man?” What’s that?”

I shrugged. “A guy made of shadows, I guess. I didn’t ask.”

“You should go up there,” Haley said. “Make sure it’s not a raccoon or something.”

“I will tomorrow. It’s probably a ghost,” I said.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that our house is built on an ancient Indian burial ground. I’m sure I said that when we moved out here.”

I started to jiggled her chair. “You only moved the tombstones!” I mock yelled.

“Quit it!” she laughed. She kissed me and put out her cigarette. She flicked it under the porch.

“Gonna start a fire,” I warned.

She kissed me again. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Come soon?”

I agreed. I decided to stay up and get a little work done. When I finally decided to go to bed, it was far later than I had intended. I was past the basement on the way to bed and noticed the door was open. I could have sworn I closed it before we had left for the game. A cold, earthy smelling air seeped up the stairs. It was wall still concrete floors down there, the carpet guy was coming next week. We kept the door closed because we were worried Alex would fall down and crack his head open like a coconut. And now it was halfway open.

I brushed it off as forgetfulness, closed the door, and made the way down the dark hallway towards our room. I paused at Alex’s doorway. I could hear him talking to himself. Well, kind of. It sounded like he was having a conversation with someone and then he’d repeat the last bit of what he had just said like an echo.

“My name’s Alex.”

“…name’s Alex.”

“What’s your name?”

“…your name?”

“Quit copying me!”

“…copying me!”

I knocked softly and called out, “Go to bed, buddy.”

“Okay, daddy,” he replied.

“…daddy.”

It struck me as odd. Usually when Alex talked to his imaginary friends, the conversations weren’t so one-sided. And he never talked for them. They always spoke in an imaginary voice that only Alex could hear. I figured maybe this was a new game or maybe he’d gotten his hands on Haley’s old tape recorder. He used to play news reporter with it, running around the house and making news reports of going-ons around the house and then play the “news” for us at the end of the night. I really didn’t think much about it at the time.

—————

As I drove Alex to school the next morning, I decided to ask about it.

“Who was your friend last night?” I asked.

“The shadow man,” Alex said, staring out the window.

“I thought he was in the garage?” I said.

“He was,” Alex explained, matter-of-factly. “He came in.”

“I should start changing him rent. What’s he like?”

Alex considered this for a moment. “It’s hard to see him,” he said. “He’s all dark and shadowy. And he’s really fast. He’s got these long, noodle legs like those weird spiders.”

“Daddy Long Legs?” I offered.

“Yeah,” Alex confirmed. “And he doesn’t talk. Well, he does but he can only repeat what I say.”

“Why’s that?”

“I asked him,” Alex said. “But he only copied me. Duh.”

“Oh, duh,” I agreed. “Duh” was Alex’s new favorite word. His teacher did not approve. She said that it promoted sass at an early age. Then again, she didn’t approve of most things. “So he lives in the closet now?” I asked.

“Yup,” said Alex.

“But I thought you were afraid of monsters,” I said.

“I don’t think he’s a monster,” Alex said. “He hasn’t tried to eat me yet.”

“Fair point,” I said. “Unlike…me!” I tickled Alex with my free hand, one hand on the wheel,  and he squealed with delight. There were no more questions about the shadow man the rest of the way to school.

—————

For a couple of nights, Alex continued his echo game. He’d blather nonsense, talk about his day, sing songs and each time, the echo would repeat the last bit.  

One night, as I was heading inside from a cigarette, I saw Alex opening the door to the basement.

“Hey, what the hell,” I said. I was on him almost instantly, closing the door harder than I meant to. This and the swear word had startled him. Tears were welling up in his eyes. “You know you’re not supposed to go down there,” I snapped, the irritation clear in my voice. “It’s like midnight, go to bed.”

“The shadow man wants me to!” Alex blurted out. “He keeps pointing to the stairs and-“

“I don’t care what the shadow man wants,” I interrupted, my voice rising almost to a shout. “I don’t want you going down there! Do I make myself clear?”

“Dad the shadow-“

“Do I make myself clear?” I knew as soon as I yelled at him I fucked up. Alex immediately burst into tears, ran to his room, and slammed the door. I rubbed my eyes tiredly and joined Haley in the bedroom.

“What happened?” Haley asked as soon as I sat down on the edge of the bed. It was inquisitive, not accusatory.

“Alex tried to go into the basement,” I said lamely.

“Is he ok?” she asked.

“I made him cry,” I said. “God, I’m an asshole. Worst dad in the world.”

“No you’re not,” my wife said. “But I do think you should go apologize.”

“Yeah, ok,” I said. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and walked down the hallway to Alex’s room. He was still crying. I was just about to knock when I heard him start talking.

“I told you!” he cried. “Dad won’t let me!”

“…you, you, Dad, let me!”

I stopped with my hand raised, mid-knock. So far in Alex’s game, the echo had never come back wrong.

“No! Dad doesn’t want me to go into the basement!”

“…Dad, Dad, go, the basement.”

The echo wasn’t just wrong in what it was saying but also the inflection. It was like Alex was piecing together sound clips to make a new sentence.

“I don’t want to,” Alex whimpered. “I don’t even want to go to the basement.”

“…want to, go, basement.”

Silence.

“Do you understand me?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Alex had impersonated what I had yelled at him but it wasn’t like an impression. It was pitch perfect like a recording. It was exactly my voice. I opened the door and Alex’s face was horrified. Before I could ask what was wrong, he ran to me, his whole body shaking with sobs.

“I wanna sleep with you and Mom!” he shouted. “Please, Dad! Please don’t make me stay in there!”

I scooped him up in my arms and carried him to our bedroom. Haley and I cooed at him and said reassuring things until he finally fell asleep.

—————

Alex eventually returned to his room but I didn’t hear him play his game again. The nightly search for monsters had also expanded and now included checking the windows and under the bed. In addition to this, Alex insisted I put his heavy toy chest in front of the closet door every night. I never asked how he had managed to impersonate me so perfectly.

The night that it happened  I had got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water from the kitchen. I had already put Alex down for bed. It was late.

“Daddy?”

I turned to see the basement door wide open.

“Daddy?” came Alex’s voice again. It was coming from downstairs.

“Alex?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Alex, come here, bud. It’s late.”

Silence from the cold basement. “Come down here, Daddy.” came Alex’s reply.

I stood at the top of the stairs. It was pitch black in the basement. The only light source down there was a pull-string bulb in the center of the room. I cursed myself for not putting a light switch by the door sooner.

“Alex,” I called down again. “Come on, buddy, this isn’t funny. Let’s go to bed.”

“Come get me, Daddy,” Alex called from the darkness.

I don’t know how long I stood at the stairs but it felt like hours. I felt like a kid again, afraid of the dark. I put my foot on the top step and, incredibly slowly, began to descend. I noticed I was shaking. I couldn’t say why I was afraid. It was just my son playing a stupid trick. When I got about halfway, I peered into the darkness, trying to see Alex but there was only shadows.

“Daddy?”

I froze on the stairs. I turned around to see Alex at the top of the fairs, rubbing his eyes and standing there in his PJ’s.

“Daddy, what are you doing?” he asked.

I turned to face the darkness again, my heart beating out of my chest. There was nothing but silence and darkness. Then I heard naked feet on concrete spiriting towards me.

My reaction was instant. I turned and bolted up the stairs as fast as I could. Alex suddenly shot awake, his mouth frozen in a surprised O. I practically launched myself off the top step, spun, and slammed the door.

Something on the other side hit the door with full force, rattling it in its hinges. I instinctively grabbed the knob and put my full weight against the door. The knob jiggled in my hand madly and the thing began to pound on the door. Alex was wailing at the top of his lungs. I could hear scratching on the other side, claws making deep gouges in the wood.

The light flicked on in the kitchen and I saw Haley standing in the doorway in total panic mode.

“What the hell is happening?” she shrieked.

Suddenly, the pounding stopped. I could hear the same naked footsteps moving down the stars, across the basement, and then the sound of glass breaking.

Then nothing. All that could be heard was my son crying and my own heavy breathing. I slumped against the door and down to the floor, suddenly exhausted. Haley grabbed Alex into her arms, still crying. We didn’t go back to sleep that night.

—————

The next day, the carpet guy arrived. He was an older man with a grey mustache, a blue union suit, a baseball cap that said “Karpet Kings”, and a name tag that read “Joe”. I led him into the basement. The door was practically hanging off it’s hinges. He whistled when he saw the cracks and long scratch marks on the door. Broken glass was scattered on the floor and beneath the one basement window. Around the window were deep scars in the cements. It looked like something had clawed it’s way out.

“Wowee,” Joe said. “Must have had somethin’ fierce in here.”

I relayed the story of last night’s events to him, worried I sounded like a crazy person. I left out the part of Alex’s echo game and the voice I had heard the night before.

“Must have been somethin’ big,” Joe said, adjusting his baseball cap and running his fingers up and down the gouges in the wall near the window. “Raccoon?”

I did not think it was a raccoon.

[double-bagging-adventures]

Japanese Cherry Blossom

I double-bagged it today and found myself in a strange room.

For those who are not necessarily aware of what double-bagging is, permit me to explain. "Double-bagging" is referring to putting two bags of tea in one mug. Doing so causes a strange effect in which the added burst of caffeine reacts to the fabric of reality in an unusual way. I first did this who knows how long ago and have not been back to my original dimension since. Thankfully, no matter how far I seem to go into the unknown, I always seem to have a stable internet connection which is convenient for chronicling my...I suppose I call them my Double-Bagging Adventures. I strongly urge you try this for yourselves. I have seen unimaginable sights; beings made of pure color energy, lounges for time-travelers, and physical incarnations of tarot cards just to name a few. However, if you have become particularly comfortable in your own reality where people do not spontaneously turn into gingerbread versions of themselves, then I would not recommend double-bagging. I'm not sure if I'll ever make it back "home" and even more uncertain what will happen next when I put two bags of tea in my favorite Spider-Man mug. So far, nothing has happened twice. But as I was saying...

I double-bagged it today and found myself in a strange room.

The room was lit by florescent lighting which I thought took some of the mysterious atmosphere away. The lights buzzed mundanely as I observed the rest of the room which had robin eggshell blue walls which put me in the mind of dentist offices. The room even had a similar smell of fluoride and anxiety. There was no furniture save an old, cheaply made wicker chair which I currently sat it. In front of me were two, large, tantalizingly red buttons. The buttons were labelled plainly in a no-nonsense kind of text that simply read, from left to right respectively:

100 Duck-Sized Horses and 1 Horse-Sized Duck

The buttons fascinated me. There was no kind of doors, windows, not even cracks in the paint on the walls. It was as if this was a pocket of the universe specifically created to house one crappy chair and two very tempting buttons.

There were many questions to address. Firstly, what were the buttons attached to? There was clearly electricity flowing to this room but it wasn't clear if the buttons led anywhere. There were no panels, not even holes in the wall that they fit into. Upon close observation, the buttons seemed to have grown organically right out of the wall.

This also begged the question if anything would happen if I pressed the buttons. As I stated before, I could see no discernible door of any kind. Of course this was going off of the assumption that by pressing the buttons, either a horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses would flood the room.

I hadn't considered that before and I sat down in the wicker chair which creaked under my weight. I blew the steam off of my tea and gently sipped as I contemplated the two buttons. Perhaps, I thought to myself, They transform you into a giant duck or a herd of miniature horses. I started thinking which I would prefer to be turned into if that is, in fact, what the buttons' functions were. I thought that I would be more of a single mind if I turned into the horse-sized duck but that is rather large for a duck. I wouldn't fit in with other ducks and I would frighten people. I'd probably get picked up by a circus or some kind of research lab and I wouldn't want that.

But conversely, what if I became one hundred duck-sized horses? Would I operate on a hive-mind mentality or would my consciousness be spread across equally over a hundred horses? The obvious benefit to being such a small horse is that no one could ride you unless they were a gnome or perhaps an unusually small dwarf. Is that what would become for me? Would I become the mounts for some small and yet terrifying fantasy army? Or would I be free to roam the plains, coming and going as I please? Perhaps I would be captured and my one hundred part consciousness would be spread thin as people began to take duck-sized horses as pets. "They're so cute!" I could hear the imaginary consumers now. "So tiny and they hardly make any mess and the kids just love 'em. Little Johnny likes to strap his action figures to ours. We call her Buttercup!"

I suddenly shot up from my chair. No, I thought. I would not let me and my tiny horse brethren to be shamed with such a title as Buttercup. Somethings are just too indecent to imagine. I stared at the buttons and realized that this postulating was useless without knowing for certain what effect pushing the button would have.

Maybe it was activated by touch. I could take the chair, press a button with one of the legs, and watch what happens to it. But if I was wrong and the effect of the buttons was not concerned with touch then I would be taking a large risk.

