The Internet Book Database of Fiction

GHOST [in MOD mode]: As recommended by Kvetch and as I wanted to do yesterday (but my internet connection was running at 10Kbytes instead of 10Mbytes) I am locking the 2004 Volleyball Contest and starting a 2005 Volleyball Thread.

Rules:

1. GENRE HOPPING: Just to make things interesting, each new post must switch to a different genre style (i.e, Sci Fi, Horror, Gumshoe Mystery, Romance, Fantasy, Juvenile, Comedy, Anime/Cartoon, Superheroes, etc.). You must announce that genre at the top of your post, before actually beginning.

2. CONTINUITY: A given post must end abruptly, in mid-story, with an elipsis (...) and the next person to post MUST pick up immediately where the previous post left off, using their new genre style - after that, all bets are off. You can steer the story wherever you wish, being as conservative, or as crazy as you desire.

3. TURNS: Participants are not allowed to respond to their own posts - after you post, you must wait for at least 1 other person to post before posting again. To avoid crossing posts, we'll use a 'token key' system - if the thread appears open, and waiting for a response, post "OK, MY TURN" ... after that, you have up to TWO HOURS to make your post. If more than one hour goes by, it's thrown open to all comers who wish to declare it's THEIR turn. However, if nobody else has claimed the turn by the time your delayed post is ready, then go ahead and post it.
n.b. - once you have grabbed your turn - for your post simply "edit" your turn lock. Dropped tokens will at some stage be edited out...

4. EFFORT: Dont trivialize - put a little effort into making your post interesting & entertaining, otherwise there's no point in playing. Be as funny, or as serious as you like. The whole point is to have a little mutual fun bouncing around a constantly evolving plot - like a crowd with a beach ball.

5. LENGTH: There is no minimum or maximum length for any given post - provided you can write it in less than 1 hour.

6. RATING: The forum is essentially PG13 - we will exercise some lattitude in this area - but if you wish to cross the line you do so at the risk of censorship!


Scoring Rules:

1] Post count [This is more for keeping an easy eye on active participants]
2] Originality [has this material been used before on this thread]
3] Continuity [Did this post successfully close on the preceding post]
4] Rule Breakers [should be obious... ]
5] Bonus Points [WOTD, answer to other game (MQG, etc...) etc....]

Each post is eligable for 1 point in each category - The idea with category 4] of course is to keep your score low!

LETS HAVE SOME FUN!!!

We get to start a new story with only one character so far, Cho and Felonious’s strange crackling man. Umm, sounds interesting.

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[MOD ALERT]

For historical archival purposes, here are links to all previous volleyball threads thus far, in reverse chronological order:

Volleyball 2004 (5 pgs)
Volleyball 2004 - commentary (27 pgs)
Volleyball 2003 (5 pgs)
Volleyball 2003 - commentary (10 pgs)

- Brad
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Lurking outside the trailer, a mysterious person in a trenchcoat lurked out near the wisteria bushes, sniffing the air as if the emotional turmoil within permeated the very air he breathed.

Rubbing his hands together, he cackled....

GENRE: Madcap

...cackled again, paused, and then cackled a third time. He loved cackling – had loved it ever since his early childhood, during which he had cackled whenever and wherever circumstance had allowed, and frequently when and where it hadn’t as well. The tendency had continued without abatement into adulthood; cackles of uncalculable number and endlessly varied pitch and rhythm echoed over and behind the now-considerable years of his life.

Such an affinity had not served him terribly well in either the halls of academia or the working world – needless to mention the social circuits so often cold and cruel even to those innocent of such passionate vocal nuance. That it had taken a toll on his faculties was indisputable: the trenchcoat he had worn continuously for the last 25 years and his habit of introducing himself as “Mysterious Personâ€

... that the source of the noise was none other than his old friend, quiscalus quiscula, perched atop the NO STANDING sign sitting next to the trailer.



Momentarily ignoring the sign’s admonition about standingillegally, he wandered over and stood next to his old buddy the Grackle, and cackled a joyous greeting, which was returned in like kind by his happily cackling feathered friend. It was rare that he got to socialize with anyone, much less someone who enjoyed cackling as much as he did, so the hours quickly flew by in a rapid blur ... until his friend’s mate angrily interrupted from the branch of a nearby tree and reminded her beau that he was SUPPOSED to be hunting for worms while she kept their eggs warm back at the nest. Off they flew.

[GENRE: Decision Tree]

Momentarily alone again, the mysterious person in the trenchcoat resumed lurking, and occasionally lurching, in the wisteria bushes, when suddenly the door of the trailer opened.

DO YOU:

1. Turn and cackle mysteriously at whomever opened the door ? (turn to page 127 ...)
2. Silently hide in the wisteria, while rubbing hands and observing ? (turn to page 82 ...)
3. Go have another good cackle with your old friend, Mr. Grackle ? (turn to page 327 ...)
4. Ignore the door and listen to some Neil Diamond ? (click on this thread)

Page 86:

Mysterious Person, whose birth certificate recorded his legal name as Monte Orval Periwinkle, hid silently in the wisteria, waiting to see who (or what) would emerge from the trailer. While able to restrain his cackling, he could not refrain from obsessive hand rubbing.

A woman whose torpedo-like bosoms were outshone only by her incredibly huge hair, bleached to a brittle whiteness and made stiff and sticky by extra-powerful Clairol SuperHold Hairspray. Her massive buttocks strained against the polyester spandex leggings, and her feet were wedged into 6 inch stilletos. Her weapons of mammarian destruction were in imminent danger of being launched from the low-cut blousy pullover by her industrial strength push-up bra.

The woman paused to shriek into the depths of the trailer, "Brandi Lee! You stay off that damn computer! You don't know how many preverts and pee-doh-feels are out there just looking to hook up with a girl stoopid enough to talk to them in one of them there chit-chat rooms. "

She paused to listen, but when no response issued from the dark interior, she bellowed, "BRANDI LEE! I'M TALKIN' TO YOU, GIRL! DON'T MAKE ME GIT YOUR DADDY'S BELT!"

The whiny, high pitched voice of an adolescent girl shrilled, "Oh, Mama, puh-leez! I'm not that stupid."

"Huh!" her mother snorted, slamming the trailer door.

Mysterious Stranger watched Big, Bad Momma wedge herself into her Bimbo-mobile, an aging Ford truck, and barrel out of the trailer park. When she was well on her way, he crept to the teenager's bedroom window and peered in.

He cackled quietly, his dreams fulfilled. The girl was on-line, writing in her computer blogger account. He pressed his forehead, covered in the cold sweat of anticipation, against the screen and read over the girl's shoulder as she added to the blog he had crept into the trailer park every night for weeks to read with the guilty joy only a cackling mysterious stranger could experience.

Genre: Adolescent Girl's BLOG entries


DATE: Monday, August 13, 200X

OMG!!!! My 1st BLOGG Entry!!!

i'm PIP, i'm sooooooooooooooooooooo X-sited about having my VERY OWN Blgg!

Shool SUX. Kurt cobane ROX. My momma is a BICH.

Roy-Bob Joe is HOT! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!

DATE: Tuesday, August 14, 200X

ROY-BOB JOE IS A SEXY JOCK GOD!!!!!!!!!!

