Page Five Ghouls December 9, 2017

Time In a Bottle

Byline: Gary the Infinite
Dateline: Everywhen

Oh hai, y’all. It is Gary. And when I say ‘is’ I mean ‘is’. Cuz I is as ‘is’ as one can be. This place is tits! Tomorrow? Yesterday? Who cares? It’s all right here. Or over there. I can see off in the distance me chewing out Mort for making me work with Morgan’s granddaughter. I didn’t trust her. Didn’t? Don’t? Doesn’t matter. Because if I move over here, we make quite the team. There’s Alwyn. There’s a hack life coach over there who just got 700 bot followers on Twitter. I wonder if he knows they’re all Russians. Well over there by that big old fuck off rock, he figures it out. Heh heh, jerk. Holy shit! Merwin? Merwin comes here. He’s talking to a lost dog and a disgruntled cockatoo. Stay out of my crisper drawer, you little shit. I don’t think he heard me. Too far away. Wait, Alwyn? Looks like he’s crying. Haha, pussy. Is that past of future? See, now it matters. If over there is me and Steph in Oberon’s cage, then this must be the future? The present? He’s looking at a picture of Stephanie as a little girl, big grin as she sits beside the Christmas tree proudly holding up a gift from her favorite grandfather. It’s a book. The Necronomicon? And not the Cthulhu mythos goof one. The real deal. Once a sick bastard, Alwyn, always a sick bastard. What does a four-year-old need with the Necronomicon? Unless he wanted her to continue the ‘family business’? Did she actually read the damned thing? Maybe she should. Read the fucking book, Steph.

I’m curious about how all this Alwyn mess plays out, but I can’t see that far. The areas of the future are obscured by a thick, gray mist. If I had guess I’d say probably still has sway here in Dreamtime. The future hasn’t been built yet. But if I’m everywhen, shouldn’t it already be there? Shit gets murky when physics and myth collide. Dude, what if I smoked more DMT while I’m here? My brain might fold in on itself, but like The Who said, ‘What is it? I’ll take it’. Puff, puff, give.

And the ground has turned into swiss cheese. Holes have opened up everywhen. Where do they go? You think I’m not going to climb in one? Brother, I’m everywhen, I already did.

Whomp.

I’m at a rave in the south of France. There’s Nathan and that hippy chick he was hanging all over. There’s me and Steph. Will I break time if I meet myself? Will I destroy the future? Doctor Who has been very unclear on a lot of this. I don’t actually think I’m here in any sense a modern mind would call real. At least the hole stayed open.

Whomp.

Back in Dreamtime. Where was Crying Alwyn? I very much would like to taunt him. Screw that, there’s Alwyn in Steph’s old neighborhood. She’s going head up with him. The streets are littered with kobold corpses. Nathan is bleeding out. Oh shit. When is this? Don’t be now, don’t be now. Stop with the modern conception of time, Gary. Just trace back.

Whomp.

I’m on an airplane. Alwyn is sitting in first class. What a shitlord. Hey, I can travel space and time and not have to worry about the TSA hassling me? This place just gets better and better. Where is this plane headed? Cleveland. I can just murder Alwyn in his sleep and slip back out. Except I’m not corporeal. I’m just a psychic projection. I wonder if I can get him in here somehow?

Leader of the Pack

Byline: Steph Morgan

Dateline: December 9th, 2017

Heya, SEG-ers. Ever felt what its like to be on death’s doorstep only to have the weirdest thing happen? It’s like dread and elation had a very confused baby. As the army of the dead broke through the barricades and began flooding the hotel lobby, they swarmed around me. Bracing for the inevitable dismemberment I closed my eyes and thought about my happiest day ever. It was Christmas morning and Grampy Morgan had come to live with us. He gave me strange book, but I was so happy to have him around that I didn’t care what the gift was. The real gift was having him come live with us. I wasn’t going to read the book. It looked really creepy, but a voice in my head shouted to me. It wasn’t my own, at least it didn’t seem like it. It was loudy and gravelly and slurring, like a drunk smoker. It also swore at me. I was four and don’t think I had ever heard the ‘f’ word before. And it called me Steph. No one ever called me Steph at that point. I certainly didn’t call myself that. It said, “Read the effing book, Steph.” So I did.

As the zombies reached for me I could feel them pulling at the fabric of my clothing. Then they stopped. I opened my eyes and they had dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. What’s creepier, SEG-ers, zombies about to eat you alive or having them drop to one knee and bow? It’s the latter, the former you don’t have time to think about. Add to that the fact that they watch me as I move about the room. A couple tried to take a bite out of one of the room service guys. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I yelled for them to stop. In my mind, it was a plea, but from my mouth came a clear command. And they obliged, shuffling back into the horde, looking sheepish. Interesting. How far does this go? I told them to leave the hotel. They did. I told them to wait quietly outside and not cause a fuss, outside of what their just being here would cause. They did. They were very quiet, too. Not a gurgle in the lot. Isn’t this something? I’m better at wielding Alwyn’s weapons than he is. I would have run, too.

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