SCREWED IN ELECTRICITY copyright2011 m.s.

Drift off to sleep in their locked compartment, the only time curled up after the Vision book shut down. Father's arm felt safe. Programmed hopes,desires,wishes, dreams, and sometimes regrets. Synthetic touch Mother, a body of water. In order to have birds fly above, to steal the codes, he was dead.

And books promise love made sure proper distractions attentive to detail. Even people are almost real, usually their minds working against them. Eyes blinking in the wrong direction, the technology twisted.

Sleep to claim control of the underground.

Abundance of gunfire from a sequencer code. There was something thinned out, hours upon hours breaking into trapdoors. Only a good thief knows the partly darkened room.

Retinas screw in electricity.

A distorted face crawled fast.

MINDWAVES copyright2011 m.s.

Anti-human laws were punishable by death, everything connected to two women in their forties, the shadow didn't make a sound. Almost a spiritual joy if it were confused inside her nervous system. Her body felt a ringing like a bell going off. The shadow wasn't afraid.

Cannibalism, a defective valued commodity. A street vendor selling the man's screams,such a delicacy. His identity card stripped his connections.

In his bar, a slave of sorts, rose crystal destroyed Mindwaves.

Where a cafe stood, the Orb spun in counter clockwise motion in his hands,

MENSTRUAL CYCLE copyright2011 m.s.

August 25th

He awoke laying in a pool of blood and a dead man in his bed. The man was looking up at Paul, his black lifeless eyes resting intently on him. The man's head had been smashed in with a Plumber’s wrench, the tool buried deep into the right side of his cranium.

There was a scream from Paul that rode the sound waves that broke through the early morning silence.

JULY 28TH

Paul was at the water cooler with Ron and Sid. They were Computer programers and Paul was I.T. Just standing around shootin' the shit.

“You really want us to believe you've banged all these girls here at work, Paul?” Ron gave Sid the eye.

Sid laughed, joined in. “I don't believe that about Becky. She was out that week when her Mother died.”

Paul shrugged. “Believe what you want. She needed a shoulder to cry on.”

“I do believe it about Sharon, though,” Ron elbowed Sid.

“You guys are around each other a lot,” Sid raised an eyebrow.

“No way!” Paul made a face. “Look, we just work together. Anyway, she has a mustache growing right now. Something Ron still can't do.”

“Fuck you guys,” Ron brushed past Sharon on his way to his cubicle. Sharon swallowed back tears, then made an appearance from behind the fake palm tree.

“Hey,” She said shakily. “What did you guys say to Ron. He looked pissed.”

AUGUST 25TH

Paul rose from the bed. He stood in front of the long mirror he had purchased when he was bedding the widow Strummer next door. His naked body was perfectly cut. Not an inch of fat anywhere. His arms were sleek, toned. All hair religiously removed every three days. He had a tan going, which had become the new pride.

What he saw as his eyes moved down below his tattoo of a naked woman holding a rose on his abdomen, horrified Paul. He no longer had a penis and two balls. He had acquired a vagina, with a small trimmed bush. It was long and had three pink folds, and at the moment, was menstruating.

Paul screamed, both hands clutching his dark curly hair. He fell to his knees, asking God what had happened to him.

Then he heard sirens. He remembered the dead man in his bed. Paul tried to get himself together. He ran around his apartment trying dress comfortably. Nothing seemed to satisfy him, except a pair of pajamas. He threw on his snow boots and grabbed the trench coat and wallet as he went out the door.

THREE DAYS LATER

There was a knock at the door. At first, it was a rattle. Then it grew louder, a banging. Sharon rose from the couch, a bag of cheetos fell to the floor and her latest romance she was

reading slipped between the cushions. Reluctantly, Sharon went to the door. What if it's the Landlady wanting the rest of the rent? She peeked through the peephole. It wasn't anyone she knew. A woman in grimy pajamas and sunglasses and a scarfe badly wrapped around her dark curly hair. Sharon turned, started back to the couch.

“Sharon,” A voice called out. “I know your there, I watched you go in your apartment earlier.”

“Oh my God,” Sharon cupped her mouth with both hands. “Paul...?”

She rushed to the door. She pulled the chain from the lock and flung the door open. Paul took three long strides and was inside. He quickly pushed the door shut, leaned wearily against it. He sighed.

“Paul....you know they are looking for you. How in the hell.....why?” Sharon took Paul by the hand and set him on the couch. Immediately he burst into tears. Sharon was uncomfortable. He threw his arms around her. He hadn't been in her place since the night they spent together three months ago. Sharon relented, patted Paul on the back.