OMG, 2-nite after shool, me and Billie Jean May and Sallyann Lou snuk down 2 the locker room and waited for Roy bob Joe to come out. OMG!!! OMG!!!! OMG!!!! He is soooooooooooo HOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!


We wuz ROTFPIOPLOL beCUZ Tommy Ray Don opent the lokker room door and we seen Roy-Bob Joe wrapt in a TOWL!!!!! OMG!!!!!!

he is soooooooooo HOT!

DATE: Wednesday, August 15, 200X

Sallyann Lou is a SLUTT!

*SOB*

Sallyann Lou is a BICH. She knowd i wuz in2 Tommy Ray Don, butt that nasTEE ho was flerting w/him.

I askt her whut the HELL she thout she wuz doin' and she tole me to stfu!!!!!

She wuz supost 2 B my frend!

Comment: Brandi Lee UR the BICH. Sexisallyann
RE: Comment: I HATE U, SlimEE SallEE

DATE: Thursday, August 16, 200X
LIFE SUX

Tommy Ray Don luvs SlimEE SallEE. He is 2 die 4, and she is an ugleeeeee muttface.

I HATE MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GtG....POS.....

If Momma sees this, I M SCREWD!

Comment--I M showing MY momma whut you wrote, Bratti Lee! SexeeSallee.

Re: Comment: If U do, I'll show YER momma where you keep your CANSER STIX!!!! Then yer Momma will tell yer Daddy. Then well see whose in trubble.

DATE: Friday, August 17, 200X

MOMMA GONE AT LAST!!!!!!!!!!!

Momma has gone 2 git her Nails done at Betty Ann Marie's house of Beutiful Booties.

So, I can sneak on and wright as much as I want 2. But 1st I ggp.

TTyL.

***************

Mysterious Stranger jerked away from the screen as the girl shoved her chair away from the monitor and slammed back the can of Code Red Mountain Dew at her elbow. She rose and lumbered into the hallway.

Cackling softly, filled with dread at his own rash resolve, Mysterious Stranger......

GENRE: Crushing Self-Help

...walked right on up to that trailer door – he didn’t hesitate. He knew that HESITATION IS THE ENEMY AND MUST BE MERCILESSLY CRUSHED. So many thousands, millions, have hesitated when they could have seized their dreams, seized their desires, seized and fondled those big (EDIT)

Standing before the door now, our Mysterious Stranger, our Monte, our Everyman With Much To Offer If Only He Could Show The Huge Heart That Lay Beneath The Incessant Cackle, Reeking Overcoat And Recurring Vituperative Tendencies, slowly and resolutely raised one hand to knock - but doubt overtook him and he froze like a deer carcass in the tailights. He had defeated the Demon of Hesitation, but he had forgotten Doubt, Hesitation’s Cold Brother, forgotten that DOUBT IS NATURAL BUT MUST ALSO BE VIEWED AS THE ENEMY AND MERCILESSLY CRUSHED.

Are YOU filled with hesitation and doubt, dear Reader? Hey, you must be if you paid money for this book! We know. We know very well. That’s why we’re here. The world is filled with people like you, lining up to empty their wallets and pocketbooks for empty promise of (EDIT)

After several moments, Monte was able to flex his fingers again, then his elbow, and finally regained control of his entire body. He breathed deeply several times, remembering that DEEP BREATHING IS ALWAYS AN ESSENTIAL ON THE PATH TO MERCILESSLY CRUSHING YOUR PERSONAL DEMONS, and that SHALLOW BREATHING IS A STEPPING STONE ALONG THE ROAD TO BEING MERCILESSLY CRUSHED, ALONG WITH DOUBT AND HESITATION.

I'm coming Brandi Lee! he thought. I'm coming!

Without further delay Our Hero knocked authoritively upon the trailer door three times, steeling himself with the knowledge that THREE IS A NUMBER OF POWER WHICH MERCILESSLY CRUSHES ALL OBSTACLES IN YOUR PATH. Footsteps inside approached, and then...

Without further delay Our Hero knocked authoritively upon the trailer door three times, steeling himself with the knowledge that THREE IS A NUMBER OF POWER WHICH MERCILESSLY CRUSHES ALL OBSTACLES IN YOUR PATH. Footsteps inside approached, and then the door opened.

“Hello, Brandi Lee,” Mysterious Stranger said, showing his glittering teeth in a feral smile.


[Three Days Later….]

Genre: Written Parental Excuse for Brandi Lee to School Administration

Dear Principle Pervis,

I am writting two infirm you that Brandi Lee has ben abscent becuz she was kidnaped by sum weerdo what she met on the intern-net.

She run off with this weerdo and wood still be gone if the weerdoes vehickle didn’t get barryed in the quagmire out by Spunkmeyer’s Crick. I never raised her to ackt like this, but she has got TOO BIG FOR HER BRICHES and them Briches seem too half turnt into HOT PANTS.

She wood of been back to school yesterday, but her Daddy whupped her good for runnin off with that weerd intern-net man and acktin like a hoor. And she couldn’t of set in her chair anyhow.

I warnt her and warnt her about that intern-net but you know how kids are these days.

They have to jest stick there hands in the fire and see for theirselfs that it will burn them right up.

Anyway, she is back now and she will be at school evry day unless she turns up with a Bunn in her Oven. In witch case we will be havin a shotgun wedding, and I will half to halve a weerdo from the intern-net be the daddy of my first grand-babby.

Having kids is a tribulation to be shure. Just like it sez in the Bibble. There is no snake teeth sharper than a bratty snotty kid.

Thanks for your attenshun to this note.

Sincerely yours,

Mrs. Bobby Ray Mackelroyce

PS Boys our eazier. Elvis and Bobby Ray Jr. don’t give me any trubble at all.

Mr. Pervis, the principal of Elvis Presley Memorial High School, looked from the note in his hand to the sullen face of Brandi Lee. He said, “…

Genre: Just Fiction


"...Now, what is all this about, Miss Lee?"

"It's not true. I am not the person that she described in that note, sir."

"Oh? Well, tell me who she was talking about and tell me where you were during all of this." He sat forward and stared at her over the rim of his glasses. His dark green eyes were intense and boring into hers, she had to look away.

"Well, I would never do a thing like that. The only thing I can figure is that it had something to do with my psychologist, Mr. Ben Dover. I had gone for my regular appointment just that morning and he had given me a medication that he thought would help me out. He also did some additional tests and hypnosis, things he had never done before. But he said my condition was worsening and that now those things had become necessary, so I complied."

"Since when have you been going to a psychologist, Brandi? This is the first I have heard of this." His eyes squinted in interest.

She pushed her long brown hair away from her face and began rubbing her hands nervously. "All my life, sir. Something traumatic--I'm still not sure what exactly--happened to me as a child that would affect me later in life if I didn't go through psychotherapy. I recently had to find a new doctor as my previous one was murdered...." She thought for a second, put pushed the mental image of him out of her mind. "So, Mr. Dover has been treating me now, although I don't like him very much. But mother won't listen."

He stared at her for a moment. "So, what's this about the internet? You ran off with a man you met on the internet?"

"Well, yeah, I did, but I was desperate to leave! You see the letter she wrote! Wouldn't you want to leave too? And I'm not a whore. I don't care what she says."

"Who is this man?"

"Oh..." She grinned and looked down, as if thinking of him. "Mysterious. You wouldn't know him."

