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

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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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03 T.J. Washington In “B Is For Basement” Pt. 1

Late to the game? Catch up here.

I. “B” Is For Basement

Sam and I were in an elevator. It was a Tuesday morning, not my favorite morning of the week if I’m being honest. Truth of the matter is I’m more of a Wednesday type fellow when it comes to mornings, that’s if I have to choose, which I don’t. My opinions about the times of day and how I feel about them were neither here nor there, though. Sam and I were on a case.

A local law firm suspected there was a vampire living in the basement and called me to have a look see. I called Sam because he likes going into law firm basements. I asked him why. He just said, “You’ll see.”

Vampires are pretty common and usually not that much of a problem if you’re smart about it, which I usually am. Easiest way to get rid of a vampire is get it when it’s sleeping. Killing something while it sleeps is one of the easiest ways to kill something mechanically speaking. Emotionally and morally it can be a different story, depending on what or who’s getting 86’d. I focus mostly on killing monsters, so I don’t usually find myself in the middle of an internal moral struggle when it’s time to kill them.

This particular elevator we were in had three buttons: “B”, “G”, and “U”.
I pushed the one labeled “B” because that’s the button that usually takes you to the basement. It’s a lucky thing that elevator buttons are pretty standard. It’s the one place where things can’t go wrong.

“Why’d you do that?” Sam said with a slightly disgusted tone. “We need to go underground, you should’ve pushed ‘U’, not ‘B’. No telling where we’ll end up now.”

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Crescent City Creeps #9

Late to the party? Catch up here

 

Season of the Witch

As Toli and Delareux approached the office, rehashing the events in the case so far, they saw Barclay leaning hunched against the door holding a large, cylindrical object with one hand on top and the other on the bottom. Under the spotlight of the buzzing, fluorescent street lamp stood a woman with wild black hair, wearing no shoes. She was wearing a dress that looked as if it was grown and harvested rather than woven into Mother Nature’s mocking critique of Victorian fashion. Small red buds sprouted from vines that twisted and wrapped around her dress, or perhaps were the dress itself. The effect would have been lovely and enchanting if the ends of the vines weren’t swaying and probing. Her eyes peered out from under her helter skelter wavy locks and delivered a message of barely tempered impatience.

“A gallon of rum says that’s Winthrop,” Delareux tapped Toli and motioned toward the woman.

Toli looked up from his shoes and saw the woman tapping her foot, arms akimbo. “Case closed, I guess?”

“Where have you been, Delareux? We only have a few hours,” She barked and pointed to the outsized hourglass Barclay was holding. All the sand had drained into the lower chamber. “It ran out,” she chirped to Barclay. “Flip it over.”

Barclay turned the hourglass.

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