“I don't understand anything anymore,” He bawled.

“There, there, Paul. Tell me....all about it.”

Paul wiped his eyes with a feminine hand. “I went out four days ago. To Snozzes bar....everything is hazy after that.”

“Who is the man they found dead in your bed.”

“From what I can remember...I picked him up. And I took him back to my place....I'm not...gay....” Paul let the word trail off. Sharon was looking at him funny now.

“Well...” She shrugged.

“No, no, Sharon,” He touched her hand. “It only get's weirder.”

“That's really not that weird...being gay...for you, maybe....”

“No, please. I was propelled to.....have him.....but …...obviously...I was upset.....by it.”

She was looking at him funny again. “Obviously. Do you remember hitting him--”

Paul began crying again. He nodded to her. “When I woke up and he was in my bed...kissing my shoulder I hit him---with a wrench I was using earlier and....this is even stranger....”

“Oh, Paul...this...is so terrible.”

“Listen to me!” He snapped at her, which got her attention. Sharon backed away from him slightly. “I'm sorry....listen to me...I awoke to that..also I discovered.....I have a vagina.”

It was reflex for Sharon to laugh. She threw her hands over her mouth to stifle it.

“It's not funny. This really happened to me.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Paul.”

Paul heard sirens. He jumped up, looked out the window. He placed the sunglasses on to cover tired eyes. “Don't tell anyone I was hear.” He said, ran to the door.

“Paul don't go...you can stay---” But he was gone out the door.

Did this really happen? Sharon thought. Was it a dream? She shrugged. “Wow, it is true,” Sharon said to herself. “If you wish for something hard enough, it can come true.”

INVOCATION copyright2011 m.s.

It was a revelation, seeing Maya sitting in the booth at the all-night Cafe. She was alone, and looked as if death shared a bed with her. Frailty had taken her prisoner. She didn't smile when she saw me approach her. Maya looked like she was in another world. Her body was shaking slightly, and at first I thought maybe she was drunk. Now I know better.

“Oh. Kevin. Your here, I see,” She barely opened her mouth to speak. She had tried to fix her hair, one side held up with bobby pins, the other side left hanging down past her hazel eyes.

“I'm the one who is suppose to say, strange seeing you here. I heard you were in Haiti.”

She giggled slightly. “Only in spirit.” Maya's smile came and went quickly.

Maya was a gifted filmmaker and dance choreographer. I was the one the local New york filmmakers called to set up college tours and place their films in movie theaters. I also knew a lot of money men.

“You really don't look well,” I told her.

“Do you think we could get out of here?” Her eyes seemed to dim slightly. I couldn't help but fall into the chasm of those big dark eyes once she adjusted and a Cheshire cat grin came across her face.

I shrugged. “I suppose so. Where do you want to go?”

It took her a minute to speak. She was gathering her thoughts. “ Brian... I want to take you to the Gauntlet theater. I would like to show you my new dance interpretation....of life and death.. and how the two could be resurrected.”

I felt uneasy. No matter, I flashed a smile. “Of course,” I put out my hand for her to take, she ignored it. She rose to her feet and haphazardly walked to door of the cafe. I wasn't even sure anyone was still at the Gauntlet except the janitor. It was a little after midnight and the last show of the night was over at ten thirty.

In the cab ride to the Gauntlet, Maya told me about her time in Haiti. She spent three years there filming ritual Voodon dances. How she came face to face with H'Gonn, the God of death. How she saw him take a young girl's life force and she died on the spot. One week later she was walking around the village handing out black roses to those she deemed would die soon. Within a the village fell into a flu that claimed 25 victims, all of which received black roses from the young girl.

She went on to describe H'Gonn with blue -gray skin and a face scaly snakes make up his features. When she spoke of the god of death, it was as if she were in love with him, an unnatural obsession. He was also a master of the dance that could hypnotize and feed off your waking dream.

I wasn't sure I wanted to do this. The building was locked and only minutes later did I see the janitor. I really felt uneasy standing outside in the cold dark night with someone whom I thought I knew. Maya had seemed to not be all there. She was once very lively, talkative, used her hands a lot. Now, she spoke softly, slowly, and so many spaces of silence in between sentences.

She urged me to call to the janitor. I was able to get his attention. To my astonishment, he remembered me from other shows I had been to. He let us in with much excitement.

“We need to use the stage, would that be okay?”

The old black man laughed. “Of course. I'm just happy to see anybody.” He went on to explain no one worked at night anymore. The cleaning ladies were let go. His older grandson moved to Utah. I chatted nicely with him until we reached the stage.