I paced back and forth for a while. I shouted aloud to see if anyone would respond. Only the droning of the lights called back to me. I sat back in the chair thinking that if I did nothing, something might happen. I sat there for as long as I could hold out until I bellowed a kind of battle cry, rushed from my seat, and pressed both buttons.

At first, nothing happened. I then saw a thin line appear in the wall to my left. The line began to grow in width and I realized the wall was creating a window in itself. Staring from the window and behind a sheet of glass was a very annoyed looking, very large duck and one hundred tiny horses. The room they stood in was dark and looked far too small to be holding that many animals. Some of the horses were stacked on top of each other, some stood on a small table in the center of the room, most milled about on the floor, anxiously weaving between the duck's massive legs.

The duck glared at me in a way that only duck's can glare and said, "Well, you're no fun."

Something clicked into place and the floor opened up to drop me back into my comfy couch where I had initially taken my first sip. I took another sip now and was pleased to find that it was still warm.

My couch now sat in what looked like some kind of submersible room deep in some ocean where alien fish flicked by my window, curious of their new neighbor. I am never certain where I will end up at the end of these excursions but at the very least, the room seemed comfortable and had a kettle, so that was convenient. I am not of a scientific mind but I hope that the chronicles of my inter-dimensional travels are making it to my "home" reality's internet and I hope that people better suited than I are researching the effects of double-bagging tea. Until that moment, I will continue my travels and I will continue to document them in the blind hope that someone might find them and read them and I will put the kettle on.

[double-bagging-adventures]

The Cat Warrior

Neko Senshi sat riverside with his mount panting nearby. The gentle water laughed like the tinkling of bells as the insects sang a chorus of summer heat. The river was a pale green and brown dragon with scales of stone that sparkled like their precious cousins in the sun. The current playfully tugged at a length of twine in the water like a cat and the water purred happily to itself.

The twine was tied to a fallen branch which Neko Senshi had found under the tree which he now slept. The wind danced through the leaves like and made Neko Senshi's ears and whiskers twitch. His mount, the mighty Inu, kept a watchful eye over her rider in silence and paid no mind to the gentle breeze running its fingers through her golden fields of fur.

It was yet another perfect day.

"How fortunate are we, Inu," said Neko Senshi, stirring from his sleep with no warning, causing Inu's tail to shoot up in anticipation. "To experience yet *another* perfect day?"

Inu said nothing but offered a quiet "boof" and crossed her paws.

Neko Senshi nodded in agreement and said, "I do believe each day is so perfect because we will it so. Do you not agree?"

Inu yawned.

"Take for today for example," Neko Senshi continued. "Is the sun not glorious today? Is the wind not gentle? Is the water not calming? No clouds in the sky save those three that keep circling us."

Inu looked skyward and saw what her partner had already described;three shapes were circling above them. They appeared to be birds. Inu began a low growl in her throat. Neko Senshi payed her no mind.

"I think you worry too much, noble Inu," and he fell back to sleep.

The three cranes that were circling up above slowly landed and observed Inu and Nek Senshi. But they did not see Neko. The way he was slumped against the tree, he looked like an empty suit of armor. The Arashi Brothers (for this is what the cranes were called) adjusted their wide brimmed hats and approached Inu who gave a bark of warning.

"Apologies!" said the first brother, whose name was Rai. "We did not mean to disturb you, noble warrior. We are such as your self, you see, and we seek another like us."

"How do you know she's a warrior?" asked the second brother, whose name was Ka.

"Don't be stupid!" Rai turned and hissed at his brother. "She must be! Otherwise, why would she have armor?"

"The armor under the tree?" asked the third brother, whose name was Ame. "I do believe it is too small for her, my brothers. Not to mention it is also breathing."

Rai, Ka, and Ame looked at the armor and saw that indeed it appeared to be breathing. The chest plate was slowly moving up and down as if the armor had a life of its own and was taking a nap.

"This is a haunted place!" cried Ka. "We must leave this place or be cursed forever!"

"Hush," scolded Rai. "I have no fear of death, let alone the dead. Ame, go and check it out."

Ame swallowed hard. He had never met a ghost and did not know what to expect. Also, the dog mount seemed completely and totally unamused by the Arashi Brothers. She growled quietly and kept eyes locked locked on Ame like a steel trap.

Tentatively, Ame reached out with his talon and prodded the armor. "S-sir Ghost?" he quivered. "Do you plan to curse us?"

Neko Senshi immediately shot awake with an inquisitive "mmrrow" and sent the Arashi Brothers into a feathery panic. It was an odd sight to process but especially when one has just awoken from a summer afternoon cat nap. "Inu," Neko Senshi said. "Who are our strange guests?"

Inu shrugged.

"Pardon me," said Neko Senshi to the Arashi Brothers. "But who are you and why do you run about so?"

"Ah ha!" Ka said. "It's not a ghost after all; just a cat!"

"I had suspected," said Rai, who hadn't.

"What do you think you are doing out here, cat?" demanded Ka. "Scaring the living daylights out of people just for laughs, eh?"

Neko Senshi blinked. "No," he said, smiling. "Just fishing."

"Fishing? Are you not on a quest?" asked Ame.

"I am on a quest for dinner," said Neko Senshi.

"Ah, forgive me," said Ame, bowing. "I took by your armor that you were a warrior."

"Oh but I am," said Neko Senshi, leaning back again, basking in the heat. "But even a warrior must eat."

"So you are a warrior!" said Rai with delight. "Then perhaps you can aid us!"

"I will do what I can," said Neko Senshi.

"We seek a warrior of great repute," explained Rai.

"One whose reputation spreads far across the land and sea," interjected Ka.

"They say this warrior cannot be beaten by mortal or gods!" said Ame, excitedly. "He moves as silently as a shadow, swift as a shooting star, and his aim is as sure as *death*!"

His brothers looked at Ame. "At least," Ame said, embarrassed. "That's what I had heard..."

"This warrior seems to have it all," said Neko Senshi. "But does he have a name?"

"But of course," said Rai. "They call him 'Neko Senshi'."

"They say all that about me?" Neko Senshi asked. "And here I thought I was just plain, old Neko Senshi."

"They say all that about him and more!" Ame bubbled. "He's so cool! They say he once took on an entire clay army with nothing but his bear paws! And this one time, Neko Senshi tricked a wicked kitsune by convincing him to swallow eight of his nine tails! That's why foxes today only have one-" Rai clamped a wing over his brother's beak.

"Wait," Rai said. "Did you say that *you* are Neko Senshi?"

"I did!" said Neko Senshi, helpfully. "And I did face an army of clay with my bare hands...but the clay soldiers were just that; mere clay. They put up no more of a fight than the clay in the river you see before you. And as for the wicked kitsune, I did meet a fox once who thought she was cleverer than I but she only had one tail when I knew her. Perhaps it's a story in reference to-"

"*You* are the great and terrible Neko Senshi?" Rai repeated, jaw ajar.

"Yes," said Neko Senshi, warily. "Unless there is another warrior named as such?"

"You are one of the most powerful warriors to have ever lived?" blustered Ka.

"Yes, I am."

"The one who faced the serpent queen of monsters, Oro, and lived?" asked Ame.

"Yes, I did. She's actually very nice once you get to know her."

"I don't believe it!" shouted Rai. "If you truly are the great Neko Senshi, why not fight me?"

"Why would I fight you?" asked Neko Senshi. "You are not my enemy."

Rai revealed a katana from under his wing. The blade glinted in the summer sun and cried for blood.

"There," said Rai. "Now I am your enemy. Draw your weapon 'oh great Neko Senshi' and strike me down!"

"I'm afraid I cannot," explained Neko Senshi. "For I have no weapon."

Rai glowered at Neko Senshi. "Do you expect me to believe that Neko Senshi, revered by mortals, honored by gods, hero of a thousand stories has *no* weapon?"

"I do expect you to believe that," said Neko Senshi, smiling. "For it is the truth."

"Then how did Neko Senshi win all of his battles? Tell me that!"

"I used my words rather than violence," Neko Senshi said simply.

"Words are cheap," Rai said, advancing on Neko Senshi. "Fight me."

Neko Senshi said, "You seem to know a great deal about me but I know nothing about you three. I don't even know your names."

Rai stopped in his tracks and flourished his wings. He said, "We are the Arashi Brothers! I am the mighty Rai! And these are my brothers Ka and Ame."

"Wait," said Neko Senshi in amazement. "Arashi? *The* Arashi Brothers?"

"You've heard of us?" said Ame, genuinely amazed.

"Who has not heard of the fury and glory of the Arashi Brothers?" said Neko Senshi. "People from all around talk of your great and heroic deeds!"

The brother began to ruffle their feathers and puff out their chests.'

"Yes," continued Neko Senshi. "I've heard people talk very highly of all of you. But *especially* of your brother Ka."

Rai and Ame whirred on their brother and all three expounded, "Ka??"

"Oh yes," Neko Senshi elaborated. "They say that of all three of the brothers, none is more handsome, strong, or virile."

"Well," Ka said, enjoying the attention. "This is, of course, quite true."

"Nonsense!" interjected Rai. "They're must be some mistake!"

"Yeah," Ame agreed. "They obviously meant me!"

"Yes," said Rai. "They obviously meant...you?? Why would anyone say that about you?"

Ka said, "Do you even know what virile means, Ame?"

"Of course I do!" yelled Ame, who didn't.

"No," Rai said. "If anyone is to be praised of the success of the Arashi Brothers, it is the indomitable Rai!"

"Oh please," said Ka. "You heard Neko Senshi. It is the vigorous Ka of whom the people speak!"

While the brothers bickered, Neko Senshi had gone to his fishing pole. He pulled it from the water and whacked Rai square on the head. Rai immediately faced Ame and snapped, "Coward! Hitting me while my back was turned, eh? Another move like that and both of you shall taste my steel!"

Neko Senshi looked at the hook and shook his head. "Alas, no dinner here." He lifted the pole to recast and gave Rai another solid smack. Neko Senshi heard a roar of displeasure and turned to see a flurry of feathers; the meadow filled with the shriek of metal on metal as the brothers fought for their imaginary honor. Neko Senshi chuckled at the absurdity of it all and realized that a place like this is no place to fish. He removed his pole from the water and calmly walked past the battle to Inu which he saddled and they began to trot away.

The sky yawned before them in an unmarred, crystalline blue abyss. The meadow was a crowd of yellows, oranges, and reds all dancing to the music the wind played. Insects fluttered about the mass of color speaking in the ancient and simple tongues they save for themselves and the cacophony of the familial spat was fading under the roaring silence of nature.

Neko Senshi had become pensive. "You know, Inu," he said. "People can behave so strangely."

Inu said nothing but offered a quiet "boof" and bounded through the world, taking them to their next story.

[double-bagging-adventures]

The Conjurers

Constable Parker did not much care for nonsense. He was a no-nonsense kind of police officer. He had little patience for concepts like reincarnation, inter-dimensional oneness, and universal love. Some days, he felt very impatient indeed. Today was such a day.

Standing in the middle of the square were a couple of old coots cavorting with the pigeons. Parker had seen this kind of thing before; old folks who kept losing their marbles and got tired of looking for them. Looked like a married couple too. Sad, sad, sad, thought Constable Parker as he hitched up his pants and walked over to the old man and old woman who were covered in birds, chanting and singing in spirited tones.

"What's all this then?" said Constable Parker with a complete and utter lack of appreciation for the cliche.

The old couple continued to dance and sing with the pigeons cooing and bobbing along to the tune. All parties concerned seemed perfectly content to keep on ignoring Constable Parker.

"Ahem," Constable Parker cleared his throat. "Beggin' your pardon but what is all this nonsense?"

"What's it look like?" said the man in the blinder cap. "It's nonsense!"

"Well I won't have it happening next to the pigeons," said Constable Parker. "So much dancing can't be good for 'em! So shove off!"

"Oh poo," said the woman in the hat with the large pheasant feather stuck into it. As she danced, the feather lightly smacked Constable Parker in the face which did nothing to improve his mood. "Dancing never hurt anyone," chirped the old woman. "Especially not pigeons."

"Then I'm afraid," said Constable Parker without even a hint of regret in his voice. "That you are both under arrest."

The couple stopped dancing to look at the police man. Then they looked at each other and burst into fits of laughter.

"Now stop that," said Constable Parker as he took out his cuffs. "I have no patience for this kind of thing. Now hold still so that I may cuff you."

"Cuff us with what?" laughed the old man. "With marshmallows?"

Constable Parker looked down into his hands where his cuffs had been replaced by exactly seven marshmallows. His mustache twitched and he threw the puffs of sugar to the ground in frustration and shock. The pigeons immediately began to peck away at them.

"Look, you," said Constable Parker, grabbing the old man by the lapels of his jacket. "I don't know who you think you are or how the hell you did that but if you think this is funny-"

"Oh, I really do," beamed the old man.