"Mysterious?"

"Yes."

Mr. Pervis looked a bit puzzled. He stared off into nowhere for a moment, but then the bell rang, school was about to start.

"Well, I better get to class!" Brandi stood and gathered her coat and back pack. Just as she reached the door....

"Well, I better get to class!" Brandi stood and gathered her coat and back pack. Just as she reached the door....

In a late-Beckett style.

I see the hallway clock. Two minutes till first period. Why me? Or is it three minutes? Lunch today might be better. Or not. Somehow it might be better.

Close up of dial. One hand moves. Nothing else. Is it black? Two minutes. Unless it be two hands. Mysterious Stranger is never late. Or he is. One hand moves slowly. No I think it is black. Still two minutes. Boys are not easier. Mysterious Stranger is always late. Or he is not. Somehow it moves slowly. Like Mr. Pervis.

What is today? Tuesday? An absence of cackling. Or not. Will I make it? The hand moves slowly. In my head too long to wait. The hall way is quiet. Except for the silent hand of the clock. Unless is be two hands. Curtains. I need curtains. Blue. I am not a whore. Mysterious Stranger likes blue. Or Red.

Quiscalus quiscula. Fried. Roasted. Grilled. Mercilessly Crushed. Has it moved? Cackle till the quiscalus quiscala come home. Only one minute. Mysterious Stranger prefers roasted. Beutiful Booties. Can’t they spell? With broccoli. Not Red. Or not. Always cackling. Pervis is slow, like the slow hand. Not the fast hand.

Does the clock in Dr. Dover’s office have two hands? Or not. One hand moves. Slowly. Is it black? Tuesday. That means no meatloaf. Still one minute. Is it black? With broccoli. Or not. Somehow he is never late. Or he is. It moves quickly. Definitely fried with broccoli. I miss cackling. Or not. Maybe green blinds, instead. Maybe lasagna. Dr. Dover’s hands move slowly. Only one hand moves.

Not possible any longer unless it is black. Sincerely yours, Bobby Ray Mackeldope. Why me? It is still moving. No, Wednesday. Yes it is black. Mysterious Stranger likes blue. A door. Silence. Faces. Or not. Roy-Bob?

I am late. Cackle. Or not. . .

Genre: Contemporary Fantasy w/ Paranoia and Sense


...on time anyways. Or am I? The clock says I am...but can I trust the clock? I can't trust anything can I? Or anyone? What time is it really? What time does first period really start?Who can tell me? Who knows the truth? Who knows that there is a truth? Is there? Who can tell me? Am I living a lie? Is my whole life just a big lie?

Will I be late? But what is late? Is it's definition even right? Who can tell me? But who can I trust to tell me the truth?

I need to go this way...or do I? That's one thing I know....or is it? Is it this way? Or that? How can I know? I must find out for myself, right? I can't trust anyone can I? I'm all alone aren't I? I am the only one I can trust....or can I? Can I even trust myself? My knowledge comes from everyone else right? Wouldn't that mean I couldn't trust myself? I can't even trust myself? So does that mean that I'm not even alone? Because I can't trust me? Have I confused myself?

That's the door right? Just step through and sit down? Will I be in trouble? What will happen? Is it safe to touch the door knob? Will I get germs? Is there a such thing as germs? Will it hurt me? What if they are real? What does it matter? I'm going to die anyways right? Well then why not?

Go ahead....touch the door....you can do it....it's okay....nothing will hurt you....everything shall be okay....

Or will it? Will I die?

It's okay....touch the door....you'll be late....it won't hurt you....

What's late?

Touch the door, Brandi....touch it....you have to....you must....open it and go inside....you have to....

Who are you?

Don't worry....I am the only one you can trust....you can trust me....trust me....

But how do I know I can? Why should I trust you?

Because I am trust....I am trust....I am truth....I deflect all lies....open the door....go ahead....open the door....

Why is it so white? Why is the wind blowing inside?

Go ahead....you must keep walking....keep walking....keep walking....

Why should I? What is happening? What is going on? Can you tell me?

It is your destiny, my child....you must go....further....further....keep walking....

Where is my class? Where is my teacher? Where is the school? Where is everything? Where am I? Why do I trust you? Who are you?

It doesn't matter....you must keep going....walk straight....nothing matters, Brandi....forget it all....just walk....walk....

What is that there? Is that....

Is that....this morning’s

[Genre: Local Newspaper front page (with apologies to James Joyce)]

THE TWO POINT FIVE POINTS PRESS
January 18, 2005

“All the news that we could squeeze between the adsâ€

TODAY’S WEATHER:

High – 58
80% chance of rain
Humidity: 90%
Sunrise: 7:18 am
Sunset: 6:55 pm

......................................

Genre = Notebook passed by Teens in Study Hall

Taking cover behind the thin bulk of the local newspaper, Sally SueAnn Cribbs scrawled a loopy note to the narrow faced boy sitting next to her.

Hey, Elvis Aron-Bob, wuz ^?
Do U got yer homewurk done?

Sally SueAnn

Oh, hi, Sally. Yes, my homework is all complete.
E

OMG, R U serius? All of it? SS

Quite so, Sally. Even the book report and the sonnet following the Shakespearean format.
E

Y R U readin that thik book than? SS

Well, I can't very well read it at home, can I? Momma is omnipresent, and if she caught me reading something like this--well, I shudder to think of my fate.

E

O! OMG! Elvis Aron-Bob Mackelroy!!!! R U readin a durty sex book????!!!!???? Duz it have pitchers? Kin I C???
SS

NO! It's Shakespeare. You know, the guy who wrote Romeo and Juliet.

E

O, ya. I luv that movie. Leonardo Di Caprio is soooo HOT! And I love when they blow up that gas station. Cool. Awesum. I wonder will they make a C-kwill or not?? SS

Not that trash, Sally! The REAL thing. You know--"What light from yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon...." Gosh, it brings tears to my eyes, it's so beautiful.
E

...........

What?

I doan know whut U R talkin about. R U felling OK? SS

It's classic literature, Sally! It makes my heart flutter just to read it! The language is so beautiful! Like this: "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate! Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May..."

Doesn't that language just sing?

E.

OMG. I nevr knew U wuz gay, Elvis.
SS

WHAT??? I am NOT gay, Sally!

Riiiiiiight. My daddy says only queers & sissies like hippies R inturestid in that kind of junk. Does yer MOMMA no U R readin' that stuff?
SS

..............

Well, duz she?

No.....

Elvis Aron-Bob Mackelroy! U bedder talk 2 Preachur at meetin' on Sonday B-cuz I think the devul is in yer hart. U mite even half 2 halve a extortism or sumthin. SS

That's just silly, Sally. It's literature. It's been around for 500 years!

HUH! So haz the devul! I M gonna tell yer MOMMA that U R readin that trash!

Oh, God, please please PLEASE do not tell Momma!

I half 2 4 yer own good. Yer sole is on the way 2 He!!

What if I swear never to read it again? What if I swear I'll burn it, right now. In the trash in the boys' lavatory?

I dunno. U mite half a nother copy in yer lokker or at home under yer mattriss.

I swear I don't, Sally. Honestly. PLEASE don't tell momma. You don't know what she'll do...and she'll tell DADDY too!

I dunno....