Nervously, he left us alone. He kept a watchful eye on Maya. He whispered as he left the stage, “ Don't look her in the eyes.”

That perplexed me. It was a strange thing to say.

I sat in the first row, middle seat. Maya stood, her feet together, her head hung down, looking at the floor. For several minutes, nothing happened. Just as I was going to fall asleep, she screamed and jumped into the air. Her body moved in slow motion, legs kicking above her head. Hips move from side to side. Her small pert breasts said hello to the sky as her long white neck caressed the shadows from the stage lights.

She fell to the floor. She lay there, motionless.

Maya suddenly sat up. She crawled across the stage, left, right. She writhed about...

She was gone.

I stood up, looked around. She had disappeared.....gone.

“Maya?” I called out. “Maya?” No answer. I wiped sweat from my forehead, looked up. There were forty or more large black snakes crawling around the stage and on top of each other. I was flabbergasted.

The lights in gauntlet dimmed several times. Right in front of me...when my eyes adjusted....the God of dance...God of death stood in front of me.....H'Gonn.

Just as she'd described him. Two red fiery eyes peering out from a face formed by many snakes of all kinds, crawling in and out of his skin. He reached for me and I screamed.

That's when I found myself in the all night cafe, facing another colleague. Richie Davenport. He was a business manager for many of the new York filmmakers. We were sipping black coffee, and I realized I was the one who had been doing much of the talking, explaining the events that had occurred

“My friend,” He said. “It sounds as if you have been through so much.”

I looked at myself in the cafe window. My reflection showed a person who had not taken care of themselves. Ripped overcoat, full beard, grimy face. “It's been a rough night.” I said.

Richie laughed. “Try a rough three years.”

“What?” I nearly broke down in tears.

“Everyone would say, 'that's Kevin, roaming the streets again as if in a daze.' I couldn't believe until three months ago I saw you on 2^nd Ave. You didn't understand anything I said. Kept mumbling about Maya.”

I grabbed his hand. “How is she? Have you seen her?”

He shook his head. “No one has.” He saw the tears form in my eyes. “She's been dead for three years. Died in Haiti.”

.

SLINKY copyright2011 m.s.

Hopper Gold was a comedian in the silent era known primarily for his character some termed “the happy hobo”. A few years after his career took off, Hophien Goldstein, a name given to him at birth, was able to create his own production company, and then with Mary Martell and Norris colin Beaumont, they had their own film company. Hopper had money and lots of property. A houseboat, which he took a year off to just sail the pacific coast. Drugs were sometimes a factor in his wild behavior. A little coke, which wasn't completely against the law yet, but Hopper wasn't hard bitten with them unless he was filming.

Hopper's weakness was young girls. Not too young, except that time in his hometown of London he purchased a night with a twelve year old. No, Hopper liked his women sixteen and, but no older than twenty-five. Hopper had just been married for the fourth time to Bessie Spence. They married on her seventeenth birthday. Already a veteran in the film business with twenty eight films under her belt, Bessie was happy to get far away from her controlling stage mother.

And on the night of one of the last great parties that Hopper threw, cowboy star Tex Magee had already planned his revenge for his much hated boss, and Hopper wasn't going to get the last laugh.

Tex had been over Hopper's house a month ago to get his signature on a new three picture deal with Starbright, the company Hopper had started. Hopper was the only one holding out. Mary Martell signed right away, since she remembered how easy Tex was at pleasing her years ago. Beaumont had no problems signing since Tex's last three movies made a lot of money for the company.

Tex met the butler at the door and the butler showed Tex to the game room.

That was where Tex saw Hopper's new prize.

The poor creature. She was missing her lower half, just a torso with very long arms. She had a face only a mother could love. One eye larger than the other. A slack mouth and a nose flattened to her yellow skin with tiny holes for nostrils. There were only four long black strands of hair tied in one ponytail on top of her peanut shaped head.

Tex approached the her cage carefully, that sat on a pool table. The closer he got, the more excited she was.

“Howdy, pretty lady,” Tex said nervously. “Where did he get you?”

She screamed, laughed, shook her cage. Tex backed away. He heard footsteps from behind him. He turned, saw Hopper standing there smoking a huge stogie.

“You like her?” He said gingerly. “Saw this misfortune at shop in Siam. I quite took a fancy to her.” Hopper exhaled a large smoke ring that hung in the air a few minutes. “I've got big plans for her next dinner party. You see, Tex, I own or have owned nearly everything you could think of. Until now, I have not owned a human being. What huge responsibility it is!” Hopper let out a wheezing laugh. Strange a man makes his living making others laugh and he has such a weak slimy personality. Hopper sighed. “Now I understand how those slave owners felt. The weight of it all is...crushing.”

