03 T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 2

Late to the game? Catch up here.

II. Chicken Soup For The Skull

“Hey Sam,” I said from the sidecar of the motorcycle we had just stolen. “Why don’t we make this motorcycle fly?”

“Oh, that’s right, dream motorcycles do fly.”

“If you want ’em to.”

“Yeah, This dream is so real, I almost forgot they have different rules.”

Sam put out his cigar and started the motorcycle. We zipped down the street and when we reached a good speed Sam yelled, “Hang on, I’m taking it up!” And that’s just what he did.

Dream flying is a little different than regular flying. As a matter of fact, just about everything is a little different in the dreamlands, but anyone who’s been asleep more than once knows this to be a true fact.

In the dream world, time and distance don’t have the same authority that they do in the regular one. Also, things have no obligation to make any kind of sense whatsoever. The regular world has a Newtonian undercoat to it, but not so much the dreamland. Again, this shouldn’t be news to anyone older than seven.

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Ed Danvers Case Files #2 Pt. 2

Ed Danvers Case Files:

Sins of the Father

Part Two

Who’s Got Your Goat?

 

The doc sent me home today. He said my hip would be sore and tender for awhile and I should lay off it. He didn’t send me home empty-handed, though. I’m now the proud owner of a fancy aluminum cane, complete with a little rubber foot. So now I’m the old codger with a cane. I guess it sure beats a plastic hand? Not that Vicksy didn’t make short work of that. The little gadget monkey made himself a screwy new hand that makes noises when it moves. So far he only seems to use it to crack walnuts. The hip’s been behaving, mostly. It was a little touch-and-go when Laurel’s kid hopped on my lap to hear another story about her grandma and great grandma back in New Orleans. I can’t be mad at the kid, she’s only four. But damn, that hurt.

Vicksy was slouched behind the bar staring at the television and going to town on a bag of walnuts. The news was the news. Father Nutso was apparently staying low for a couple. It gave me some time to mull the case. There were three families left after the priest cut up the Pattersons and the Bartlebys. He seems to put some time between his appearances. Two or three days. Of the remaining families, I was keeping a close eye on the Babatundes. Mr. and Mrs. Babatunde, along with the Pattersons and Bartlebys, were the most high profile of the lot. These three had a lot more facetime on the news and had chipped in the most to hire me. The Tylers and Fukimuras have kept a low profile. The Tylers did interviews in the beginning, but the Fukimuras have kept their heads down from the get go. Good for them. The media is bunch of blood suckers. I swear to god, if Vicksy cracks one more walnut…

“Vicksy,” I groaned, “When did you decide you loved walnuts so much?”

“When they got easier to open,” he cracked another one with his metal hand and dumped the content in his mouth. “I was excited to try Brazil nuts, but as it turns out they’re pretty disgusting.”

“Get anywhere with the barflies?”

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Crescent City Creeps #10

Cat’s in the Cradle

 

The shoggoth charged toward Sylvia, Delareux and Toli. It stopped short of trampling and roared out of a maw that expanded to the size of the cave entrance from which they had just fled. As it roared, the front part of its form curled toward the sky and the roar pitched to a howl. The howl became thin till it was inaudible, but it still trumpeted its mouth to the sky. It held this position, swaying back and forth.

“What is it doing?” Toli asked.

“Calling to its pack,” Sylvia replied, her green eyes glinting. “It wants to know it’s not alone. And when it finds out it is, it’ll go nuts.”

“I can’t hear anything.”

“It’s call is in the ultrasonic frequency range.”

“Shouldn’t we be taking this moment to put some distance between us?”

“We need to get it to chase us. Lead it to an open area.”

“How do we do that?” Delareux asked.

“Piss it off then run.”

“What?” Toli gasped.

“Bang, bang, bang,” Sylvia made finger guns toward the beast, “Believe me, you won’t injure it. You’ll only make it mad.”

Toli gave Sylvia an incredulous look, shook his head and aimed his gun.

“Wait,” Sylvia shouted and grabbed his sleeve. “Get some distance first. The creature may look like pretty monolithic, but it’s very nimble. When you get its attention, run like hell. We’ll follow.”

“Where the hell are we going to lead this thing?”

“It should be an open area with a lot of space. We want to minimize the damage to it and everything around it.”

“The high school field it is then,” Delareux declared.

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Ray #10

Some Other Time

A stagecoach ambled over the muddy ruts of a drenched country road. The horses stepped high in the puddles and twitched the rain from their manes. A small, grey figure led the coach, hunched over, rain pouring from the gutter formed by the rolled up brim of his hat.

Inside, Bart took up one seat and Pietro sat in his lap. Ray sat in the middle opposite him with Abby and Cletus on either side. They jerked in unison to the jostling of the coach.

“I can’t wait to go somewhere it isn’t raining,” Abby said, half her head soaked by the leaking door.

Pietro gave Bart some lazy gestures.

“Not much further,” Bart said as he signed back.

“It isn’t?” Ray perked out his despondent gaze.

Bart shook his head and mouthed, “No idea.”

Ray’s eyes rolled back, as did his head. “I can’t take this coach anymore.”

The rhythm of the rocking coach slowed to halt.

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to stop,” Ray shouted.

Cletus slid open a wooden panel on the top half of the door and stuck his head out. He withdrew, snapped the panel shut and shriveled into his seat.

“Papal guard,” he wheezed.

A knock came at the panel. They all exchanged glances. Bart gestured to Cletus to answer and Cletus responded with a vigorous shake of his head. Bart puffed, pressed his finger against the panel and slid it back, like he expected to reveal the Grim Reaper on the other side.

There stood Cardinal Martell, crimson and black, supporting his dragon-headed hammer on his shoulder.

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Jimmy Jam, Sally Slam and The Rude Awakening Pt. 4

The Rude Awakening IV.

Gentle reader, it is my duty to inform you that this particular installment of The Adventures of Jimmy Jam is even more unsuited for children than usual. We’ve discussed the nature of Whammies and why they should never be used as a substitute for parenting, but I feel we have neglected to address the specific nature of Whammy Breaking.

To put it simply without sugar coating things, in order to break the Whammy, Jimmy’s and Sally’s parents must die. Now, due to the nature of magic and magical people, death isn’t always as final a thing as it seems to the non-magical. Still, dead parents are dead parents and there is little reason to find joy in such a situation. It is a well-known fact that even children who are estranged from their parents feel just as bad about the passing of their parents as a child with good parental relations. No matter how one feels about their parents, it tends to change once they are gone forever from their lives.

When we last saw our group of Whammy Breakers, they were headed into Tiger Tail Resort, an indoor water-park/luxury hotel geared towards children under the age of ten. Jimmy’s Grandfather and his good friend Gustav took Jimmy and Sally there to ride out the Whammy breaking and to give them a good and proper talking to about their behavior, but neither Jimmy nor Sally knew anything about that. Yet.

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