What do you want me to do? I'll do whatever you say.

Will U take me 2 the sweathart dance next week?

To the sweetheart dance?

U R not gay are you?????

NO! No. Okay. I'll do it. Promise you won't tell on me.

OK....but I doan no if I M doin the rite thing. U mite go 2 he!! if sum-1 duzent put U rite soon.

Come on, Sally! I have five dollars--you can have it.

Welllll......mayB 4 $12 I mite be able 2 keep it 2 myself...4 a wile.

Can you wait for a week, till I get my paycheck?

U will still take me 2 the sweathart dance?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

OK than it is a deal.

Thank you, Sally.

U bedder not 4-get, or I will go strait 2 yer Daddy.

I won't.

Sally SueAnn smiled triumphantly and returned to doodling giant, arrow pierced hearts on the cover of her notebook as Elvis raised his hand.

"Mrs. Doldrous? May I go to the restroom, please?"

Given permission, Elvis rose, tucking his Collected Works of William Shakespeare under his arm, and ....

Genre: Romance (?)


...heading off to the restrooms. He hadn't planned on going to the dance, but he supposed he had no choice now. If Sally were to tell his parents...he'd be screwed for sure. So much of his life was kept such a secret. Sometimes he wished he could just live it all out, with nothing to hide.

As he walked down the lonely halls, he stared at the cover of his book. It was a special edition, a leather bound book with gold-edged pages and gold script on the front. It was a book he loved, containing all the stories and plays and sonnets he loved so much. He longed to live their stories, to live in such an age of romance. He was far from gay, but these days a romantic guy was consdered gay and was looked down upon by the others. One day maybe he would find a girl that shared his same feelings....one day, but not likely any time soon.

His thoughts suddenly fluttered back to the memory of a girl he had known before. So soft, so pure, so innocent, like an angel. He had loved her so much, still did actually. He knew he was young, as was she, but he thought he had found his mate, he thought his search had been over.... As he thought about her, the happiness and joy faded and turned to hate and anger. Tears came to his eyes as he thought more. He tried to push his thoughts away, but he couldn't. He heard the sounds. He saw the horrible sight. He felt his fear and hurt all over again. He nearly dropped to his knees as he remembered the last words she had said. I love you.

And the guy had got off. He had made it his life's destiny to avenge her murder. How could he even think of being with another woman? He leaned against the wall outside the bathroom door and slid down, holding his book to his chest. He tried to stop crying, but couldn't. Three years and he still hadn't gotten over it. How long would it take? Would he ever heal?

He stood and passed the bathroom, going to his locker. He placed the book inside, and retraced his steps to the bathroom, where he dried his eyes and managed to calm himself. He knew she would never want to see him like this. She would want him to go on, never forgetting her, but remembering her before, forgetting the ending. He had tried so hard, but still had not succeeded.

He walked out of the bathroom, but did not see the hallway. Actually, he saw nothing. It was all white. White light. Blinding his eyes.

"Sweetheart..."

He recognized the voice. His eyes searched everywhere, but he did not see. He squinted and squinted. "Can it be...?"

"Yes." Then suddenly she appeared, looking even more beautiful than he had ever imagined. Her light brown curls twisted slightly in the breeze, and her white dress fluttered. He had always known she looked like an angel, but.... "I love you."

"Oh, Mara, I love you too!" He dropped to his knees, tears pouring forth. "I love you so much!"

"Don't cry, love. Don't cry...." A crystal tear dropped from her eye and she bent down, placing her soft hand upon his face. "It's ok, don't cry for me."

"But Mara, I miss you so much...."

"I know. And I miss you too."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"There is something I came to tell you," she said softly. "There is something you must do. Only you can do it. It is a quest from the heavens. Many trials should befall you, but you are strong enough to make it. And I will help you along the way. If you can succeed, then we may be reunited."

He looked up at her and his eyes glowed with happiness. "We can be together?"

She smiled and shook he head.

"I'll do anything to be with you. Anything. It's so hard without you. So many times I almost killed myself, but you stopped me, I knew you wouldn't want me to do that."

"And you were right, love." She caressed his face once more. "I have to go now."

"No, Mara, don't go," he whined. Tears continued to stream down his face. "Don't leave me..."

"I have to go, love. I have to." She stood slowly and began walking away from him. "I love you...don't forget that, ever."

He groped for her, but she was disappearing. Farther and farther away. He screamed for her, he reached, but she was gone. He curled up in the floor and lay crying until....

[Attempt at eldritch horror]

... he heard a shuffling off feet, then a knock at the door. He rose from his fetal position to see who it was who had disturbed his self-misery, which he was somehow enjoying. He moped over to his beautiful laquered front-door and peeked through the hole...

His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor with a such a wail which would rival the Choir of the Fallen. Abrubtly his cry ceased.

It would be weeks before his body was found. Well, it wasn't really found per ce. His whole house had become blooded and it was an age before even the authorities had the courage to see what had occured. Initially their screams were heard from the town centre. Even after the 5th foray into the ruined house returned paled and quiet, never to repeat what they had found. The local asylum had to recruit extra staff to handle the influx of raving patients.


Echus, a dearing young forensics officer, 3 years after the initial incident started a new investigation. The house had been pulled down shortly after the murder, but nobody bought the section and nothing grew there. Echus was tall, with ivory skin, long black hair and impeccible fashion sense. He wore a crushed black velvet frock coat with silver trim and a white lace/silk shirt.

Echus had brought along some excavation equipment to try to discover what had cursed the area. The digging begain in earnest. The clink of spades went day and night. Finally, there was a thud. An alien silence fell over the crew. The sense of forboding was palatable. Finally Echus raised his voice and proclaimed,

"Today we will find what even the omnipresent cannot comprehend."

He reached for the nearest spade...

Genre: Fantasy

...thinking so foolishly that he could unlock the secrets. If only he knew what had happened.... He had built everything he knew on such logic and reality, that it never occured to him that something could happen with mystery. He believed there was a reason to everything and an answer, it just had to be found. Yes, in a sense he was right, but not everything was built on logic and science.

Mysterious lifted his hand from the glowing orb and turned away, releasing the image within his mind. He could use Echus, he would just need some "training." He was a very smart man and capable of protecting himself from most harm that could befall him, but he believed nothing he could explain. Mysterious was sure he could change that though. It would just take a little while.

Three years had passed in the World of Human, but only a day had passed in his world. He needed Elvis. He needed him badly. Elvis possessed something so great, but he had no clue. It could benefit this world so much. His world was detereorating, it was fading away. He didn't have much time left. There was one thing he could do, but he only had one shot at it. If he messed up, all would be over. He would die. And his world would die with him.

"But I must try, it will fail either way... It is our only hope." He turned away from the window, forgetting the peace he gained from it's view, and hesitantly unlocked the warded box. He hoped to never have to touch it, but he had to. By drinking the black liquid, he would be shown a "window" through which he would enter a time warp. To get to where he wanted to go, it would open in a certain place and require him to enter at a certain time. After he drank the liquid, the window could appear at any time, and in any place, and it would disappear again soon. With the right application of woven magic, he could find it and enter. Didn't sound too hard, but he knew it would be harder than anything he had ever attempted.

He sat down and stared at the vile before him. He would have to be ready before drinking it. And if the liquid rejected his body and his magic, it would cause him to burst into flames. If that happened, he wouldn't be of much help.