He is a small man, Tex thought. Like a dwarf. “Yeah...Hopper, a mess I would say,

This thing....anyway my contracts---”

“No,” Hopper chewed his cigar.

“What?” Tex took a few steps toward Hopper. His six-one stature towering over the comedienne.

“Listen, chap. When you have proven yourself in Tinseltown you can a buffalo chip more and maybe your own production company. But those...horse dramas you make, will never be art.”

“Made more money last year than your slapstick’s, boy-o.” Tex's face had puckered up like he'd eaten a grapefruit with dog shit on it. “I have been in this town ten years. I won three straight Rodeos. 1909,1910,1911--”

“Rodeos....Ro-de-ooos!” Hopper shook his head, laughing. “I do love your accent. Oh, my, Texans are so droll.” He walked away laughing.

Tex was left with the torso laughing at him. “I'm from Omaha.” He said, defeated.

Just outside of the studio Tex sat in a local diner with Hopper's butler. The elderly black man was nervous. Kept looking over his shoulder.

“He doesn't know your here, Albert. Everything's alright,” Tex told him.

Albert shook his head. “No sir,” He pointed at the sign on the wall behind him that read No Negros or Dogs allowed. “I'm not worried about Mr. Gold.”

Tex smiled a toothy grin. “Naw, no reason to be scared, Mr. Albert. I own this place. As you can see, we are almost closed anyway. Now, just relax.”

“I can have the money now, please, sir?”

Tex threw down two twenty’s. “As per our agreement, hoss. Tell me about that curiosity Mr. Gold has in his game room.”

“It's hideous, Mr. Magee. I wish Mr. gold had never brought that thing in the house. The noises it makes at night, screechin' like an owl. Growlin' at me and the servant girls when we come and go.”

“He found this at a shop in Siam?”

Albert looked confused. “No, Mr. Magee. I was with him. We were here, in Los angeles. I heard about this man who traveled in a carnival. I went to a speakeasy a few months back.” Albert smiled, shrugged. “My only weakness is goin' out, hearin' some hot jazz....some low blues....and drinkin' myself into a stupor. I can't help that.”

“No man can help that, Albert. Go on.” Tex poured himself a glass of beer from a bottle. The bottle was dusty and he didn't even wipe the top, which disgusted Albert.

“This man showed Mr. Gold how he trained...that thing.”

“Trained?”

“Like in a circus..Lions.”

“Ah. How was that, Albert?”

“He had a code word.” Albert leaned in, whispered. “Slinky. He calls it slinky...because it slinks across the floor.”

“That's the code word?”

Albert nodded. “Then he strokes it's head. Says things to it you should only say to your wife....do things...you should only do with your wife. It says so in the Bible.”

“No kiddin'?” Tex was taken aback by that revelation.

“I don't like bein' there, Mr. Magee. We close up house before the big dinner party. Mr. Gold goin' on family vacation,I have a whole week off. I'm not lookin' forward to going back. No sir.”

“What does he get her to do, Albert?”

“Oh, Mr. Magee...it's horrible. She eats small animals..alive. It started with rats...now cats and...the neighbors little dog. He has the pet shop send him small dogs and she tears into them. I can't take bein' there.”

“Your not goin' to, Albert. You come work for me. Fifty a week, boy. That's more than Gold pays right?”

“What do I tell him? I been in his house for three years.”

“Tell him that your going home, Albert back to wherever it is. One more thing, hoss. You keep that key after you lock up his house. Give me the key.”

“I....don't know....” The old man nodded his head.

“Good boy. He is leaving her, right?”

“He can't take that thing to England, Mr. Magee. He'd have to get it a passport. A famous man like Mr. gold can't be seen with a freak.”

Tex sat back in his chair, nodded. “No, I guess he can't, can he?”

Tex let himself in Hopper's house. The floors were cold from the fires being out, no electricity. Clumsily, Tex found his way to the game room. He had sent word to all involved in his affairs, he would be gone the whole week to New Mexico to look at land. He even had his girl drop him off at the train station. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor. He brought supplies for himself. He noticed that Hopper hadn't left anyone to care for his little treasure or any means of food for it. Tex pulled the blanket from her cage. She stirred a little, then sat up. She shook the cage and grunted, pointing at her mouth, indicating she was hungry.

“I don't think so, pretty lady.” Tex said. He took out a pack of rolling paper and tobacco. He rolled a cigarette. He took a few puffs. “You know, if your funny friend was nicer to me, I wouldn't do this to you. But,” Tex put the lit cigarette to her large forehead. The flesh sizzled and sank underneath fire red tip. She screamed, a cry that Tex will never forget. “All's fair in love and war.”