"Right!" yelled Constable Parker. "Come with me to the station right this moment or I'll...I'll do something drastic is what I'll do!"

"Constable Parker, please," said the old woman. "You're becoming unraveled. Have some tea."

Constable Parker was astounded to find that he was suddenly holding a cup of hot tea and a saucer. He dropped them both and they smashed upon the concrete. The tea, cup, and saucer then reformed and floated up to place itself neatly back into Constable Parker's shaking hands.

Constable Parker babbled, "W-what the hell are you two?"

The old man and the old woman seemed genuinely confused now, as if the answer was so obvious.

"Why," said the old woman. "We're the paradox."

"The first wizard and first witch," the old man continued. "The original alchemists."

"The moment when you laugh at something sad, the completely unique sameness of everything in the universe, the feeling of being crowded when your totally alone."

"Adam and Eve, God and Satan, the grey shades of morality."

"Song and silence, matter and void. We are the road to rebis; the ultimate oneness, the divine hermaphrodite. In short, we are the conjurers."

Constable Parker sipped his tea, afraid of denying the hospitality of people like this. "Well then," he said after he had collected himself enough to speak. "If you're all that then why are you here dancing with pigeons?"

"Why not?" the old woman asked, her face painted with pride.

"I honestly have no response to that," admitted Constable Parker.

"We wanted to experience this plane of existence one last time,"  explained the old man. "Before we step out."

"Out?" asked Constable Parker.

"Out." said the old woman. "There's a whole multiverse out there and we've been around this one for...oh, a few billion years and it's really been lovely but there's more to explore than just this, you know."

"There is?" blustered Constable Parker who was starting to feel very small and panicky.

"Oh my, yes," said the old man. "Well best be off. Take care of the pigeons for us, there's a good man."

Constable Parker didn't know what he expected; a flash of light, a puff of smoke, a large whoosh noise. It was nothing spectacular. The old woman and the old woman simply walked into each other, became a beautiful, genderless non-entity, smiled at Constable Parker, and then they weren't there.

Constable Parker sniffed and adjusted his uniform. He was glad there wasn't a large whoosh noise. Constable Parker simply had no patience for that kind of nonsense.

[double-bagging-adventures]

Shine

She felt as if her legs were possessed by a force greater than her own. The only thing she heard, the only thing she could allow herself to hear, was the sound of her own feet crunching into the snow and ice and the hammering of her heart in her ears. She heard the other noise but she didn't want to admit it; she didn't want to think about the mounting susurrus behind her swallowing up her footprints in the snow as fast as she could make them. She dare not look back at the void rising above her; a void so massive it seemed to devour the stars as it passed by.

Onward she ran, not stopping or staying an instant until her feet gave out underneath her. She fell to the ground under the frozen skeleton of a tree, fragile as glass, in a crumpled heap breathing heavily and her mouth full of fire and copper.

She dragged herself up using a branch for leverage and fell again when it snapped clean in her hands. Her teeth gritted together as her brain forced her legs to support her weight. She put her hands over her heart, flickering and fluttering, and pulled forward a blade; a sword made of pure moonstone. Pain came crashing down on her and her heart lurched at the effort of summoning the sword. The woman gasped but held steadfast and gripped the hilt for dear life.

She quieted her panting, ragged breathing and listened. Cold, ethereal silence. A branch snapping to her left. She tensed but did not move; not yet. She controlled her breathing and submerged herself in the icy quiet once more. Another branch, behind her this time. Almost, she thought. The slightest hiss of a breath by her right ear.

She whirred around and struck at the darkness with her moon blade. The shadowy figure screamed in protest and shook with fury with a cacophony of limbs. She felt hot breath on her neck and instinctively thrust her sword behind her. The shade wailed and clung to the woman. She winced and twisted the blade. Another shriek, weaker than before, and the beast went limp.

Before her foe could regroup, she took off sprinting once more. So close, she thought. I must be so close. Bursting from the icicle forest, she stood in a vast, empty plain; empty of everything but a dull, orange flicker in the difference. A wild bark of laughter escaped the woman's lips. She ran across the plains toward the last light in the world. The light was coming from the small dirty windows of a small shack sitting alone in the snow like a boat adrift at sea. The woman scrambled across the ice towards it, towards salvation, falling and crashing to ground but picking herself up and dragging herself to the cabin.

She flung herself on to the door. She could manage no more knocking than that. Her strength had left her. She slumped down and looked across the plains and saw the darkness bleeding across the sky towards her. In her footprints, she saw the bright rubies scattered on the ground. She looked down to see the blood oozing from her chest and stomach where the nightmare had gripped her. Strange, she thought. Why don't I feel anything...?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door behind was opened. She fell to the floor and swam through milky consciousness. The stars melted away and became wooden beams. There was another lady standing over the woman. She looks just like the one from my dream, thought the woman. The one standing over was a woman monk swathed entirely in white robes with not a hair on her head. A monk of the Highest Order of Sol.

The monk said nothing but immediately bolted the door began ripping pages from a poetry book, making a protective circle of words around her and the collapsed woman. The monk knelt down beside the wounded woman and pulled a leather pouch from her waist. The monk let the woman drink deeply from it.

"Gods save ye, sister," the monk said. "You can banish your self-sword now. You'll need your strength."

The woman laughed weakly, "Doesn't matter." But the sword turned to pure white cherry blossom petals in her hands. "Doesn't matter," repeated the bleeding woman. "I won't be joining you after all."

The monk nodded her head, tears beginning to fill her eyes. It felt strangely apposite to weep over the death of this woman whom the monk had never met save dreams even though she could not say why. What times are these, thought the monk. In which we weep over familiar strangers?

"The harmony of the sphere," said the woman, light beginning to fade from her eyes. "I've brought it for you. I went into the heart of darkness and brought back a song on my lips that the world might know warmth once more. It's...it's so warm in here. I think..." And the woman died.

The monk held the woman in her arms and kissed her lovingly. The song tingled on the monk's lips, aching to be sung. She went over to her modest table and picked up the solitary candle there. She blew the melody of the cosmos into the flame and it began to grow hot and white.

The door swung open wide and the darkness slithered into the cabin, dragging itself with an amalgamation of hands, hooves, and claws.

It spoke all around the monk, "Give us the girrlllll...we(hungry)neeeed herrr...let her(so hungry)become ussss...live foreverrr(more need more food)come with usss

"Take her," said the monk. She kicked away the protective circle and immediately felt guilty for it. The darkness poured over the woman's corpse. As the body slid into the ink abyss, the woman looked at the monk with pleading, dead eyes. Forgive me, thought the monk, unsure of whether she meant the woman or herself. Please forgive me.

As the shadow enveloped the woman, the monk ran to the table and picked up the flame in her bare hands and shoved it down her throat. Tears ran down her face as the living ball of fire fell into her core being. She threw open the windows and took flight as the long sleeves of her robe turned into wings.

"Sssstop(feed)herrr," whispered the void. "Nnnot time nooww...not yet tiiime"

The white bird raced towards the sky. Her white wings were soon burnt to a black char, then a flat red, and finally into a brilliant orange as she burst into flames. The darkness looked up towards the new sun with a sudden and horrible understanding thrust upon it. The first thoughts were of fear but then relief began to undulate through the shadow as the sun slowly burned it away. The ice on the plain had already began to melt and green was starting to spread.

[double-bagging-adventures]

Corner

"Is there a wizard on the plane?" asked the stewardess.

Every head immediately turned toward the back row to the gentlemen smoking a pipe, ignoring the "no smoking" light, and blowing smoke frogs that were jumping on smoke lily pads. He wore a cloak of swirling nebulae, galaxy clusters, and the occasional comet would run across the fabric. He carried with him a staff of ash that emanated a magic aura so obvious that even people with little to no imagination could see it. His big pointy hat (Which he had refused to put into the overhead storage. He said, "It's already in overhead storage. It's on my head, isn't it?") nearly reached the ceiling while sitting down. He seemed to not be listening and continued to sing to himself and rock gently in his seat:

"I once had a maiden so fair, So fair! So fair! She caught the sun in her hair, Her hair! Her hair! She had insurmountable class, Such class! Such class! Not to mention her big, round-"

"Excuse me, sir," the stewardess interrupted. "But are you a wizard?"

The wizard looked up at the young lady and blinked several times. He squinted his entire face. He then reached into his small canvas bag that he had kept at his side and removed from it two pine cones, a clump of dirt, a handful of leaves, a bumblebee, three stones that were inexplicably dripping wet, and a single dandelion which the wizard popped into his mouth. Eventually, he removed what the stewardess mistook for binoculars and then realized that they were spectacles. The wizard affixed the glasses to his face and turned back to the stewardess to blink some more.

"Ah, a young girl!" he said excitedly. "I'm sorry, my dear. I thought you were a bear. Do excuse me. I must use the toilet." He got to his feet and started to make his way to the back.

The stewardess gently took him by the arm and redirected him towards the front of the plane with the kind of patience that comes from dealing with difficult people at 40,000 feet. "Sir," she said calmly. "You are a wizard, aren't you?"

"Quite so!" the wizard said emphatically as he turned back around to the rear of the plane. "Quite so! Vald the Aware is my moniker! Nothing escapes me, so they say!"

"Well sir," said the stewardess, turning the wizard around to face the front once more. "They need you in the cockpit."

"Yes, of course!" said the wizard, slapping his head. "Yes, of course! Lead on, my love, lead on! I say, isn't the restroom the other way?"

"Yes," said the stewardess. "But the cockpit first, remember?"

"Yes, yes, yes," said the wizard, shaking his hand. "I'm in total control of the situation! No fear, no fear!"

Vald the Aware burst the door open with a blast of technicolor light which, as the stewardess pointed out, was pointless as the door was unlocked and now broken. "Steve," said the stewardess. "This is Vald the Aware. Mr. the Aware, this is Steve the Co-Pilot."

The man called Steve looked at the man with a growing incredulity.

"Holy shit," Steve said. "I was joking when I told you to go find a wizard."

The plane shuddered and in an instant, Steve was back at the controls, struggling to regain regularity.

"Alison," he said to the stewardess. "Be a dear and catch up Mr. the Aware, won't you?"

"I think he can glean as much as we can from just looking outside," said Alison as she gestured toward the window. The plane was currently flying through a fractal. It was full of colorful, rainbow vortexes that appeared to be made of a cloud-like substance and then would shimmer into a liquid-looking consistency and back again. Geometric shapes tiled the sky and the colors all seemed to bleed into each other. Nothing remained still and yet there was a chilling kind of stillness about the area in which they traveled. In a strange way, it almost looked fake because it was so real. Steve and Alison turned to Vald for his professional opinion. He was not paying any attention. He was busy trying to light his pipe.

"Um," Steve said, entirely unsure of what to do in this situation. "Thoughts, Mr. Wizard?"

"Have you got a light?" asked Vald.

"What? No!"

"Damn," said the wizard patting his robes. "How about you, my sweet?"

"This is a non-smoking flight, sir," said Alison automatically. She then remembered she did have a lighter after all. She told herself she was going to quit but after seeing what was out the window, it didn't seem to matter all that much. She handed the lighter to Vald and said, "Sorry but the flint is broken."

"No matter, my desire," said Vald, beaming with enthusiasm. "No matter, no matter!" He broke the plastic lighter in half between two fingers and began to pour the remainder of the fluid into one nostril. He pinched his nose and began to shake his head from side to side. Alison and Steve were now quite concerned. It had been an interesting day. Vald plugged one side of his nose and from his other nostril, he shot a jet of flame. He puffed happily on his pipe and Alison involuntarily clapped.

"Like that one, eh?" he said, one eyebrow raised. "Learned that one from a dragon. Well, goodbye."

As he turned to leave, Alison caught the sleeve of his robe.

"Wait!" she said. "You haven't helped with our...situation yet!"

"Situation?" Vald blustered. "There's a situation that needs sorting? Never fear, my passion! Vald the Aware shan't let you down! Now...ah, where is the situation?"

"The window, you lunatic!" Steve barked. "Look out the window!"

"By jove!" Vald shouted and rushed over to the window, hitting Steve in the face with one of his overly long sleeves. "You're right! This is very dire indeed! There is a hairline fracture on your window here!"

There was, in fact, a centimeter long crack on the glass. The wizard waved his hand and the crack sealed itself.

"It's a good thing I was here," Vald said, nodding, apparently agreeing with himself. "Yes, a damn good thing. That's not the kind of thing you want happening on a plane; gracious, no! Now if you'll both pardon me, I really do need to use the toilet-"

Steve reached up and grabbed the wizard by his beard. "Not that, you idiot! The swirling vortex-color-fractal thingie! What the hell do we do about that!"

The wizard blinked several times and moved his glasses slightly down his nose. "Oh, that?" he said. "That's nothing. Don't worry about that."

Vald tried to stand up but Steve's iron beard grip was strong.