He must analyze the situation first. The Moglin knew that he had needed Elvis to save his land, thus he had destroyed him. As soon as Mara had left, and Elvis had curled up, the Moglin had transported them to a place of confusion. It was a powerful Moglin, for no other had the ability to do so. Yes, he had been within Elvis' house, but he had been in the replica that sat directly underneath it - the one in the Underworld. The Underworld was completely the same as the Human World, except it pulsed with vile creatures and things of the dead. To reach that place and destroy the Moglin, he must first find and enter the correct window, then he must breach the wards between the Human World and the Underworld. To do that, he would have to carefully weave an opening, and it would take much energy. Would he even make it after expelling so much energy on finding the right window?

It was all so uncertain, but he must try.

He stood and stared out the window for another long moment.

He musn't wait.

It was time.

He stared into the black liquid for a moment. How would Brandi handle it if he didn't make it? Would she be okay? She would understand. She knew he would never seperate herself purposely. He thought for a moment, before popping the tin lid off the tiny vile and drinking it's contents. A wave of nausea swept over him and he dropped the glass vile, ignoring it's shatters on the floor. He gripped his stomach as it twisted with pain, and was suddenly hit with a new discomfort - his heart. He bent foward and dropped to his knees, gripping his chest and stomach. His mind was spinning and he couldn't think. He had no idea what was going on.

Then he felt a burning in his throat....like fire. Fear swept over him as he remembered. The liquid was rejecting his body. It was killing him.

No, no! I can't die! I can't! Too much depends on me! I must survive, I must!

Everything around him suddenly turned black, with gray strokes all over the place. Everywhere. Was this what it was like to be within the weave? Or was this what it was like when you were taken by Death?

He stared around him, forgetting his pain, but...

… lightning flashed across the inside of his mind, his personality spinning into a thousand fragments that glistened away into a microcosm of totality.

Genre: Plagurisation/Cameos/Sting in the tale (also uses elements of Michael Moorcock's Eternal Champion, Craig Shaw Gardner's Eternal Apprentice and Terry Pratchett's Eternal Coward - perhaps this is Genre: Eternal Bit-Part)

He was in a bar, looking out over a wind-lashed bay, the sky above a thunderous iron grey. Some irresistible force was forcing words between his lips
“It’s not like I’m using. It’s like my body’s developed this massive drug deficiencyâ€

. . . . Success! Against all the odds, he had gone back in time three years to the very day of Elvis’ unfortunate demise. He was in the hallway at school, and a young man walked toward him carrying a thick book. His plan: first save Elvis, then go after that epitome of moral turpitude, the Moglin!

Genre: comic poetry, vaguely in the style of Doctor Suess

I walked down the hall,
Feeling really quite small,
Thinking “how can I save,
The plays of my fav . . .?

To best bardophobe Sallee,
I cannot dilly-dally,
I must do something fast,
To make my tome last!â€

[Genre: Catholic ritual of Confession]


"...Thank you, oh, thank you, Mysterious Man..."

Young Elvis's voice trailed off, and he stared at the strange little man who cackled softly and rubbed his palms together.

"Uh," Elvis said, "So...I really would have been...uh...dead if you hadn't traveled back in time to save me, then?"

Monte, AKA Mysterious Stranger, rubbed his hands even more vigorously, relishing the warmth brought about by friction. "Dead? Yes! Dead as a doornail! Nearly three years, it was!" He cackled nervously, his bulbous eyes rolling left and right in their sockets as he scanned the room. "Oh, it was a messy business! Nasty! Oh, very nasty! The forensic investigators and profilers who tried to investigate your case were driven to madness! Maaaadness!" He paused, reflected, and cackled loudly. "And a couple of them puked, too! Nasty! Messy!"

Elvis edged toward the door. "Oooookay," he said cautiously. "Thanks again for saving me from being messily slaughtered by a Motrin, then."

"Moglin! A foul, demonic Moglin, 'twas!" Monte cackled wildly. "It won't be stopped either, young Elvis! You best be watchful! Yes! Watchful!" His hand rubbing reached a crescendo, and his eyes rapidly sought every nook and cranny of the gleaming aluminum surfaces of his laboratory. Somewhere in a distant cage, a chorus of mice joined him in squeaky rodent cackles.

This is too weird for me, Elvis thought, throwing open the door and scrambling out into the misty evening. As he pelted down the street, he heard Mysterious Stranger's high pitched cackle and his final words of warning. "Watch your back, young Elvis! Watch your back! And tell your sister to call me!"

For many hours, Elvis wandered aimlessly through the streets. I need to talk to someone about this, he fretted. Who would understand it?

Finally he stopped at a scuzzy little diner for a cup of coffee. Actually, it was a cup of hot cream and sugar with a tablespoon or two of coffee thrown in for flavor. He sat in the farthest corner and laid his copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare on the table before him. I imagine the Bard would understand. He ran his hand lovingly over the leather surface of the tome. He knew all about ghosts and witches and stuff like that.

He flipped the book open. Probably because it was his favorite play, and because he had pored over it time and time again, the book fell open to Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene iii.

Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.

His eyes fell upon the passage. He looked up. Through the dingy window of the diner, he saw the saw the huge stone edifice of St. Jude Thaddeus, the stained glass windows shimmering like jewels through the rain. Friar Laurence, he thought, amazed. He knew everything. He looked down at the well thumbed parchment pages. "Thanks, Uncle William," he murmured, finishing his coffee and tucking his book under his arm. I'll talk to a priest. Confession is like client/lawyer privilege. Whatever I say to the priest is secret forever.

He paid his tab and dashed through the drizzle to the huge arched doorway of St. Jude Thaddeus. He looked in every direction to assure himself that neither his Momma nor his Daddy nor any of the members of the Charismatic Church of the Washed-in-the-Blood and White-as-Snow Believers saw him slipping into the den of perdition itself. (Just thinking about the reaction this unholy act would consequate made him tremble with dread. Everyone in his Momma's church knew that all Papists were doomed to an eternity in the fiery furnaces of HELL.) Immediately inside the doors hung the mild image of St. Jude himself.



Elvis looked into the luminous brown eyes of the saint. Instantly, he felt better. It was so much more comforting than the 50 foot mural in his own church--the one that showed the furious God flinging sinners to demons in the pit of hell--demons who caught the sinners on red-hot pitchforks and toasted them like marshmallows over roaring rivers of flame.

Picking up a liturgical book, he huddled in a pew and perused the sacrament of pennance. In a few moments a scrawny bearded man garbed in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, carrying a mop and a bucket trudged through the sanctuary.

"Can I help you, son?" the man asked.

"Uh..." Elvis stammered, "I ... uh... came to go to confession."

"Oh! Well, then, step right over here." The thin man pulled open a narrow door and ushered Elvis into a minute room. In a moment, a small screened window slid back. In a somber voice, the priest intoned, "May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow." He waited for a several minutes as Elvis took deep breaths and steeled himself to the onerous task. "Any time you're ready, son."

"Uh...uh..." Elvis twisted the liturgical book in his hands. He read the words carefully, as if intoning a dangerous spell, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been...uh...*mumble-mumble*...uh...since my last Confession."