The stage was set for Tex's vengeance, and Hopper called everyone into the game room for a special show.

It was a crowd of about thirty or so people. All with a glass of brandy or stronger, some with a vein full of nefarious narcotic. Tex took a view up front, just behind a newspaper tycoon. Tex lit his cigar, smiled big. Only he knew the joke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I use the term loosely, see my new prize!” Hopper pulled the blanket from the cage. The audience drew short breaths and recoiled. “Now, now. No need for that.” She stirred in her cage, pulled herself up by holding on the cage. She came closer, into the light. Hopper noticed deep burn marks and lift an eyebrow in a question. He quickly pulled in the natural showman. “Now, everyone, hold on to yourselves for a remarkable show. Watch as Matilda eats this---” a new butler brings in a newborn lamb, sets it on the pool table. “You will never forget this night.”

Hopper unhinged the clasp to the cage. She slid out of her cage cautiously. Tex could feel his heart skip a beat. He inhaled the cigar, exhaled in one long sigh. Hopper looked at his audience. He motioned with both hands. “Well, come closer!” They did so, except the newspaper tycoon, he stayed back and pushed Tex forward. Tex was side by side with Hopper.

She saw the cigar and began to grunt. Hopper smiled big and whispered, “ Slinky...”

She put both hands on the pool table and pushed past the lamb. She grabbed Tex by his tuxedo coat tail and pulled him down. He smashed his face into the wooden side of the pool table. She took a handful of his blond hair and fell with him to the floor. Hopper was aghast, his audience screamed and scattered.

Her teeth bared down on Tex's cheek and the small sharp points burrowed deep to the bone. Blood fiercely spurted everywhere, blinding Tex. No one came to his rescue as Tex's cries could be heard throughout the mansion.

HEADLIGHTS copyright2011 m.s,

Sean rose from his bed, feeling the dampness of sweat on his arms. He rubbed the middle of his forehead with two fingers, yawned. Outside his bedroom window the sun was setting. In another three hours, he would make his way down Highway 20 to the warehouse and work another twelve hour shift boxing up assorted chocolates and placing them on a pallet. Cora was in the other room playing on the computer. He could see the light from the monitor flicker in the dark room across the hallway.

He threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, clumsily staggered to the other bedroom. He saw Cora staring intently at the screen, her large framed glasses sitting at the end of her nose. He waited by the doorway, decided not to disturb her. She had just got off work at the dry cleaners an hour before, he was sure she needed some time to unwind.

Sean went to the kitchen, looked in the refrigerator, and grabbed a handful of ham and chucked the roll into his mouth. He reached for the gallon of milk, when some headlights coming down the lane caught his attention. It was blindingly bright, passing through the kitchen window. Sean squinted, raised his arm to block the light from his eyes.

He went to the backdoor, opened it slightly, peeked out. No one was there. The headlights were gone. No car out in his driveway. He and Cora lived a good two miles from the next neighbor, so it was a big deal when someone drove up to his house. In the past year, only Cora's dad had visited and maybe Jones from work. Since all ties were broken with Sean's family, and it would take more than an episode of Oprah to sort it all out, chances of a visitor out of the blue, was rare.

Sean shrugged closed the door. “Strange,” He said to himself. “Maybe I'm still dreaming.” He poured himself a glass of milk, took a long sip. Then he placed the glass on the table and went to the room where Cora was still watching YouTube on the computer.

Sean leaned against the doorway. “Hey,” He said, his voice booming.

It took a second before Cora realized he had said something. She removed the headphone from her tangled brown hair, smiled. “You said something?”

Sean nodded. “How was your day?”

“Okay. Didn't know you were up.” Cora swirled around in her swivel chair.

“Been up a few minutes. Did you see the headlights coming down the lane?”

Sean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“No. Who's here?” Cora folded her arms, stretched her neck to see out the window.

“That's the weird thing. Nobody is here. I saw the headlights, almost blinded me. I poked my head out the backdoor, no car there.” Sean shrugged, laughed.

“I bet you were dreaming or something,” Cora stood. She walked up to Sean and kissed him.

“That's what I thought too. But....I don't know.”

Cora patted him on the stomach. “I'll go make you some eggs. How's that?”

“Yeah.. okay.” Sean said. He stepped aside and let her past him. He followed her to the kitchen.