"Explain," Steve growled.

Vald the Aware rolled his eyes. "Alright," he said. "But you won't like it. You're going to have to let me go."

Steve obliged and Vald stood upright. Vald then pointed directly at you. "See that there?" he asked.

Alison looked where he was pointing but could only see the roof of the cockpit. "I don't see anything," she said.

"I can't look," Steve explained. "I have to fly."

"No you don't," Vald said. "Trust me. Just come stand where I am and look right there. See them?"

Alison and Steve stood next to Vald and looked at you. Alison gasped and Steve's face fell.

"My god," Steve said. "What are they?"

"They're the readers," Vald explained cooly. "They've been watching the whole time?"

"Readers?" Alison said. "I don't understand."

"Well you see, my dear," Vald went on. "We are characters in what's called a 'short story'." He offered his pipe to Alison and she took it gladly and began puffing in short, stressed bursts.

"What the hell does that mean?" Steve flustered.

"It means exactly what I said. That out there," said Vald, gesturing towards outside. "Is a corner the writer as written herself or himself into. And it's a real doozy too, I must say. That's why I was written. I'm more of a plot device than a character, if I'm being totally honest."

"That can't be true," Steve said.

"Ah, yes. I suppose there's a perfectly rational explanation as to why a pterodactyl just flew by then. Hadn't either of you wondered why there was a co-pilot and no pilot?"

"No, no," Steve muttered. "There must have been a pilot at one point. Right, Alison?"

Alison shook her head, "I can't...I can't remember now."

"Exactly," said Vald. "The writer forgot to write one. Rather sloppy work, if I say so myself."

The three of them sat in silence a while.

Alison broke the silence, "What will happen to us when the story ends?"

"I'm not sure," said Vald, taking back the pipe and taking a long drag from it. "I suppose, unless the writer decides to use us again, we simply disappear. Such is the life of short story characters; not a terribly long existence, you know. Or perhaps we live on, in this one moment, forever as people read us again and again."

"How does it end?" Steve asked.

"That's up to the writer," said the wizard. "Judging by what I've seen so far, it won't be grand. The story will probably just come to an end with little to no resolution."

[double-bagging-adventures]

A Muse of Fire

"Spare change, luv?"

Oliver blinked at the woman who looked older beyond her years. She held up a hand that was covered in dirt, scratches, and scabs but not a single wrinkle. He could just barely see her face through the stringy, greasy hair that hung about her like a willow tree and, yes, she was in fact a young woman. He saw homeless people everyday on his walk to work but they were always old men; occasionally he saw women but in both cases, the people he saw had already had a long and trying life. By the looks of this girl, she must have only been 25.

But it was not her appearance which had made him stop. "What did you say to me?" he asked.

"Got any spare change, luvvy," the lady repeated herself.

"No," Oliver said. "Before that."

The girl looked up and squinted, smiling. "Oh, that," she said. "I used to be a muse."

"What do you mean by that?" Oliver asked. Oliver was not the kind of person to stop and talk to homeless people. He was not the kind of person to stop and talk to anyone on the street, especially a beautiful woman for she was truly gorgeous. He was an accountant; a nervous, thin kind of man who had grown up learning how to be afraid of things. For reasons Oliver could not fathom, this young lady captivated him in a way he could not resist speaking to her. It was an immovable compulsion, the likes of which he had never felt before nor ever would again. "What do you mean by 'muse'?" Oliver repeated himself.

The girl laughed to herself; a private laugh that was slightly manic, mostly melodic. "You don't believe me," she tittered. "No one ever does."

"I do believe you," Oliver lied. He didn't know why he said it; he just wanted her to continue.

That really made the lady laugh. She rocked back and forth like a child. "It's all so funny though!" she said, beaming at the man. "Don't you think?" Oliver did not smile; he was actually a little frightened now. The girl's face crumbled under his unsmiling face. "I thought it was funny," she mumbled to herself and then she laughed suddenly again. "And I thought Mel was the tragic one!"

"You said you were a muse," Oliver said, trying to wrangle the girl's scattered attention.

The girl looked at her with mock offense, "I am still a muse! One of the muses. I'll prove it! Do you want a story?"

Oliver nodded like it was the only thing he had ever wanted.

The girl's grin spread devilishly wide, "It will cost you."

"Anything," Oliver said and meant it.

"Got a light?"

Oliver fumbled in his jacket and found a lighter and a cigarette he was saving for his lunch break. He thrust the two offerings at the girl with a desperate eagerness. She laughed and it was calm, seductive, as she tossed the cigarette into the gutter. She flicked the lighter and put her finger to the flame. Oliver watched with rapt attention as the flame transferred from the lighter to balance on the tip of her finger. She opened her mouth and balanced the little flame on the tip of her tongue in an almost erotic fashion. She savored the fire as it danced down her throat, filling her to the brim and beyond, overflowing.

The rags she wore took on a silk-like quality, wavering and swirling around her like smoke. Oliver could no longer tell if his eyes were watering from the brightness or if he wept but it was all the same. Her lips brushed his ear ever so slightly as she whispered to him the story. It was beautiful. It was tragic. It was funny.

Oliver became a celebrity in the medical world. No doctor had ever seen a case quite like it. Oliver even got his own soundproof room that had been built special for him. The only time his laughter ever ceased was in his sleep and even then, he chuckled softly. No one knew why he laughed. The only other person who understood the joke was Euterpe, a muse turned homeless girl, dancing through alleyways, occasionally asking for spare change because she liked the way the coins glittered, laughing quietly to herself at the eternal, cosmic jest.

[double-bagging-adventures]

How Tiger and Fox Discovered the Origin of All That Is

It was a lazy, thoughtful kind of day in the Forest. Tiger draped himself on a tree branch as Fox snoozed quietly on his back. Eventually Fox began to stir and he asked, "Tiger?"

"Yes, Fox," Tiger mumbled in reply.

"I've just had a thought," Fox declared.

"Stop having it," Tiger suggested. "And continue your nap."

"But I simply can't," Fox said. "I can't stop thinking the thought."

Tiger growled lightly, "If it will put you at ease, tell me your thought."

"Where did we come from? Where did the Forest come from? Who or what created all that is?"

Tiger had to think about this for a moment. "What do you think?" he said, after a moment's pause.

"My mother once told me," Fox explained. "That the world around us is actually just the dream of an animal far greater than any of us and one day, the animal shall awaken and that is when the world will end."

"Interesting," Tiger said. "But that is wrong. The way the world came about, as my father told me, was the Great Tigers of the sky, who bring the lightning and thunder as well, ran across the heavens and they rained down their prayers and each prayer became an animal. Then they began to laugh, which shook the earth and created the mountains. Finally, they began to weep, and created the oceans and the forests. That is how the world came about."

"Not so!" Fox interjected. "Life is a dream, I say!"

"You dare to call me a liar?" Tiger blustered.

"I do!" Fox said. "I will go ask all the other animals of the Forest and we will see who is correct!"

"I will do so also," Tiger sneered. "And you will see that I am right!"

And so, the two friends went separate ways. First, Fox came upon wise Owl and asked him where the world came from.

"Simple," said Owl. "We are merely the dancing shadows from the Moon. On the Moon, the True Animals live and dance forever and cast their shadows upon the earth. The shadows soon became entranced by the music and the dance and took on life. That is where life arose."

Fox said, "You are very learned in such things but if that's true, where did the True Animals come from?"

Owl ruffled his feathers and turned his head away from Fox, saying, "That is not known."

Tiger came upon Elephant who was very old and could remember a great many things.

"My great grandfather was the first Elephant to be," Elephant said in a slow, purposeful way. "And he remembered how life came to be, and the story now lives with me. The world was once a mighty egg. The Cosmic Bird mistook it for her own and began to love it and nurture it. When it hatched into the world we know today, she was so shocked, she became the Sun. She watches over us to this day."

"Yes," Tiger said reluctantly. "But what of the Great Tigers of the sky that bring the thunder and lightning? Aren't they responsible for life?"

"No, that is incorrect," Elephant said patiently. "Thunder and lightning are caused by the Mighty Elephants stampeding across the heavens. Everyone knows that."

Fox and Tiger continued their search for answers but everywhere found more questions. It seems every animal in the Forest had a different story to tell. "The Great Whale swallowed a chunk of dirt and when it regurgitated the chunk, the earth had formed," said Trout. "All animals are seeds planted by the Grandmother Heron," explained Raven. "The world around us came into being because it felt like it," offered Bear. Eventually, they asked ever animal in the Forest but no two stories were the same; everyone had a different and unique belief.

Night fell and Tiger and Fox came back to rest under the tree, both of them very confused, tired, and discouraged.

"Did you find any of the answers you sought?" Fox said.

"No," Tiger muttered. "No one shared my view of life. But neither did they share your view. Which one of us is right?"

"Perhaps we all are right," Fox offered. "Perhaps every story, in it's own fashion, is right."

"They can't all be right and different," Tiger pointed out.

"Then maybe they are all wrong at the same time," Fox said.

"Can such a thing be?" Tiger asked.

"There have been stranger things. But does my belief in the Dreaming Animal cause you undue distress, my friend?"

"Not really," Tiger admitted. "Do my Great Tigers in the sky effect your day to day existence?"

"Not truthfully," Fox said. "Maybe both of us are wrong, maybe both of us are right. But I don't think it really matters in the end."

"I think I can agree with that," Tiger said. "Let us go to sleep."

So Tiger draped himself lazily on a branch while Fox quietly snoozed on his back, both of them well pleased and satisfied with their own beliefs.

[double-bagging-adventures]

Memoriam

The market place was a living thing of sound and motion, where nothing could be still, even for a moment. The young man found the Memory Seller sitting in the dirt in a corner of the market place, covered in what was now more rag than cloak and a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low. Next to him was a very worn canvas bag that hung loosely around his shoulder. The young man stood before him, arms akimbo, legs far apart, with the kind of bravado that only youth brings. The young man was dressed in very expensive looking things and everything about the way he carried himself implied that he was all too aware of this fact.

"Are you the wizard that sells the memory charms?" the man asked.

The Memory Seller looked up and squinted at the boy. He had an old face; his reddish brown skin that was the color of fresh clay was wrinkled and well-used but his features were still strong and solid looking. He did not attempt to stand or greet the boy in any way. He simply said, "I am no wizard, boy. You'll find no charms from me. I only sell memories."

The boy laughed. "My mistake, sir," he said, adding a slight sarcastic tinge to the last word. "But you are the one they speak of then?"

The Memory Seller shrugged and said, "I was not aware that 'they' speak of me."

"My friends speak of a crazy old man," the young man elaborated. "Who claims to be a seller of memories. And so, as a lark, they have dared me to come and find this madman and buy a memory from him so that I may come back and show them all. I saw you and naturally assumed you must be the madman."

The Memory Seller stared the boy down. "Mad I may be," he said thoughtfully. "No more mad than you, I'd reckon."

At this, the Memory Seller smiled. The young man frowned. "Honestly," he said in an offended tone. "Is that any way to treat a customer?"

"My apologies, sir," and it was the Memory Seller's turn for sarcasm. "What can I interest you in today?"

The young man was caught off guard. "Well, I hadn't thought of that," he said, thinking. "What kind of memories do you sell?"

"All kinds," the Memory Seller explained. "Memories long forgotten, memories cherished, memories that have not yet become, false memories, happy memories, sad memories-"

The young man interrupted, "Who on earth would want a sad memory?"

"Sometimes," the Memory Seller explained with patience. "The sad memories are the ones that makes us happiest."

The young man scoffed, "Well, that doesn't make any sense!"

"Once," the Memory Seller went on. "A woman came to me who had lost her son in a war. She begged for me to use my sorcery to bring back her brave soldier but I told her that I had no sorcery to give, only memories. So instead, I gave her a very old memory of her boy when he still was just a boy. It was her son playing soldier, with a stick for a sword, fending off the other, bigger boys. Every time a stick struck, the swords would ring and clash in their minds. Then, it was still a game to them. They laughed and ran through the meadow, making dragons out of every shadow and rescuing imaginary maidens."

The young man had gone silent. The cacophony of the market surged all around them but to him it was no more than a faint susurrus of sound. He sat down in the dirt opposite the man, quite forgetting what it would do to his fine coat. He did not quite know why he listened to the Memory Seller like he did; it seemed that when the old man spoke, one must listen.

"What happened then?" the boy said.

The Memory Seller reached into his bag and withdrew a simple wooden pipe, hand carved by the looks of it. He knocked it against the side of a brick wall and began to load the bowl with fresh tobacco.

"The woman wept," the Memory Seller went on. "She cursed my name and called me a demon. She left the market place as fast as she could run, saying she would smash the memory to pieces."

The Memory Seller dug around in his bag.

"Say, lad," he said to the young man. "Have you any matches?"