The priest read a short scriptural text, which surprised Elvis. He'd always heard that the priests didn't even recognize the Word of God. They only listened to the babbling raves of the old Roman pope. That was what Momma had said, anyway.

The priest was quiet again, waiting.

Elvis wasn't sure how to begin.

"Go on, son."

"Uh...uh...." Elvis sighed and began to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. He felt his face turning red. The urge to burst into tears and run away as fast as his long legs could carry him was almost overpowering.

"Just take your time. Relax."

The priest's voice was kind.

Suddenly Elvis found himself babbling, "Uh, Friar, uh, I don't know if this is sin or not, but some really weird stuff has been happening in my life. First of all, I saw my dead girl friend's ghost! We were only twelve, but we were really in love. I mean seriously in love. She was murdered three years ago, and her murderer got off on a technicality, and not one thing except reading Shakespeare and doing problems in plane geometry has given me pleasure or joy since she died." Elvis paused to draw a breath then plunged on again. "My Momma and Daddy think Shakespeare is the tool of Satan, and they'd just go insane if they knew I know almost all of the sonnets and all of Romeo and Juliet by heart. I don't even want to think what they'd do to me if they found out! In fact, they'd beat me black and blue if they knew I was here talking to you right now! They think all Catholics are going to hell. And this guy--this weird guy who kidnapped my sister after he met her on the internet and who cackles and rubs his hands together all the time--came to my school and told me that I would get killed by a Motread if I used the bathroom at school. Then he took me to his apartment, which was really like a laboratory. I don't know if he's crazy or some kind of a scientist or what. But I was totally freaked out and ran away from him. But I'm a little scared. What if a Motread IS trying to kill me? And...and...if he really did come back in time to save me from being killed, do you think he could go back in time and save Mara too? Mara is my dead girlfriend, you know. Oh, she was beautiful. Just beautiful and sweet. Sweet as honey."

Elvis's voice broke and he began to weep quietly. "It was like we were two halves of one being--each of us a moiety making up a single entity--without her, I'm incomplete--broken--I'm...I'm nothing! Oh, Friar, I still love her! I STILL LOVE HER!! I'd do ANYTHING to bring her back. ANYTHING!"

The acrid aroma of cigarette smoke drifted through the screen. The priest, puzzled and a bit awed by the bizarre rush of conversation, had tapped out a Newport and lit it up. Father Brannigan was out of town, and what Father Brannigan didn't know would not lead to undue hardship for himself!

"So," the priest finally said, "Are you telling me you are not Catholic, son?"

Absolute silence filled Elvis's side of the confessional before he blurted, "No! No, I'm not Catholic! I'm sorry! PLEASE don't tell my Momma and Daddy I came to you!" And the boy began to wail.

The priest took a deep and thoughtful drag on his cigarette. After a moment he said, "Young man, I think we need to go over to the parsonage and have some cocoa, and you can explain all of this to me from the beginning. What's your name, son?"

Elvis snuffled. "It's Elvis Aron-Bob Mackelroy." He paused a moment and then said cautiously, "Uh...Friar? You...uh... aren't one of those kinds of priest are you? The ones that are on the news?"

The priest gave a bark of what might have been laughter--or maybe not. "No, son, your innocence is perfectly safe with me." The priest stood, slid open the door to his side of the confessional, then slid open the door to Elvis's side. The boy, still weeping, huddled on the bench, clasping his leather bound copy of the works of Shakespeare to his chest. "Come on out, son."

"Thanks, Friar."

"Uh...I'm not a Friar, Elvis. Why don't you call me Father Bill?"

"Okay," Elvis said, his voice small. "Do you think you can help me?"

"Well, my son," Father Bill said, "I think.....

Genre: Haiku

Perdurable dreams
Secrets beyond mortal sight
Time elucidates

He paused, noticing the look of slight confusion on the face of Elvis.

"Now, about that coca...

"Now, about that cocoa,” Father Bill murmured, patting Elvis’s shoulder. “Let me find my recipe. It’s guaranteed to fix what ails you.”

[Genre: Recipe Card]

Father Bill’s Hot Chocolate of Perdurable Comfort

2 ½ cups whole milk
2½ cup light cream
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract (real vanilla, not some shoddy imitation vanilla)
6 tbsp. unsweetened cocoa
6 tbsp. sugar
Dusting of cinnamon powder

Combine cocoa and sugar. Add milk Heat ingredients over low flame until cocoa/sugar mixture is dissolved. Add light cream, cinnamon, and vanilla. Stir constantly. Do not allow the mixture to boil.

While the ingredients are being measured, combined, and heated, discuss the issues of the wayward/lost/confused soul. Keep box of tissues at hand in case of tearful conversation.

When liquid has begun to seethe and is upon the verge of boiling, add one shot of Bailey’s Irish Cream and stir well. Pour into pre-warmed mugs bearing the visage of the patron saint of the penitent. Top hot cocoa with whipped cream, dusting of cocoa powder, and fine shavings of Belgian chocolate.

Administer the hot chocolate to the penitent with comforting words, several loving pats about the head and shoulders, and one firm but platonic embrace.

“There we are,” said Father Bill, briskly administering the required platonic embrace. “This will make everything much brighter, my son.”

Rubbing his nose on his sleeve, Elvis accepted the mug (which bore the visage of St. Jude, patron saint of causes despaired of) and sipped the hot cocoa. “Delicious,” he said, his eyes widening.

“Of course,” said Father Bill. “Now, my lad, before I can offer further aid and comfort, you need to….”

you need to….â€

Genre: Shakespeare play

FATHER BILL: I’m rather busy at the moment. . .

ELVIS: (interrupts) Did you say you seek a cackling Mysterious Stranger? I met one such just upon the tide of morning. He greeted me with warnings of dissolution and death, and spoke in leaden tones of some mysterious beast yclept Moglin. Fearing madness’ touch I this being fled, and repaired to this place of safety, where almighty god unceasing watch does keep.

SAM SPAM: you met someone this day, who cackled incessantly and rubbed their hands together.

E: Indeed. His hands were like unto a pit of blind vipers, coiling all unknowing across each other

SS: and he said he knew a Moglin, a Dr. Moglin

E: No doctor mentioned he. He spoke instead of a fowl, demotic Moglinâ€

E: Methinks Monte doth tend to linger near to the wisteria in yon trailer park.

SS: Lead on, young Elvis. Wheresoever thou leadest, I shall follow.

FB: The sooner we apprehend the mad jack-a-nape, the better it shall please the Almighty God.

GENRE: Musical (Temporal-Superstring) Chairs

Monte was having a rougher time than usual maintaining his mental focus ... which is really saying something, because his mental integrity, when incarnating himself on the Temporal-Tau sub-plane of reality over which he was nominally tasked with protecting, was tenuous at best. Chronic Gelemania was just ONE of the many side effects resulting from the inherent discordance between his non-corporeal higher consciousness (which existed on a higher plane in which time rippled simultaneously in all directions, like a great sea), and the sort of limited lower-consciousness necessarily inherent in lower Tau sub-dimensions (in which time was percieved in a sequential Newtonian-like cause and effect paradigm against a backdrop of Einsteinian space-time). Another of the side effects that was incessantly bothering him was Synesthesia - in which all of his senses frequently swam together, and apart again, in madcap confusion.