Sean rose from his bed, feeling the dampness of sweat on his arms. He rubbed the middle of his forehead with two fingers, yawned. Outside his bedroom window the sun was setting. He saw the headlights coming down the lane. He slid on a pair of jeans and a shirt. He ran through the hall and into the kitchen. He opened the backdoor and stepped out on the cold ground. Cora put the Metro in park and turned off the engine. She quickly got out of the car, left the drivers door wide open. She was sobbing, trying to talk on her cell phone. She stumbled through the yard and walked through Sean, and into the house.

Sean heard her say, “Dad....Sean...Sean was killed this morning....another car.....”

Sean followed her in and became a memory.

THE MESSENGER copyright 2011 m.s.

I awoke to the smell of sulfur in the air. It was two A.M. and it was already a hard night's sleep that made my brain Topsy turvy. I opened my eyes to blurred vision, a pounding head, and a lingering shadow that hovered above my bed. A low key whisper protruded through my tingling ears. When I sat up in my bed and turned on the bedside lamp the shadow dissipated into thin air.

I stood, looked around, a .38 S and W already in hand. I found nothing at first. But I heard a rumble in the kitchen and proceeded there. I hit the light switch and something grabbed my hand. I heard a hissing sound and that damned sulfur perfumed the air once more. The shadow reappeared, with it's winged body and over-sized turnip shaped head. I felt hot breath that smelled of rotting corpses on my face.

“Light is not permitted, Chambers.” The shadow said. It knew my name, and wasn't polite enough to give it's own name. My wrist was beginning to ache, this thing had some grip.

“You can let go of me, funny face,” I grunted.

“I heard you had quite a sense of humor.....a human trait that disgusts me.” It's voice seemed to change pitch with each syllable. It was an annoying sound to my ears, a lot like fingernails across a blackboard.

It removed it's kung fu grip from my wrist. Something told me to put the S and W away, it wouldn't do any damage to this creature anyway.

“I'm sure it's not as disgusting as your breath. My guess is your mother never made you brush your teeth...or fangs.” It wasn't a joke it liked at all and showed it by cutting loose a growl that shook the refrigerator.

“If I was here for any other reason--”

“Why are you here, waking me up in the early hours---”

“If you weren't under the protection of G'nal, I would eat your intestines from the inside out!” The appliances shook again. This thing had put me in a bad mood. Yeah, I was in the protection of the Demon G'nal, and whoever this Hell spawn was, he was a lower rank than my protector. Screw it, I was gonna push it to the limits.

“You don't have any power beyond scare tactics. Guess what? I'm not scared.”

It grabbed my arm, the flesh began to simmer, burn. I screamed dropped my gun. Suddenly I was thrown across the room into the living room of my bungalow. My back slammed into the wall, jarring framed photos of loved ones to the floor. I tumbled across the carpet, knocking the T.V. off it's stand.

“Make sure you give this message to Romy Berline, human waste. You have two days before I come for your body and turn it into a pillar of salt.”

I touched my arm, symbols and letters from a strange language had been etched into my flesh. I looked up and the shadow was gone.

I heard footsteps outside my door. There was a faint rapping. Then a muffled voice calling my name. “Pete?” The voice belonged to Maggie Conolly. I was living in the bungalow her rich husband owned. It was an odd relationship, ever since I acquired G'nal as my protector. He allowed my keeping Maggie company and sponging off her, in return he was somewhat protected too. He was a nutcase. Searching the world over for Mystical artifacts for crazy-ass schemes.

I hobbled over to the door, let her in. She looked good as usual, changing her hair to a more red tinge than the chestnut brown. She filled out that robe nicely.

Maggie stole a cigarette from top of my Ross MacDonald book on the coffee table. “Are you alright?” She whispered.

I nodded, reached for the lighter on the coffee table, lit her cigarette. “As well as a guy can be whose been tossed around by a demon.”

Her eyes widened. “G'nal let this happen?”

I moved a couple of picture frames, sat on the couch. Maggie did the same. She sat real close to me. “Yeah, I was wondering why he let this happen. Might be a rank or something.”

“Your arm.....” Maggie examined it. “What is this...burns?”

“This shadow woke me about an half hour ago. He grabbed me, we exchanged words, then....this....burned into my skin. He said to make sure I give this message to Romy Berline.”

“Do you know a Romy Berline?” Maggie's eyes were cool, icy. Jealousy rearranged a beautiful face.

“It is obvious that I had better get to know her....and fast. First I better find out why this Demon picked me out of a host of people that actually know her. Why my so-called protector didn't protect me.”