"Oh," said the young man and he patted his waistcoat. Eventually, he found an old box of matches. He opened it up and said to the Memory Seller, "You're lucky, I still have one left."

The Memory Seller took it gratefully. "I must be," he agreed. He lit his pipe and continued, "The woman came back in a few days time. Still weeping was she but these were not the bitter tears of loss; these were the happiness and the sadness tears mixed together. She thanked me for bringing her back her boy to her. She had every intention of destroying the small memory but she couldn't."

"Why not?" the young man asked. "I would if something caused me that much pain."

The Memory Seller blew out a steady stream of blue-white smoke. "Perhaps you would," he said. "Perhaps you wouldn't. She didn't though; told me that to throw it away would be like losing her baby boy all over again."

The Memory Seller puffed away and the young boy looked at him eagerly.

"Is that it?" he asked.

The Memory Seller nodded, "That's it."

"But you didn't really bring him back," the young boy said, trying to understand and sounding disappointed. "You just gave her a memory. Surely, that would be worse?"

The old man nodded again, "Sometimes a memory's all we have. Boy, have you decided what memory you want today?"

The young man shook his head. The Memory Seller stuck his pipe into his mouth and began to rummage in his bag once more. Eventually, he drew out a black glass orb, no bigger than an orange. He handed it gingerly to the young man who looked deep into it. At first, nothing happened but soon an image began to bleed into focus. The young man could see the Memory Seller and a brash looking boy standing in front of him. He heard a voice that he knew must be coming from the orb but sounded as if it came from within his own head. Faintly, he heard "Are you the wizard that sells the memory charms?"

"Take that back to your chums," the Memory Seller said. "Perhaps they may learn something, and you as well. Then again, perhaps you won't."

[double-bagging-adventures]

Bibliophobia

The book sat in the middle of the room where Luna had dropped it. It had kicked up a cloud of dust when it fell and the dust now danced within a moonbeam that had leaked through the cottage window. She pushed herself against the back wall so aggresively that it seemed that she might push herself through it. She stared at the book, her face a wash of fear, shock, and accusation.

Weakly, she said, "W-what did you say?"

"I used to be a human, you know," the book repeated itself as casually as before.

Luna had not been prepared for this. She had known that witches are crafty and leave all kinds of magical whatnots just lying around their homes but she hadn't expected this. Honestly, she didn't know what to expect. She had never tried to rob a witch before. She had thought that because the witch was dead, her magics would have died with her. Clearly, this was not the case.

The cottage had been quiet when she entered. Nothing moved. Luna had hardly dared to breathe in that silent gloom. She could see the outline of the witch on the bed. She must have gone in her sleep, Luna had reckoned. Still, she crept in. Luna was not one to trifle with a witch, even a dead one. She did not think robbing her would be a trifle. After all, the witch didn't need any of her things anymore. That was before the book had spoken. Now she wished to leave with all speed.

She reached behind her, slowly, and frantically jiggled the knob. It would not turn.

"I don't mean to be rude," said the book. "But could you at least put me back on the shelf if you're not going to read me?"

A little panicked squeak came out of Luna and she said, "I'd really rather not pick you up again."

"Why not?" asked the book. "Sticks and stones can break your bones, love, but words can't hurt you!"

The book flipped its pages wildly as it shook on the floor with raucous laughter. It laughed for so long, it started to cough additional plumes of dust into the room. "Begging your pardon, miss," the book apologized. "It's been ages since anyone's dusted us."

"Probably because the witch died?" Luna offered.

"Saw that, yeah," the book sniffed. "D'you do it?"

"No!" Luna interjected. "I'm a thief, not a murderer! Killing isn't morally right!"

"I see, I see, and stealing from dead old ladies, is?"

"Well that isn't strictly right either but it's slightly better than killing old ladies!"

"Fair enough, love. Do you think you could get over your bibliophobia and get me off this dirty floor?"

Luna edged towards the book very slowly with one hand on her drake tooth dagger. She's not sure what good it would do against a book but she felt better for it. She picked the book up gingerly, careful not to put her fingers between the pages lest it bit her. The cover had beautiful gilded words on the front which read, "The Case of the Loud-Mouthed Comedian".

"Quite a title, eh?" the book said. "Some witches have no sense of humor."

"What happened to you?" asked Luna.

"I used to be a jester, in my prime," said the book. "That was, of course, until I made the wrong joke at the wrong duchess or duke or something or other and I was sentenced to death. Thing is, the baroness I worked for had a soft spot for me so she helps me to escape. Now, you understand, a jester isn't much good for anything but telling jokes so I became a beggar, telling amusing stories for a few coins and one day, this witch comes hobbling along. I followed after her, telling her all of my best quips and anecdotes but to no avail. At one point, it stopped being about the money. I really just wanted her to smile, at least once. Then I told her the one about the wizard, the witch, and the rabbi in the bath. Well, she didn't find that terribly amusing and I woke up on the shelf like the rest of them."

"Rest of them?" Luna asked.

"All of them on the shelf there," the book explained.

Luna slowly turned to the shelf. To her horror, the books were moving; squirming on the shelves like worms in a grave. One fell off the shelf and in a droll, regal tone said, "I was once the son of a powerful man until-". Another book toppled out of place onto the floor and in a mournful plea, it moaned, "I had found true love, but his heart was never to be mine. For you see-". And so it went. The books were practically leaping off the shelf now in a mad attempt to tell their story; hungry for listening ears and rapt attention. The voices of the books became an unbearable cacophony of people dying to be heard.

Luna back away in horror, the first book straining in her grip. It shouted, "I've got lots of other great stories! Lots of jokes too! Oh please, just don't leave me in there! Take me with you!"

Luna recoiled from the book as if it had just turned into something disgusting and tossed it through a window. She made a mad dash and sprang through the newly made hole and landed on the grass in a competent roll. She didn't hesitate for a moment but jumped to her feet and dashed into the woods and didn't plan to stop until she had hit the nearest tavern. She'd be damned if there would be a book on that shelf titled "The Thief Who Was Clearly Over Her Head".

The book sat on the grass, covered in glass shards. "Shit," the book muttered to no one in particular. "So close. At least I'm out of the house."

A rabbit ventured close and took a test nibble out of the corner of the book.

"Oy, mate," said the book. "Ever heard the one about the witch, the wizard, and rabbi?"

[double-bagging-adventures]

The Fearsome Five Strike Back!

"Remember, people," said Multiplex, the 3-D Man. "There is no 'i' in 'team' but there is an 'i' in 'evil'!"

The colorful cabaret of clowns and crooks stared at him blankly. Nervously, Multiplex switched on his red and green 3-D projector glasses and created a three dimensional hologram of himself standing by a table of coffee, styrofoam cups, oreos, and paper napkins.

"Uh, ok," said Multiplex, doing his best ventriloquism on the hologram which, considering how long he had been in the supervillain business, was really lousy. "We're going to take a quick ten minute break and we're going to meet back here and go through some trust building exercises! Go team!"

The was a scraping of chairs as villains of all sizes and colors, mainly shades of purple and green, got up to take advantage of the mediocre snacks. Pyrorella sat with her head in her hands.

"This is so totally embarrassing," she moaned into her red and orange gloves, staring down at her glass slippers. "This is such a loser convention."

"Oh, I don't know," said Smarty Pants, clearly not very confident in his own statement. "They're not all losers..."

"Really," said Pyrorella. "Multiplex, the guy who was an abject failure even in the 80's when 3-D glasses were actualy a thing who hasn't changed his image in over twenty years isn't a loser?"

Smarty Pants shifted uncomfortably in his metal, intelligence enhancing trousers. He looked at Multiplex, a 40 year old man in a leather jacket and sporting a drooping mohawk. Multiplex caught Smarty Pants staring and gave him the "finger-guns".

"Well," he said, waving weakly. "Yeah, Multiplex has always been kind of a loser. But we're here to learn, not judge how stupid someone's aesthetic might be."

"I hate to be a party pooper," said the Merchant of Menace, Shakespearean actor gone rogue. "But Pyrorella is right. This sucks. Not to burst your bubble or anything, sweet pea, but the only thing we're going to learn here is how not to be a villain."

"Um, guys?" said Gamma Ray. "I don't want to interrupt or anything but...I've been thinking." He coughed awkwardly and continued, "I may just be a reanimated, irradiated skeleton in a space suit but I don't really feel like running with this team has gotten me any closer to exacting my revenge on the NASA scientists who...made me what I am today."

"Oh sweetie," said the Merchant of Menace, not unkindly. "That was your fault. You put your spacesuit on wrong!"

"Nevertheless," Gamma Ray continued, standing up from his folding chair. "I feel like this alliance has run its usefulness."

"But you can't leave us!" Smarty Pants pleaded, scrambling to take a hold of Gamma Ray's suit. "You're the heavy hitter! Every team has got one! Take a look around; why there's the Brick, the Ton, Abnormally Large Edgar! Besides, we're the Fearsome Five!"

"You could still be the Fearsome Four," Pyrorella pointed out.

"That name was already taken," said Smarty Pants dismally. "By that renegade group of supers from Canada, remember?"

"Actually," said Dr. Val Lucy Raptor, cloning expert, paleontologist, and mad scientist extraordinaire. "While we're on the topic, I've been thinking about leaving too."

"What? Why!" demanded Smarty Pants, beginning to panic.

"I don't really feel like a super villain. I only started robbing banks with my cloned, highly trained dinosaurs because they cut my funding. Honestly, it's kind of degrading to my whole profession."

"But what about the costume?!"

"You mean this gaudy lab coat covered in scales and feathers? I thought this was some kind of bizarre punishment..."

Smarty Pants began rocking back and forth in his seat. "Can you at least," he muttered hysterically. "Stay until the seminar is over?"

Dr. Val Lucy Raptor and Gamma Ray nodded assent and took their seats.

"This blows," announced the Merchant of Menace. "Come on, Pyrorella. I need a smoke."

They headed for the auditorium exit as Smarty Pants yelled after them, "Please come back afterwards!"

"Not quite so easy holding together an evil organization, is it?" intoned a raspy voice from behind Smarty Pants.

He whirred around and, little to his surprise but much to his dismay, there stood Dr. Plague, his old boss.

"Oh hello, Dr. Plague," Smarty Pants muttered through clenched teeth.

"Honestly, #617," said Dr. Plague, adorned in a black cloak and glaring behind a renaissance plague mask. "This kind of thing is beneath even you."

"No, it isn't!" shouted Smarty Pants. "And don't call me that! That's my henchman name!"

Dr. Plague made a noise that sounded like rat bones being ground together which could have been laughter. He said, "You act is if I treated you so poorly, #616."

"So why are you here?" Smarty Pants said, trying to look in charge of things that he clearly had no control over. "Come to ask me back?"

"Of course not," Dr. Plague said, waving the question away. "We have a 'shoot on sight' protocol to keep you off the grounds. No, I'm the guest speaker in the 'What it Takes to be Truly Evil' class. I just popped in here to see there's any fresh meat. To be honest, I've had my eye on you're little fire caster there."

Smarty Pants' heart sunk. Tentatively, he said, "Pyrorella? You're thinking of making her a henchman?"

"Actually," Dr. Plague said. "I was considering her as a sidekick."

All the telepaths in the room winced in unison at the sound of Smarty Pants' internal screaming. All he said though was, "Oh. Well."

"I really can't stay," said Dr. Plague pulling an hourglass from within his onyx robes. "I'll be late for the class. It was...interesting seeing you again, #617. It is truly heartening to see that you're dreams really haven't gone anywhere."

Like a wisp of smoke, Dr. Plague pulled his cloak around him and left the sorry looking auditorium. The Merchant of Menace and Pyrorella came strolling back to the group.

"How's it going, boss?" asked the Merchant of Menace.

"I feel like I'm dying," replied Smarty Pants.

"Ah good; same old, same old," said the Merchant, wryly.

Multiplex took the stage again and clapped his hands, "Ok people! We're going to be doing trust falls now! How about we start with Pyrorella and...Squid Boy!"

Pyrorella headed for the stage opposite what could pass for a normal teenager had he not had tentacles for limbs.

"Drop me," Pyrorella said to Squid Boy as they mounted the stage. "And I'll light you on fire."

"Oh, I can't watch," said Smarty Pants as he ran from the auditorium. He ran onto the front steps of the Adult Learning Center and fell in one mechanical heap, burying his face into his hands. After a while, he heard the door open behind him. The Merchant of Menace sat down beside Smarty Pants and put a reassuring hand on his back.

He said, "Wanna talk about it, big cat?"

The words came flowing out of Smarty Pants all at once, "I just ran into my old boss and he makes me feel like such a complete and total loser and sometimes I feel like he was right when he said I should never have tried to strike out on my own because our team is a joke and we always get our asses handed to us because none of us can work together and I dragged you all to this loser convention because I thought it would be a good idea but it wasn't and sometimes I think that these intelligence enhancing trousers don't even work and I'm just SUPER STRESSED ABOUT IT."