After a brief, but satisfying, cackle to relieve the mental strain and help reset his swimming senses, he resumed his trek towards his temporal laboratory. No rest for the weary Time Lord today. Oh no. No no no indeed. Blahahahah. Overall, things had quickly devolved from SNAFU, to TARFU, to FUBAR, briefly back to SNAFU again (after that bit with the Orb, and Elvis), and then right on back to FUBAR ... and there was no longer any sign of remission. In short, the whole timeline he was in charge of was now fuxxored beyond repair and rapidly spiraling towards total entropy, blahahahahah, and it was his job to fix it. Heheheheh.

After a particularly unsettling fugue of loud random noises, intermingled with chartreuse polka dots (courtesy of his tightly lidded eyes putting extra pressure on his eyeballs and thusly causing phosphenes to erupt across his vision) along with a disturbing aroma reminiscent of almonds and cyanide, he found himself standing, at long last, in mid-cackle, in front of his temporal laboratory.

Granted that passersby might regard it as merely being an abandoned ramshackle hut, but to his mind it was an enormous white marble temple of the neo-classical sort, complete with towering Corinthian columns and caryatid statues suggestive of Tarna the Tarrakkian Defender. Monte bowed deeply in homage, and ambled through the ankle-deep leaves into the ramshackle hut. Blahahahaha.

It wasn’t long before he found his Temporal Super-String Transmogrifier (TSST), and lifted it from it’s protective case. Part of his mind perceived that he was actually lifting a badly worn (and poorly tuned) ukulele with a cracked sound box out of a smelly bag of mixed refuse, but he was able to re-establish his focus once again by letting loose with another good cackle. The TSST was his most precious possession, as well as the symbol of his office, and he’d lovingly received it from the hands of his predecessor (and personal mentor) - Time Lord “Tiny Timâ€

Sam Spam suddenly poked his head into the ramshackle hut, and was shocked speechless at what he saw before him. Father Bill and Elvis, hot on his heels, collided with his back when he stopped abruptly in the doorway.

Shoving Elvis into the bracken beside the hut, Father Bill said, "Stay down, Elvis; this is man's work."

His eyes wide, Elvis hid in the scraggly grasses and watched what he could through the open doorway.

Later, he found himself in his own trailer home, in his own bed, with absolutely no memory of how he got there. When he responded to his angry parents' queries with a blank stare, and when he didn't even flinch when his Daddy threatened him with the strap, they knew something was desperately wrong with their boy.

Place: Sunny Jim's Convalescent Psychiatric Hospital

[Genre: Emoticon Extravaganza]



Four doctors at SJCPH made their rounds early one morning prior to their round of tequila shots and golf.



They paused at the door of an adolescent patient who sat in his bed staring blankly at the runny eggs and soggy toast before him on his tray.



"Good morning, Elvis," said Dr. Sun Won Friyo.



Elvis stared blankly at the doctor.




"This patient baffles me completely," admitted Dr. Sun Won Friyo.



"Look at his face. He doesn't appear to comprehend anything I'm saying."



The four doctors conferred. One said, "Have you tried anti-psychotic drugs?"



Dr. Friyo nodded sadly, remembering that failed attempt at healing his patient.



The four doctors conferred again. A different one said, "Have you considered the efficacy of hydrotherapy?"




"Oooooo, HYDROTHERAPY!" Dr. Friyo cooed. "I'll bet that will do it!"



Several burly orderlies were called in to strip Elvis to his skivvies.



The patient had a rather intense emotional reaction to being stripped by these disorderly orderlies, but resistance was futile.



Soon the skivvie-clad boy was adrift in a warm pool of water.




Hysterical crying was not the desired effect.




And so the patient was jolted with a significant voltage.



The results were less than thrilling.




The four doctors conferred again.



There was some dissention amongst the ranks of doctors.

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They fumed and stormed and insulted one another's ancestry and medical school activities.

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Elvis sat quietly on the bed, wet, crispy, and coming down off a unrighteous multi-drug induced high and wondering what fresh hell they would bestow upon him.

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Suddenly, he noticed that a pen had fallen from one of the doctor's pockets. He picked it up and began to doodle on the back of his napkin.


[img]

Mara , he thought, drawing a picture of his beloved in the heavens. Somewhere you hang like a diamond in the black velvet sky--a snowy dove on a field of snow. Stars hang their heads in shame that the glow in your eyes is brighter than they.

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Elvis's eyes glowed with love, and he smiled slightly as he continued to draw.


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"Hold up, here, fellows," one of the doctors said. "What's he doing?"


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Ceasing their bickering, the doctors gazed at the boy.


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Elvis, oblivious to their clinical observations, continued to draw.


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Oh, Mara, he thought, to feel your honey sweet lips upon mine again--to touch the soft wonder of your flesh...

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"Mara," Elvis muttered, smiling. It was the first time he'd spoken since his parents had discovered him, catatonic, in his bed.


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"Progress!" gloated Dr. Friyo. "It had to be the electrotherapy!"


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"Surely not!" said Dr. Spasm. "Surely it was the hydrotherapy!"

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"Wankers!" said Dr. Meoff. "It was the DRUGS. DRUGS are the only answer."

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"Put a cork in your pie hole, Jack," snapped Dr. Friyo. "You think drugs is the answer to every thing from pimples to butt boils!"

[img]

"Drugs ARE the answer to everything!" Dr. Meoff insisted, shoveling a handful of valium into his gullet as he loaded a syringe with an anti-psychotic cocktail for Elvis. "Roll up your sleeve, boy!"


[img]
Freshly loaded, Elvis drooped against his pillow, drooling.


[img]

"Jack, Jack, Jack," said Dr. Friyo, struggling to refrain from choking the life from Dr. Meoff. "This boy obviously is not responding to drug therapy."

[img]

"What the HELL is that!" shrieked Dr. Spasm, gazing at something that began to materialize above Elvis's bed.


[img]

The luminous figure of an irate 12-year-old girl hovered above them.

[img]

Elvis lifted his glazed eyes and stared at her. "Maaarrrrah!" he slurred.


[img]

Dr. Friyo sought an escape route. I have a very bad feeling about this, he thought.



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"Quacks!" shouted the girl. "Quacks! Look what you've done to my love! Elvis, baby, darling, sweetums! Speak to me!"


[img]

"Oh, sh*t," said Dr. Spasm.


[img]

Dr. Mehoff rushed into the bathroom in a futile attempt to hide from this avenging angel.

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"Things do not look good," said Dr. T. Feely who reacted strongly to another eerie appearance between him and the door.

[img]

A man wearing the crusader's garb appeared.


[img]

Elvis stared dumbly at the man. "Father Bill?" he gasped.


[img]

The knight grinned. "Mild mannered somewhat hippie-ish Father Bill the cocoa king in times of peace. Sir William of the Knights Templar when the need arises!" He glared at the doctors.


[img]

Terrified, they stared back at him.

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Tossing a sword at Dr. Friyo, Sir William cried, "Defend yourself, Varlet! Have at thee!" And a thrilling battle ensued.

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One by one Sir William dispatched the dastardly doctors who stood at the end of Elvis's bed.

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Meanwhile, Dr. Mehoff continued to hide in the bathroom.

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His doom, however, was fated to come at the hands of more sinister administrators.