On the corner of fifth and Warren, Little Jimmy, the paper boy met up with me. I handed him some coins and he flipped a morning paper to me. I opened the paper to the sports section, I wanted to see if the Rams were taking it on the chin again, and damn if they didn't from the Bears. I looked up and the usual busy street had stopped all commotion. The hundred or so that was on that street was sure to suffer some memory loss courtesy of G'nal. He towered over me, his ember eyes glowing in the snowy atmosphere, and those misshaped goat legs looked out of place on concrete sidewalk.

“What the hell happened this morning?” I screamed in the horned bastard' slimy green face. “You didn't protect me like our deal.”

“Already you have given me three souls for the year---you have done well. Four more would solidify the agreement. I have protected you, Master. You are still alive. But you stink of the curse.”

“What curse?” I said nervously.

“You interfered with a Messenger. I believe the smell of this Messenger was on his way to meet another, and you so stupidly got in the way. Any human that receives the message and fails to deliver this message, turns to---”

“A pillar of salt. I heard what it said.”

“Then the directions are clear, your actions pure, no reason you should not achieve satisfactory results, Master.”

“I don't know who Romy Berline is.”

“Neither do I,” Smoke took G'nal away and little Jimmy appeared along with Detective Calvin Hopps, running an errand for the Police commissioner.

Hopps was a tall slender man who smiled way too much to show a line of broken teeth. “They want you, Chambers.”

“Everybody wants me, Hopps.” I snarled. This morning was turning rotten, and by the smell of that, my day would end up the same. We walked and talked, my pace faster than his left leg hop.

“Well, the funny thing, Chambers, is they got a weird body in the morgue. Need you expertise for this case.”

“I'm not the dick you guys are.”

“I'm not at all offended by the double -entendre. No, we've never seen anything like this. I'm telling you. A skinless freak with tattoos everywhere, a language nobody can understand. It keeps changing from that description to a shadowy figure. This thing had been found on 3^rd and bottoms, chest split open, and a feather jabbed in it.”

Standing inside the morgue when I arrived, was Hemlock-police commissioner- and Ragdale- Detective Lt. Always happy to see these two, and how strange they were always together.

“How'd you two sleep this morning? I slept horrible,” I chuckled.

Ragdale flew into a fit, bawled up his fists. “I ought to beat you to a pulp! You punk---”

“Ragdale!” Hemlock squealed. “Heel,boy!”

“You know what he was implying---”

“A joke—yes, Ragdale—no matter much in bad taste it was. Just a joke.

What do you make of this, Chambers?” Hemlock pointed to the unusual corpse. Just as I had been informed. The messenger was laying on a slab of concrete in a white room, colder than hell. There was a huge gash in it's chest cavity, the feather buried deep inside. The body couldn't decide to stay solid or change over to shadow—whenever it did so—the lights would flicker. Sulfur was hostile in the air, burned my nose. I explained to them what happened to me this morning. Hemlock just smiled, nodded. Ragdale showed his disbelief by frowning and sputtering words not meant to be understood by actual human beings.

“So this is what disturbed you and gave you the unusual tattoo? I see.” Hemlock said.

“You don't believe him, do you?” Ragdale railed out.

“It doesn't matter what I believe, you bozo! I want this resolved and now! You get help from us, okay, Chambers. Just name it. Solve this problem—no bloodshed of any citizens or my Officers. Understood?”

“Very nice of you, Hemlock. I need Hopps to find out who Romy Berline is and where I can find this person.”

Meanwhile, I visited someone who might be able to decipher this special message. Fred Roos was a guy who used to work for the Museum specializing in old languages, Latin, etc. He was also one of the biggest heroin addicts I've ever known. When he lost his job with the National Museum, I ran a few cons with him. Usually getting rich people to buy phony scrolls from the Roman times. When he lit up, Fred was the best liar I'd ever known. When he wasn't lit up, he was the smartest man I'd ever known. So I brought some smack with me. I couldn't get any on short notice. I showed Fred a baggie of brown sugar, he moved like a cat to snatch it from me and fell on his face to the hardwood floors in his kitchen. He laid there, crying like a newborn babe.

The one room apartment was a mess. Food on dirty dishes in the sink, papers everywhere on the table, clothes hung in the refrigerator.

“Why?” He bawled. “Why did you come here? You devil, you!Why?Why?” He beat his fists on the floor.

“Shut up!” I kicked him in the legs. He cried harder. “I said shut up! You want somebody to call the cops? They come in here and see smack residue everywhere---”

“What do you want?” His voice was muffled from his face hidden in his arms.

“I want you to read something written in an ancient language. You do this for me, I'll give you the smack in my coat pocket.”