The Merchant of Menace blinked. "Well," he said. "That was one hell of a run-on sentence there, sweet pea. What do you mean our team is a joke?"

Smarty Pants sniffed, "None of get along and I feel like it's all my fault. We can't cooperate and that falls on me because I'm team leader! What are you laughing about? It's not funny!"

"Oh, you were serious," said the Merchant of Menace, still grinning. "Honey, we don't get along together because we're super villains. Here, blow your nose."

Smarty Pants took the extravagant silk from the Merchant of Menace and honked. "Thank you," he said weakly. "But other super villain teams get along! Just look at the Legion of Unjustness."

"When was the last time they won a fight?"

"Well...never, but still. Just look at them. They're so powerful, and menacing, and stuff."

"Mhmm," said the Merchant of Menace throwing the silk into a nearby trashcan. "And when they go into action, the whole team falls apart. Villains look after themselves, Smarty Pants; it's just a fact of life. Look, super heroes do what they do because they think they owe it to mankind for some reason. But we all chose this path for our own personal reasons: revenge, money, power, or maybe just to prove we're worth something. I think that's far more realistic to human nature in the long run. Point is, we do the best with what we've got. The heroes may hit harder than we do but we never stay down for long."

Smarty Pants rubbed his eyes. "That actually makes me feel better," he said. "Hey, why did you become a super villain anyway?"

"Hm? Oh! I just did it for the hell of it! Plus, I like the costumes."

"So," said Smarty Pants, looking at the parking lot full of gliders, battle pods, and sinister looking star ships. "Now what?"

"Well," said Merchant of Menace. "Do you want to show these losers what real villains can do? Then let's burn this adult learning center to the ground."

Smarty Pants stood up slowly, the anxiety that once filled his eyes replaced with a cold purpose. He pressed a panel on his wrist and the small laser cannon revealed itself.

"On your mark, sir?" said the Merchant of Menace.

Smarty Pants smiled and kicked open the doors. Everyone stopped and stared as he strode back into the auditorium. Gamma Ray looked at his leader and looked impressed; as much as a skull can look impressed. He saw the cannon and understood. Radiation began to build in his suit. Dr. Val Lucy Raptor was also enamored by Smarty Pants' new attitude. For the first time in her criminal career, she felt vaguely proud of it. She started to put on the special steel claws that Smarty Pants had designed for her. Pyrorella glanced up from the stage where she had just caught Squid Boy and saw her teammates; felt the electricity in the air. A slow grin spread across her face, her body already starting to ignite, and the smell of calamari was starting to fill the room.

[double-bagging-adventures]

Fishbowl

"What am I looking at here exactly?" asked General Donovan.

"Well," said Dr. Summers rather hesitantly. "It's something that shouldn't exist."

General Donovan looked into the goldfish bowl discerningly. He chewed on his cigar irritably and took a long deep breath. As he sighed, a great plume of dragon smoke curled out of the general's mouth and nostrils.

"Now what the hell does that mean," he said, without a tract of tact.

Dr. Summers bit her pen uncomfortably. What had happened was impossible to explain and even harder to comprehend herself. The responsibility of explaining what happened to General Donovan had fallen on her as she was one of the few scientists still standing and not baffled into a semi-comatose state. Her hair was frazzled and she had deep rings under her eyes. She hadn't slept in days; not since the discovery.

She coughed awkwardly, "Well, General...it's something that truly has no right in existing, at least not in our universe, and yet goes right on doing it anyway."

The military man glanced from the frazzled scientist to the goldfish bowl.

"You mean to say," Donovan said, letting out another swirl of smoke. "Is that thing over there," he gestured to the goldfish bowl. "Shouldn't be here?"

"Correct," said Dr. Summers.

"But it is here?"

"That's also correct."

The general took his hat to reveal an impressively radiant bald spot which he now rubbed in confusion.

"Well," he said, losing patience by the minute for all this quantum whos-a-whats-it nonsense. "Why is it here then?"

"We don't know!" Dr. Summers almost half screamed.

General Donovan leaned over and took a good look into the goldfish bowl.

"This may be a stupid question," Donovan started. "But what is it?"

Dr. Summers sighed deeply and tried to be brave.

"It's our universe, sir," she said in a dread monotone.

General Donovan looked at her and frowned. "That ain't our universe," he snapped and pointed to the ground. "This here is our universe. The universe is really big, right?"

Dr. Summers solemnly nodded her head.

"Right," General Donovan growled. "And that fishbowl there is small, yeah? It doesn't take one of you eggheads to figure out this one, now does it?"

Dr. Summers said nothing. She gravely adjusted the high powered microscope and switched it on with a low, electric hum as the machine came to life. She sat down at a desk and began typing things into a keyboard. Soon, up on a large monitor, Dr. Summers and General Donovan could see into the fishbowl. There was, undeniably a black void filled with stars found there. Dr. Summers began to increase the magnification and as she did, galaxies and nebulae began to zoom past. General Donovan could see planets and comets and asteroids and he was deciding he didn't like this at all very much.

Before long, he saw an all-too-familiar blue, green, and white picture displayed on the screen with familiar continents and a familiar atmosphere. The picture continued to zoom in until General Donovan saw a very unfamiliar structure. It looked like a large, white rectangular thing. He was about to inquire when Dr. Summer stood up and walked to the door as if in a trance. She walked a few feet outside and looked directly up. She began to wave. General Donovan looked back to the screen in horror as a tiny figure outside of the rectangular form was standing and looking directly up, waving.

Dr. Summers came back in and, thankfully, turned off the microscope and the image on the monitor blipped back into nonexistence. Beads of sweat were tearing down the general's face.

"How did this happen?" he asked, his normally boisterous bluster of a voice now brought down to nearly a whisper.

Dr. Summer stared blankly at a wall and shrugged her shoulders. "We don't know yet," she said. "About a week ago the fish died and nobody bothered to dispose of the body. Last night, we found this."

General Donovan glanced at Dr. Summers. "Fish?" he asked.

"Copernicus," Dr. Summers she explained. "He was a beta fish. You know, one of those fish that fight other fish to the death. He was like an office pet, I guess."

"Yeah," Donovan said. "But how-"

"We don't know," Dr. Summers interrupted, putting her face into her hands. "We don't know."

General Donovan took one last look at the fishbowl and snorted.

"Very well," he said, brusquely. "Call us if there are any developments."

He made his way for the door but was stopped short by a frantic looking Dr. Summers clutching his arm.

"Wait!" she hissed. "What do we do about...that?"

General Donovan shrugged.

"Honestly?" he asked. "I'd put that thing in a closet and try not to think about it. Seems like that's how most people go about their daily lives, if you ask me. Just don't drop it, ok?"

[double-bagging-adventures]

Blueberry

I double bagged it today and was enveloped by a heavenly glow. I began to worry as I thought that I might have died yet again but was soon relieved as I began to rise out of my ceiling towards a mammoth sized starship. Thank goodness, I thought to myself. Dying was becoming a little tiresome.

I found myself in a gigantic room with titanic alien machines emanating a strange, crackling energy. I began looking around, casually sipping at my tea when a beautiful, slender woman with onyx hair that nearly reached the ground approached me. She must have been nearly 20 feet tall.

“Greetings, traveler,” she said to me in booming, yet comforting tones.

“Hi,” I replied.

“Do you know why you have been brought here?”

I sipped at my tea and said, “Not a clue.”

She smiled at me then and reached out a hand to touch my face. Her fingers were long, almost tendril like things that gently brushed my face. I was shocked by how something that someone so massive could be so tender.

“Such an amusing, creature,” she crooned. “Come. It’s nearly time to begin.”

I was led into a dining room with a table the size of a football field. Sitting at the table was a caravan of alien creatures of every size and every sort. There was what appeared to be a 1960’s type cosmonaut who instead of a face had only a large, floating eyeball. There was a cloud of gas who was entertaining itself by floating in and out of a champagne flute. There was a rather boisterously dressed man with two heads that were simultaneously flirting with two women on either side. Truly a man after my own heart.

There was a woman with chameleon hands and eyes who was having a spirited conversation with a sentient Ikea bookshelf; at least that’s what it looked like. There was a dinosaur type creature who was busying itself by eating the guest next to it. There was a floating nervous system covered in neon, rainbow clouds. She was currently making small talk with a skeleton enveloped in black smoke next to her.

There were tentacles, tendrils, eye stalks, claws, slime, haze, floating prisms, and too many other creatures to count. The tall woman led me to a seat. On one side, a woman made entirely out of stones and on the other a sharply dressed creature in a suit with no head except for a floating balloon with a smily face drawn on. The balloon man poured me a glass of wine. I reached for the glass but stopped short when the wine in the glass jumped from the glass and began to crawl away on the table, leaving wine stains wherever it went.

I looked up at the balloon’s ever-smiling face and said, “You win some, you lose some.”

This seemed to amuse the creature. Or at least I think it did; it was hard to tell as the smiling face never actually changed. The rock woman scoffed at me and sipped at her own wine with vigor.

The tall woman took a place at the head of the table. She spoke in soothing tones that reached all across the table. She was clearly several yards away from me but something about her voice carried across the table so that it appeared as if she was speaking right in front of you.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everything in between,” she began. “I have brought you here from the far reaches of the galaxy for one reason.”

She raised a glass filled with pure energy and smiled. It was the single-most enigmatic, entrancing, enchanting smile I have ever experience in my life. I think she must have noticed this because, although I was far away, I swear that she looked right at me.

She said, “A dinner party.”

All of the doors were thrown open and thousands of androids began to spill out. All of them had tire treads and adorable, dapper bow ties. They carried out dishes covered with silver covers. They all took a position behind a guest and waited. It made me vaguely uncomfortable to have a waiter automaton standing so closely behind with cold, electronic eyes. I wondered if they ever got breaks.

The tall woman snapped her fingers and the sound echoed through the entire dining hall. As one unit, the waiters leaned forward and removed the dishes revealing meals of every kind. The rock woman next to me had a bowl of sand with a spoon sticking out of it. The balloon man on the other side was served a canister of what I swear looked like helium. Several meals immediately tried to get up and run for their lives. None of them made it very far.

Sitting in front of me, much to my disappointment, was a hamburger. Mind you, it was a perfectly fine looking burger. It smelled absolutely delicious as well. I was just vaguely offended that the meal that represented my entire race according to whatever information our host had been fed was the ever classic hamburger sandwich. However, though I hate to admit this, it was an utterly delectable meal. Seared to perfection in every way, just the right amount of mustard, and naturally, no onions. No Earth food has ever quite tasted the same.

After the meal, there were several courses. Soups, salads, deserts, and several other courses I was not even aware existed. My neighbors were not terribly interesting, unfortunately. The balloon man could only speak in various squeaks and the rock woman informed me that she did not waste time by speaking to weaker lifeforms which I thought was rather rude. Rather than picking an argument with a woman whom I had, moments before, watched crush pieces of coal into diamonds with her bare hands, I decided to excuse myself.

I walked through the large double doors near the back of the dining hall and eventually found my way to what must of been an observation deck. As I walked out there, I noticed a few of the waiter androids leaning against the wall and smoking cigarettes. They did not seem to mind me.

I looked up into the unending void; into constellations that were completely unfamiliar to me. I noticed a spiral galaxy and sighed deeply. I wish I had had my phone on me when I had been abducted. I heard doors open behind me and I turned to see the tall woman striding towards me. The waiters put out their cigarettes and rolled away as she approached. Her inky hair trailed behind her like a bride’s veil.

She said nothing but took a place next to me and stargazed with me. I tried not to look at her. She made me nervous in a way that I can’t truly describe.

“I don’t think it would ever work between us,” I found myself saying.

The tall-woman laughed a deep and throaty laugh that sent shivers down my spine. She reached down and lifted my head to meet her eyes. Her eyes were as dark as the space around us.

“You continue to be amusing,” she said. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

The question was unexpected but I answered without hesitation, “Yes, of course.”

She nodded and said, “Your energy is so familiar to me. I recognized you as an old friend. Though we may wear different masks now, we have both performed on this stage together many times.”

She gestured towards the double doors. “As a matter of fact,” she continued. “Everyone here used to be one single entity. As the cycle of death and rebirth continued, we all grew father and farther apart. I held this dinner party in hopes that bringing us all back together would cause something to happen.”

She gazed up into the void and dejected.

“Something has happened,” I told her.

She looked at me bemusedly.

“You’ve conducted an extraordinary dinner party. You’ll be the toast of the galaxy,” I explained.

She clearly wasn’t expecting this because she blinked and then began to laugh long and deep. Her long, elegant fingers reached out for me and clutched me in an embrace that seemed to last years.

“No matter what form you take,” she said in loving tones. “You are always the same adoring entity I know you for.”