[img]

Mara drifted down to sit beside the tripping Elvis. "My darling," she said, kissing him repeatedly. "I cannot stay. I wish I could. Know that I will always watch over you! Whenever things look their most hopeless, that is when you may hope for my intervention."

[img]

"Maaara," he slurred. "Maaara, my ooooown personal aaaaangel."


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"My darling. My sweet prince."

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Gah! My innocent eyes! thought Sir William. "Come along, my son," he said, tearing the lovers from their embrace. "We must leave before undue attention is brought upon us!"

[img]
As Mara drifted away, fading into shimmering translucence once more, she whispered, "Farewell, my sweet! I must return to the celestial realm. I wait for you, my sweet--but do not come to me too soon!"

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Sir William wrapped young Elvis in a hospital robe and led him through the crowd of by-standers gathered in the hallway.

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"What is it?"
"What's happened?"
"Is that...BLOOD?"

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As Sir William and the staggering Elvis made their way to the exit, neither noticed the evil countenance of the one that followed them. He ....

neither noticed the evil countenance of the one that followed them. He was calling Dr. Moglin on his cell phone with a report on the disaster at the clinic. Her response to his news was not at all what he expected . . .

Genre – Dramatic Monologue, in the style of Robert Browning

My Last Henchman

That's my last Henchman splattered on the wall,
Looking as if t’were a Pollock. I call
That blotch a wonder, now: Knight Templar's hands
Worked busily today, and there he lands.
Will 't please me stand and look at him? I said
"Knight Templar" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that costumed crusader,
The depth and passion of Terminator,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The bloodbath he has drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such bloody mess came there; not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Father Bill's presence only, called that spot
Of blood into the whitewashed wall: perhaps
Dear Monte chanced to say, "That Moglin’s chaps
Shall vanquished be today," or perhaps "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush of battle splattered gore"; such stuff
Was courtesy, they thought, and cause enough
For calling up that battle cry. They had
No hearts. . . how shall I say? . . . to make men sad,
To entirely depress; these were their joys
They looked on torments as favorite toys.
They were all one! Not pharmaceuticals,
Nor electric shock on his cuticles,
Nor near drowned be in tepid water,
Broke young Elvis for me. Phantom daughter
Of enemy unknown, through her speech
Gave succor to that boy, and now dead each
Pycho doctor team member is. I thank
Faust, somehow . . . my cover remains a blank,
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With eternal glory. Who'd stoop to blame
Me were I to launch into murd’rous rage?
Mine enemies soon must be locked in cage!
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In dark necromancy to make your will
To revive these bumbling scoundrels and say
“Your failure disgusts me; in ev’ry way,
You miss the mark"--and if I were to let
Them live again they’d only gain more debt.
New demons now I need summon no doubt,
My mentor can send from Hell’s depths without
Even a trifling effort. A team fell,
Of which eerie barb’rous legends shall tell
Must now assembled be from the depths dark.
This one shall never again miss its mark.
Today’s round is over and badly lost
But some trifles I count the only cost.
This day you’ve won, but my lot’s not to whine.
Know this, Monte, sweet revenge shall be mine!

"Uh . . . Doctor Moglin, that was a little too discursive a reponse for me make much sense of . . . do you want me to follow them or not?" was all he could think of to say . . .

Genre: Bible

The Book of MacElroy
Chapter 1
1 And Mō-gl-in his lord waxed wroth and spoke unto the henchmen saying Yes you fool that is what I want you to do, and unless you get on with it NOW I will come into town and SHOVE that cell phone where the sun don’t shine sonny Understand?
2 Then Mě-hŏff went out according to the way of assassins and followed Wîll-iăm of the order of The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, and followed also Êl-vis AÃ¥rōn-Bŏb-Mă-kel-rōi, son of Bơ-bë-răi, son of Rē-hŏ-bō-ăm, son of Lā-ă-dăn, son of Ma-rip-o-sin, son OF Ĭsh-bŏsh-ěth;
3 And it came to pass that Wîll-iăm and Êl-vis chose to take pause at a caravanserai to refresh themselves after the great battle.
4 And Mě-hŏff the servant of Mō-gl-in went in also.
5 And unto Kā-hě-rî he spoke SAYING A burger and fries with a diet coke please.
6 And Mě-hŏff took of his victuals, and asked counsel of his lord.
7 And Mō-gl-in spoke unto Mě-hŏff the Disciple of Faust and servant of Mō-gl-in SAYING Keep following them and don’t call me until they get somewhere where I can set up an ambush.
8 But Wîll-iăm of the order of The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, and Êl-vis AÃ¥rōn-Bŏb-Mă-kel-rōi, son of Bơ-bë-răi, son of Rē-hŏ-bō-ăm, son of Lā-ă-dăn, son of Ma-riṕ-o-sin, son of Ĭsh-bŏsh-ěth remained for a time in the caravanserai.
10 It came to pass that another came unto the caravanserai, and this one WAS small and he WAS dirty AND he laughed as if he had just been told a twisted joke.
11 It was in the mind of Mě-hŏff that his master would wish to know of this, but remembering the words of his Mō-gl-in he DID NOT contact him for verily this caravanserai was NOT a place for ambush.
12 The man who had entered who WAS Mon-tē Orv-ăl-pē-riw-ink-le, son of Gěr-ăld Ors-ŏn-pē-riw-ink-le, son of Měr-ri-wě-āth-er Vă-něs-sā-pē-riw-ink-le, daughter of Mig-dol son of Mā-năs-sēh went unto Wîll-iăm of the line of Levi and also unto Êl-vis of the line of Elroy SAYING We must talk while there is still time. And He cackled.
13 And Mon-tē said unto them that they were needed to do war upon the heathens who were the demonic legions of Mō-gl-in. And He cackled.
14 And Êl-vis spoke unto Mon-tē, ASKING But what good will I do? Father Bill might be able exorcise them but I can’t do anything except recite Shakespeare at them.
15 And Mon-tē was surprised at the naivety of Êl-vis, for he had though that it was known unto the borders of Ar-kān-săs, yea, even unto the borders of Mōn-ta-nă that the words of culture and poetry cause devastation amongst the serried ranks of telemarketers.

Chapter 2
1 Verily the prophet Mon-tē Orv-ăl-pē-riw-ink-le, son of Gěr-ăld Ors-ŏn-pē-riw-ink-le, son of Měr-ri-wě-āth-er Vă-něs-sā-pē-riw-ink-le, daughter of Mig-dol son of Mā-năs-sēh, let it be known unto Êl-vis AÃ¥rōn-Bŏb-Mă-kel-rōi, son of Bơ-bë-răi, son of Rē-hŏ-bō-ăm, son of Lā-ă-dăn, son of Ma-rip-o-sin, son of Ĭsh-bŏsh-ěth and also unto Wîll-iăm of the order of The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon, that Êl-vis was the only one of the peoples to dwell in the township of 2.5 Points who had the facility to overcome the legions of the damned.
2 Excepting of course for E-chŭs the forensics expert, but Mon-tē the prophet was not on speaking terms with him due to events, and also Mon-tē did not like people who war velvet.
3 And in time Êl-vis and Wîll-iăm accepted this, and the three girded their loins for war, and went out to do battle with the unknown.
4 And all unseen Mě-hŏff the Disciple of Faust, servant of Mō-gl-in. followed after them.
5 And it came to pass that…