Fred leaped to his feet like a spry young man. Fred was sixty-one, short bald and bespectacled. No one would mistake him for an athlete. At that moment, he looked like a Triathlon winner.

“Where is it? This document?” He said quickly, wiping spittle with a handkerchief from his pocket. I showed him my forearm.

He looked at me, stunned. “What have you done to yourself, my boy?”

“I didn't do this to myself, Fred.” I went into what happened. Strangely, Fred was a believer in all things occult.

He examined my arm for sometime. Tracing the letters and symbols burned into my pink flesh. He wrote them down, looked in a couple of books. It took two hours, but old Fred cracked it. He was shaking his head, laughing to himself.

“Spill it, you old geezer. The joke.” I croaked, blew smoke in his face.

“Please, Peter,” He coughed. “This language, you say came from a Demon?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, more or less.”

“It's comprised of several languages. Latin, the main one. German, Spanish. Gaelic. And, I believe,” He looked at what he had written on a cardboard box. “A derivative of Nilo-Saharan -- African.”

“Tell me what the fuckin' thing means, okay.” I had to be rough or he wouldn't deliver the goods.

“It says: Mother of my child---shall have protection in this lifetime and beyond. And then it's signed by a name that is unpronounceable in any Earthly language.”

I shook my head, Shrugged. I gave the baggie to Fred. He greedily took it, turned his back on me and headed for the bedroom. I scampered quickly out the door and down the street before the old fool figured it out I had conned him.

I got as far as twenty second street when a cop car pulled up beside me. “Hopps wants you down at the St. Barris Church. Get in,Chambers.”

I didn't argue. I couldn't wait to see what Hopps had found out.

When I got there, Hopps was standing on the doorstep of this great gothic church. On the columns, it read Established 1879, by Saint Barris. I felt sick to my stomach. My skin  was hot, to the point of sizzling. I began to have dry heaves.

“What's wrong with you?” Hopps cried out. I stumbled away from the Church and fell in a snowbank. He followed, knelt beside me.

“Well, Hopps, it seems I can't go anywhere near a Church. I get violently sick.” I told him.

He pushed the brim up of his bowler from his eyes and smirked at me.”That put's a damper on your plans.” He pointed to the Church. “Romy Berline, my friend, is a Nun.”

“Okay. I need you to go in there, ask to see her. Tell her I'm hurt. Tell her someone with a feather struck me down.”

Hopps nodded. “Sit tight. One Nun coming up.”

I felt better in a half hour. But it took an hour or more for Hopps to bring Romy Berline out to me. He got twenty feet from me, and a bright light formed between us. I heard Sister Berline scream, then Hopps screamed. I saw his chest being sliced open like a knife through hot butter. Blood spurted out as if a soda bottle had been shook up before opening it. The expression on Hopps face is one I will never forget. His mouth was a jarred, teeth clenched tight, eyes bulging out. He touched the feather that was thrusting out from his trench coat. He fell in the snow in a pool of red that formed beside his listless body.

I ran to them. The light turned towards me. In an instant, G'nal appeared from a cloud of smoke. There were words from G'nal and a very blond man in a gray suit with a white rose in his lapel. He was standing bare foot in the snow that melted from his touch and green grass began to grow immediately.

“Please,” Sister Berline wept as she tended to Hopps. “I beg of you, end this. No more bloodshed. Please, in the name of our Lord and the Father. Please....”

G'nal and the man in the gray suit were locked in an eye to eye game of standoff. The man smiled, plucked his white rose from his lapel and handed it to Sister Berline. She graciously accepted it. The man turned from us, wings had sprouted from his back. A bright light consumed him, and he was gone. So was G'nal.

After they came and took Hopps body away, and Ragdale and Hemlock screamed at me. I asked Sister Berline to sit with me at a coffee house. We ordered nothing, nothing was said for the longest time.

“I didn't intend for this to happen. This...chaos.” She had intense gray-blue eyes. I wondered what she looked like underneath her Nun get-up. “I was in the basement of the Church. I found an old book, began reading something I knew I wasn't suppose to delve into. Apparently I called out an ancient creature known as a Messenger. The Greeks and Arabs often wrote of these creatures created by God---not Evil—not good—to bring messages to us—in many forms. I saw not it's true form, but it's human form. I ….did something..was doing...something I shouldn't have done....i fell in love.”

She broke down. Tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. She was touching her belly with her hands, rubbing gently. I reached out, took her hand. There was jolt through both of our bodies. When I reopened my eyes, the message was gone from my arm.

We looked at each other. Nodded. I stood and walked out of the coffee house, never to see or hear from Romy Berline again.