We went back in and I began to mingle with the aliens. I regaled them with tales from my planet and told them amusing anecdotes. They found stories about our politicians far funnier than the anecdotes. The tall woman bid every guest good bye and sent them all home in separate transporters. As we parted ways, she once again embraced me.

I said, “Next time you’re in my part of the galaxy, be sure to say hello.”

“It was a pleasure,” she said. “As always, heat of my star.”

And with that, I found myself back in my living room, staring up at the night sky through the hole in my roof.

[double-bagging-adventures]

Playmates

One has to wonder what our children can inherit from us. We know that children of course are granted our physical features but is it possible for them to retain memories as well? Memories from a bygone time? I’m not certain but it makes one think of the story of Lilith MacDuff of Salem, Oregon. Lilith was six years, three months, and thirteen days old as she was often fond of saying and her great grandmother was a witch.

Her grandmother, Morgana MacDuff was not a famous witch or even a well-known woman. She was the kind of person who just kind of bled into the background; the kind of person people later describe to authorities as being “very quiet and very polite.” Morgana MacDuff could have kept on being a witch for a very long time had she not made her fatal mistake of being just a little too proud.

Morgana MacDuff was extremely quiet, it’s true but she also worked very hard on everything she did and she wanted to be noticed for it, as we all do. During the Salem witch trials, when Goodie Flanders, the midwife, was accused of sorcery and witchcraft due to the sudden influx of rainclouds dropping frogs, Morgana MacDuff had stood up and shouted, “Hey, I did that!”

They were both burned at the stake that very afternoon. Morgana MacDuff hadn’t been trying to make it rain frogs. She just hadn’t done the spell quite right. She was trying to bring rain for the crops. She was always helping behind the scenes with her magic during those days. When people had become sick in the town, Morgana was always one of the first people to offer an herbal remedy for anyone who needed it. A small boy had broken his leg once while climbing fences. They left the boy with Morgana MacDuff and the next day, he was up and running again, ready to cause all kinds of havoc and mischief. It’s possible that everyone knew she was a witch and burned her anyways. Helpful is helpful but we can’t have amphibians pouring from the sky, now can we?

Morgana MacDuff had loved the people of Salem and she burned for that love. Of course, all of the MacDuff women in the family knew of their heritage but most of them decided they preferred being alive and not being called insane much more than the prospect of learning magic. Eventually, all the magic began to ebb away from the MacDuff side of the family. But life is never so simple. It is a well known fact within the magic communities that magic cannot be fully exorcised from anything or anyone. Magic is like water; it goes where it will.

It went to Lilith MacDuff on a fateful June afternoon. It had been sunny all day but rain clouds were slowly lumbering across the plains of the sky, carrying with them a burden of electricity and fury. The wind had started to pick up and it blew Lilith’s shiny blond hair in her face. She did not seem to mind. She was too focused on her chalk drawings. She was going through what her parents referred to as her “symbol phase”. Lilith had began drawing funny little symbols. She started simple with stars and moons and was soon leaving thousand-years-old alchemical symbols drawn in chalk next to the doodle of a happy kitty.

Whenever Mr. Carroll and Mrs. MacDuff (Mrs. MacDuff had kept her own name. Even though Mrs. MacDuff may no longer remember that magic once bloomed in every corner of her heritage, she still remembered the pride in being a Lady MacDuff.) asked her what the funny drawings meant, Lilith would tell them:

“Oh well that one is our house. There’s mom and daddy and me. You can tell which one is daddy because he’s the one with the biggest nose.” Mr. MacDuff’s hand instinctively went to his face to examine his great beak.

“And what’s that one, darling?” he would ask.

Lilith would look at the ancient symbol that had appeared to her in her dreams. She had stood before a pyramid, like the one’s she had seen in her picture book about Egypt, but these looked much bigger in person. It was very dark in the dream. She could not see the pyramid per say but rather the giant, triangle absence of stars that loomed over her. The stench of age and decay wafted up from the pyramid’s entrance; a deep, black void yawning in front of Lilith, beckoning her to come closer, deeper, ever sinking into the sands.  Chill winds blew sand into Lilith’s eyes which made them sting and water.

In her dream, a massive skeletal beast with mighty, bone wings would emerge from the opening in the pyramid but never made any sound. It reminded Lilith of the skeleton of a mastodon she had seen when her parents had taken her to the museum but that skeleton didn’t have wings, nor did it have the head of a bird with so many sharp, little teeth. The beast would draw this symbol in the sand over and over again until the desert was filled with the arcane meaning of it; an ocean of one, single, forgotten word. And then Lilith woke up and she would draw it because it looked pretty.

So when her father asked her what it was she shrugged and said, “I don’t know, daddy. It’s real pretty.” And she would continue to scribble out her dream castle found on the bottom of the ocean.

Her parents didn’t see the harm in it. They were just shapes to them and they seemed to please Lilith. For the most part, the funny drawings and the dreams were harmless. But one night, in Lilith’s dreams, the skeletal beast had taught her a symbol that seemed to fill it with fear. It did not bother to fill the desert this time but rather just left one small example of the sigil, as if the beast was afraid of writing the word too loudly. After leaving the word in the sand, it beat it’s wings and took to the sky. Lilith never saw the beast again but the next morning, on the sidewalk, she nonchalantly drew a summoning charm for a force of dread of cosmic proportions, right next to her self-portrait as a mermaid.

The Fear That Walks (We shall call this particular demon the Fear That Walks for if I were to list every name this force of pure evil has been known under, we shall be here until the end of time and then some.)  did not appear as one might expect it would. There was no fire, no smell of sulphur, no dramatic thunder claps. The earth was not torn asunder as it climbed from the pits of the underworld. The sidewalk was empty one moment, save Lilith, and then the next, it was there, staring directly into Lilith’s eyes. No sound, no warning, just there. She gave a startled cry and fell backward.

“Hey!” she said as she rubbed her sore bottom. “That’s not very nice!”

The Fear That Walks looked closely at Lilith MacDuff with what could conceivably called eyes if you were perhaps a raving lunatic. They were not so much eyes as they were several thousand empty holes. It breathed deeply, the lung sacs inflating and deflating. It clomped it’s hooves on the sidewalk, sending up sparks each time a hoof made contact with the ground. It’s steaming fur smelled strong and alarming like the sharp, metallic stench of blood. Rows upon rows of teeth that could not be seen were being eagerly licked by flicking, insect-like tongues.

The Fear That Walks said then, "WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?"

Lilith stood up and looked into the demon’s horrid face.

“You’re funny looking,” she said.

"AS ARE YOU", the demon replied.

“Am not!”

"ARE TOO."

“You’re a meanie! Go away!” Lilith shouted and folded her arms.

"I CANNOT," the demon confessed.

“Why not?”

“I AM BOUND TO YOU UNTIL THE SIGIL IS BROKEN,” the demon explained, pointing to the funny drawing from Lilith’s dream.

“What’s that mean?” Lilith asked.

“IT MEANS YOU ARE MY MASTER NOW.”

“So you’ll do what I tell you?”

“YES.”

“What kind of stuff can you do?”

“WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DO?”

Lilith had to think about this.

Eventually, she said, “I’d like a sandwich.”

“TRUTHFULLY?” the demon asked.

Lilith nodded. “And the crusts have to be cut off. And it needs lots of peanut butter.”

The demon rubbed it's thirteen temples.

“YOU ARE AWARE THAT I CAN GRANT YOU ANYTHING IN EXISTENCE, YES?” the demon elaborated.

Lilith shook her head.

“I AM THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS,” the Fear continued. “THE BREAKER OF MEN, EATER OF HEARTS, THE DEATH OF ALL HAPPINESS. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU?”

Lilith shook her head again.

“IT MEANS THAT YOU CAN AIM A LITTLE HIGHER, IF YOU WISH,” the demon said.

“You’re right,” Lilith agreed. “I’d like a glass of milk as well.”

The demon stood there a moment and then the tortured, twisted faces protruding from the creatures’s back all sighed in unison.

“COME,” he said, holding out one of his claws. “SHOW ME TO YOUR KITCHEN.”

The Fear That Walks had made a terrific sandwich. Just enough peanut butter, no trace of crust to be seen, and he even sliced it into triangles like Lilith liked. She was impressed that she hadn’t had to tell him to do that. They sat opposite each other at the kitchen counter.

“HOW IS YOUR SANDWICH?” the demon said.

“S’good,” Lilith mumbled through a mouth full of food.

“EXCELLENT. WHAT ELSE DO YOU DESIRE?”

Lilith thought. “Nuffin’,” she said.

“THEN YOU NO LONGER HAVE NEED OF ME. SMALL CHILD, I BESEECH YOU; BREAK THE ACCURSED SIGIL AND SEND ME BACK TO-“

“Do you think mom would like a sandwich like this?” Lilith interrupted.

The demon blinked.

“I BEG YOUR PARDON?”

“Make another sandwich. I want you to send them to where my mom works.”

The demon stared at Lilith with it's hate-filled, burning holes.

“Please?” Lilith offered.

The demon waved a rust colored claw and the kitchen floor cracked as something black and foul smelling began to claw it’s way into our world.

The local news that night had no explanation as to the mysterious sighting of what appeared to be two gigantic bats carrying peanut butter sandwiches and a glass of milk. Witnesses claim they saw the bat-like creatures were spotted flying into a law firm where one Mrs. MacDuff was working, delivered the sandwiches and the milk to her, and then flew away, screaming and laughing maniacally. Mrs. Carroll has offered no comment on this. Many are calling it the end of times. Others call it the world’s greatest hoax. Most call it “a tacky, publicity stunt” and get on with their lives.

“Do you want to meet my daddy?” Lilith asked the Fear That Walks.

It nodded solemnly. She led it out to the back porch where her father was busy planting basil plants.

“Hi daddy,” Lilith chirped.

“Hey sweetie,” said the man covered in sweat and dirt. He had big yellow gloves on and a time weathered hat that read “Shakespeare in the Parks”. He nodded at the demon. “Who’s your friend?”

Lilith looked up expectantly at the demon.

“IF YOU WERE TO SAY MY TRUE NAME OUT LOUD,” said the demon, calmly. “I WOULD BE FORCED TO RIP THE TONGUES FROM YOUR HEADS.”

“Ha, ha,” said Lilith’s father. “He certainly is a character. Hey, it looks like Mrs. Namstone just got back from the grocery store,” he indicated the car that was pulling into a driveway across the street. “Why don’t you run over there and ask her if she needs any help?”

“Ok,” Lilith said. She grabbed the demon’s hand and ran across the street. Lilith’s father watched his daughter and the Fear That Walks walk across the street. Later, he would be pressed to remember what her friend had looked like. He could have sworn it was a little girl with ginger hair. Or was it a boy? He would ask Mrs. MacDuff and she would swear that Lilith’s friend was imaginary. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter.

An old woman in a purple, floral dress stepped out of the car across the street. She squinted, adjusted her glasses, and beamed.

“Hello there, Lilith,” Mrs. Namstone said cheerily. “Been on many adventures today?” That was how Mrs. Namstone always greeted Lilith.

“Hi, Beth” Lilith said. Mrs. Namstone had insisted on people calling her by her first name but Lilith was the only one who ever did. “Do you need help with your groceries?” Lilith asked.

“Bless your heart,” Mrs. Namstone said. “I’d love help. Has your friend come to help as well?” She smiled into the lifeless, undying mass of warped flesh that the Fear That Walks sometimes refers to as a face.

“Uh-huh,” Lilith said. “It’s a demon.”

“That’s nice,” said Mrs. Namstone, smiling cheerily.

Lilith grabbed the biggest bag she could find and then went for a smaller one when she couldn’t lift the first one. Mrs. Namstone smiled and picked up the bag Lilith couldn’t carry along with another one. The Fear That Walks reached out with tentacles that slithered from the direction of it’s back. The slowly clasped the other seven bags and hoisted them from the car and above the demon’s head.  It gently closed the car door with a free tentacle.

“My,” said Mrs. Namstone, smiling at the demon. “Isn’t it nice to have someone helpful like you around?”

“NOT USUALY, NO,” the demon confessed.

They went inside Mrs. Namstone’s small but tidy house. Lilith and the Fear That Walks put the groceries away and then took a seat in the parlor. Lilith sat on the big, squishy, dusty couch that she liked so much because every time she bounced on it, a small puff of dust would come out of the sides. She bounced up and down happily, watching the dust float through a beam of sunset leaking in through the window shades. The Fear That Walks found a large, mostly empty corner that it more or less fit into except for one time when one of it’s tentacles nearly knocked a porcelain unicorn off a shelf. The Fear That Walks had hastily caught it and it and Lilith had exchanged relieved glances.

“I’ll go get us some tea, ok?” said Mrs. Namstone.

“And some of those cakes I like too?” asked Lilith.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Namstone smiled. “I wouldn’t forget.”

When she had left the room, Lilith leaned towards the demon.

She whispered, “Mrs. Namstone smiles a lot but my dad says she’s actually really sad.”

“REALLY?” asked the demon. “WHY?”

“He says she’s never been the same since Mr. Namstone died. We’re supposed to say that he passed away in front of Mrs. Namstone but he actually died.”

“I SEE,” said the demon, thoughtfully.

“I wish there was something we could do for Mrs. Namstone,” Lilith said. “I bet she really misses her husband.”

Just then, there was a shattering noise as three teacups hurtled towards the ground. Lilith sprang off the couch and ran into the kitchen to make sure Mrs. Namstone was ok. What she saw shocked Lilith to her very core.

The storm finally hit them. It came down reluctantly and then grew more bold as more water began to fall. The demon shielded Lilith from the rain using one of it's massive, moth-like wings as an umbrella.

“Did you make Mr. Namstone come back?” asked Lilith.

“YES,” replied the Fear That Walks. “I DID.”

“But I thought he was dead.”

“HE IS DEAD,” the demon explained. “WHAT YOU SAW WAS MERELY A SHADE.”

“What’s that?” Lilith inquired. "Is that like a ghost or something?”

“THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT IT IS,” the demon confirmed.

“Oh, cool,” Lilith said. “I’ve never seen a real ghost before."

A brief moment of silence passed between the two.

“Do you think Mrs. Namstone was happy to see Mr. Namstone?” Lilith asked.

“YES,” the demon replied. “I THINK SHE WAS VERY HAPPY.”

“Yeah, but she was crying.”

“YES,” said the demon.

“I only cry when I’m sad,” Lilith said. “Or when I skinned my arm.”

“I THINK SHE WAS HAPPY AND SAD,” the demon said.

“Maybe,” Lilith shrugged.

They were walking towards Lilith’s house when Lilith stopped them and said, “Oh!” She was pointing towards the sidewalk, a smear of color and water, slithering towards the storm drains.

“Look,” Lilith said. “The symbol I made earlier. It’s gone.”

“OH,” said the demon. “SO IT IS.”

Lilith and the Fear That Walks looked at each other.

“I guess this means you don’t have to do stuff for me anymore,” Lilith said.

“I SUPPOSE NOT,” agreed the demon.

The demon rubbed the back of his neck and kicked a pebble with his hoof.

“I AM NO LONGER BOUND TO YOU,” he repeated.

Lilith nodded. She began to walk inside.

The Fear That Walks stood there on the side walk, watching his ancient and secret sigil, displayed in bright pink, be washed away. It trickled down and joined a yellow cat with purple wings before they all became a technicolor swirl and ran into the gutter to join the magical sea castle and all the subjects of Lilith the Mermaid Queen. It was a word so universally feared that creatures from every realm of existence had tried to purge it from all memory. So terrifying was the true name of the Fear That Walks and now this child incurs it on a whim. Idle demon’s hands are a child’s plaything, the Fear That Walks supposed. Rain drops fell onto it’s fur, making tiny sizzle noises as they made contact. The Fear That Walks turned to leave. It readied it’s wings to push off from the ground.

“Hey,” said Lilith from the doorway.

The demon turned to look at her with sad looking eye-holes.

“I just asked my daddy,” she said. “He says it’s ok if you want to stay for dinner.”

The demon looked up at the sky. It considered flying away then. One beat of his wings and he could be halfway across the cosmos, reigning supreme upon a throne of gibbering mouths. It would continue to tighten his steadfast grip on every creature, the inky waters of self-doubt rising, threatening to quench the tiny flame of hope that resides within all living things.  

It did not do this thing. It went to Lilith and she took a menacing claw in her tiny hand. Mr. Carroll had made meatloaf that night and they all listened intently while Mrs. MacDuff told her amazing peanut butter sandwich story.

[double-bagging-adventures]

London Fog

For Nichole

I double bagged it today and space-time ripped open before me and I was dragged in by burly looking androids holding toasters. They didn’t even say anything like “Come with us, human” or “resistance is futile” which disappointed me slightly. They just grabbed me roughly and marched me through their portal. Fortunately, I had had time to put down my tea beforehand.

I was thrust into a dimly lit environment and when my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see I was in some kind of prison. There were cages lined in corridors as far as the eye could see. In each one, there was another strange alien creature. In one was a squid calmly reading a book and levitating. There was a lady, or at least I think it was a woman, completely made of burning coals throwing herself against the bars. Every slam caused sparks to fly up and die out on the stone floor. There was a small boy crying in one of the cages holding a small purple rat close to him. The rat sneezed and a small bolt of plasma shot out from its nose and scorched the bars.

The toaster toting automatons threw me into one of the cages and the door slammed behind me. I nestled up against the bars and tried to find a comfortable spot where the bars did not dig into my shoulder blades. I stretched out my legs and craned my neck to try and see more of the strange creatures. I’m fairly certain the person next to me was a vampire from some planet where steampunk was still in fashion. I did not have much time to formulate any kind of plan, escape or otherwise, because the cage jolted and the platform began to rise. A door opened above me and daylight blinded me. I could hear a raucous din emanating from the opening.

I held my hands up against the sudden sunlight. I stood in an arena filled with creatures just as strange as the ones I had seen below and they were all yelling. Whether their calls were in favor of or against me I could not tell but the crowd was a living breathing animal, one that had gone utterly mad.

A voice shot out across the arena, “A new challenger approaches!”

As the announcer proclaimed this, my cage burst open. I could now see the speaker clearly. It was obviously a man of royalty because he wore a crown of gold and ruby and armor that matched. The armor must have been a kind of bionic suit though because the king’s head was a fishbowl with an extremely regal looking beta fish inside. Standing next to him was what appeared to be his advisor or vizier or something. She just had that kind of look. She was a black cat woman, with a jade bead mask, silk harem pants, and a hungry look in her feline eyes. She was clearly going to try and assassinate the king at one point. Just a hunch, but it’s just logic really; cats and fish just don’t mix.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and everything in between,” the beta fish king boomed over a loudspeaker. “Our challenger appears to be some kind of human!”

A melange of shoutings burst forth from the crowd. I think they were pleased but it was hard to tell. I could see a few of them laughing and pointing.

“I am feeling generous,” the beta fish king continued. “I shall let my vizier choose this human’s opponent.”

The vizier (I totally called it, by the way.) thought a while and an absolutely devious smile crawled its way onto her face. She leaned over and whispered against the bowl.

“Excellent!” the beta fish guffawed, shaking so hard that water spilled from the top of his bowl. “So it shall be! Send forth the Hedge Knight!”

A second cage soon rose from the floor of the arena and, just as mine had done, exploded open. Kneeling there, was a knight in splendid green armor that shone and sparkled in the harsh sunlight. He looked at me and ran one finger across his throat.

“That can’t be good,” I said.

“Take your weapons!” the beta fish proclaimed and on either side of the arena, two silver cylinders rose up. The Hedge Knight reached into his canister and pulled out a small, palm sized stick. He flicked it and the stick began to grow a blade speckled with flowers and vines. He began to slowly stride towards me. I turned and reached in my own canister. It had a slice of processed cheese in it. Peals of laughter cascaded down from the stands and I wondered if the Hedge Knight was lactose intolerant. I through the cheese at him and it made a smacking noise as it stuck to his armor. He did not seem amused. He charged toward me, roaring wildly.

I made a noise that sounded something like a small, very frightened dog. I began to skitter around the arena, running like someone who had just been transported to an alien colosseum and really, really didn’t want to die.

In the stands, I could make out an angel standing up and pointing to me. It was most definitely an angel; it just didn’t look like what I thought an angel should look like. For example, it had wings like an angel should, it just had more eyes than I expected and not in the traditional places. A few more appendages than usual too, and none of them human. I’m not trying to judge angels by their appearance, I just didn’t think crab claws would look right on an angel.

The angel shouted above the susurration and din of the crowd, “This is a travesty of justice! Here, ape-like beast! Steel thyself!”

He threw something that I could not see and I naturally ducked my head. I looked up and before me was a flaming sword stuck into the earth. Time was truly was of the essence and I reached out the grab the handle, half-expecting it to burn me but surprisingly it did not. Without thinking, I turned a swung the sword behind me. It seems like this was an extremely prudent idea because the moment I did, the Hedge Knight was swinging his sword down upon me. My fiery blade cut through his leafy one and he was left with nothing but the handle left smoldering in his hand.

My relief did not last long for the Hedge Knight flicked his weapon again and a long whip sprouted from the handle, covered in thorns. It was a brilliant weapon but it was clear that I needed to finish this. I ran the flaming sword straight through the Hedge Knight’s armor and he exploded in a puff of smoke and sparkles. When the fog cleared, there were roughly three dozen hedgehogs staring up at me.

They all said in unison, “Thanks to you, brave warrior. You have lifted the curse that afflicted us. No longer are we forced to take the form of the Hedge Knight. We are now free to live as hedgehogs do; in peace, harmony, and rolling around in patches of dandelions. May the kisses of butterflies protect and guide you through all your travels.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I guess.”

They began to repeat the very same message in Japanese.

I tried to stop them but was interrupted by the beta fish king.

“Outrage!” he yowled. “Zounds! This leaves me feeling quite perturbed! I am upset in an indescribable way! I am extremely miffed!”

“Miffed, my lord?” said the cat vizier.

“Miffed to the nth degree!” shouted back the beta fish king. “Guards, seize him!”

The androids from before flooded the colosseum, once again holding toasters. I really wish I could say they were holding guns that looked vaguely like toasters or it was a futuristic type of weapon that was called a toaster but they were just straight-up holding toasters. They even shot out pieces of toast. Well, they shot out toast-shaped pieces of plasma that were actually quite deadly. The hedgehogs had gone through their message in Portuguese, and Russian, and were now proceeding to tell me their message of thanks in French.  

Another cage rose up from the ground in front of me, blocking the plasma toast. Inside the cage was a large man in a plaid shirt with a massive, bushy beard. He looked like the stereotype of a Canadian lumberjack.

“Come with me,” said the lumberjack, curiously enough without moving his lips.

I jumped into the cage as the hedgehogs began to repeat their message in what I think was interpretive dance and we began to go down. We passed floor after floor of more prisoners, bizarre science laboratories, a giant egg with pulsating tubes sticking out of it, and much more.

I asked the lumberjack, “Why are you deciding to help me?”

The lumberjack told me, once again without moving his lips, “To be honest, I’m just doing this as a common courtesy. You serve as nothing more than a convenient distraction. You see, I am part of the rebellion that plans to overthrow the tyranny of King Beta. We were planning to take him down weeks from now but when you rattled the king’s birdcage, metaphorically speaking, it gave us the perfect opportunity to strike. The king’s vizier, the feline woman you saw earlier, is our planted assassin.”

“Called it,” I said.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the lumberjack.

“Oh, nothing. So where are we headed?”

“To the bottom floor. There are escape pods you can use to go back home.”

After a time longer, we reached the final floor. Standing before us, were an innumerable amount of escape shuttles. We entered inside one and the lumberjack explained to me how the idiot-proof controls worked. I stood in the doorway of the ship as he sent me off. The man’s beard began to quiver and detached itself from his face. It fell gently to the floor and then it stood up. The beard turned and faced me and I could see a pair of eyes staring at me from inside the fur.

“I wanted to detach myself from my host body so I could shake your hand properly,” said the beard, holding out a hairy tendril.

I took the tuft of hair gently and shook it.

“Because of you,” said the beard. “You have ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity.”

“It was no trouble,” I said simply. “Really.”

“Travel safely, tea traveller.”

I didn’t ask the beard how he had known that I had double bagged my tea but it didn’t seem terribly important. The beard climbed back up to the lumberjack’s face and left me to the escape pod. I typed the coordinates of my apartment into the computer’s CPS (Cosmic Positioning System) and I was on my way home. I was thankful that I had downloaded a few audiobooks for the journey home.

I stepped into my apartment and felt a distinct sense of spaceship lag. I plopped down into my couch and rubbed my face, tired beyond words. It was then that I had noticed the tea still sitting on the end table. I sipped at it. It had gone cold.

[double-bagging-adventures]

While I really appreciate all the likes I've received, I have to agree with this. Please reblog my stories. It would really help.

How to help an artist:

Ditch the like button

No, seriously. If you don’t have money to help out an artist financially, the second best thing is to reblog all the things you like. While liking it does tell the artist that “hey I really like this!” It does jack shit because the only ones who will see that are me and you.

Why do you think there are so SO many posts made by people that are literally summed down to “please reblog my artwork I need the notes!”? Because no one reblogs artwork. Unless you’re a ridiculously popular blog with thousands of followers, you’ll only end up getting 1 or no reblogs.

SO HELP OUT ARTISTS AND PLEASE REBLOG OUR ART, BECAUSE WE REALLY NEED THE VIEWS ;V;)/