Flash Fiction – Page 26 – The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff

Doctor Dark and Mr. Moore’s Case of a Lifetime

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Alternate Earth, Circa 2017

London, England

“If we take one more case about spying on cheating spouses, I’m quitting!”

“Easy, Doctor Dark, there are reasons why we take those cases. They pay well, and we have certain expenses…like rent and food, that we must met,” Mr. Moore explained.

“Well, I’m sick of them. Can’t we work with Scotland Yard?”

“We could, I imagine, if they wanted us. But they don’t.”

“And, why not?”

“For two reasons; the first is your background – you’ve been arrested numerous times for public drunkenness you sot. That doesn’t set too well with those blokes. The second reason is they don’t even pay as much as our “domestic” cases do.”

“Damn,” Doctor Dark uttered in a subdued voice.

“Chin up old boy, I may be onto something big. Our contact in Scotland Yard said there’s a murderer roaming the streets of London who has easily eluded authorities for three months now.”

“How’s that? I’ve seen nothing about a serial killer on the news?”

“Apparently, he’s so clever that he makes each murder look like the victim died from an accident, or by natural causes. It was a stroke of pure luck that the authorities even found out about the Mastermind Killer.”

“Mastermind Killer. Quite a sobriquet for a cold-blooded murderer,” Doctor Dark observed.

“Quite so. I have a summary of the murders, dates, times, locations, and detectives notes here,” Mr. Moore said, as he handed a thick file to Doctor Dark.

The two would-be criminal sleuths spent all of their spare time investigating the Mastermind Killer. Days turned to weeks, as they tirelessly roamed the city streets at all hours.

Finally, there was a breakthrough.

They witnessed a cloaked figure purposely throw a woman over a balcony. One moment the two were standing on the balcony of the five-story apartment complex across the street; the next, the woman was silently falling to her death, making a sickening thud on the cobblestones.

The killer wasn’t aware of them, as they lingered in the shadows watching him. Minutes later a cloaked figure came out of the apartment complex and started walking towards them.

At the last moment they jumped out and tackled the tall figure. Then something strange happened. As Mr. Moore pulled on the cloak in an attempt to get a better grip, it gave way and revealed an alien being!

Despite their shock, both men used their combined weight to hold the alien down. It’s pupiless black eyes blinked in anger and surprise. It’s skin was translucent, showing a complex network of veins and odd-looking internal organs.

“Blinking hell! Mr. Moore! What are we going to do with this thing?”

“Hold on…I’m going to put handcuffs on it.”

Once that was accomplished, they stood the alien up and duck-walked him to their van. It was an old modified paddy wagon that still had one bench seat, and a set of shackles wielded into the side behind it.

Doctor Dark sat directly across from the alien on the salvaged back seat of a 1960 Cadillac they bought in a rummage sale.

“We’ll interrogate this bloke when we get home,” Mr. Moore said, as he pulled out onto the street and accelerated.

Once inside the house they took the handcuffed alien down to the basement and hooked him up to a device around his thin neck that looked like a bark collar for yappy mutts.

“Cheerio! Time to use your translation software Doctor.”

A bank of computers suddenly came alive behind Doctor Dark. He adjusted some dials, pushed a couple of buttons, and turned the speaker system on.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kiss my tushie!” the alien rudely replied.

“Now there! There’ll be none of that. You see those metal rings on your ankles? I can flip a switch…like this (the alien screeched in pain) or you can be civil.”

Tears ran down the alien’s black eyes and it stuttered a response, “Whatever you say master.”

“Why are you running around killing humans? Shouldn’t you be in space somewhere?”

“I was a stowaway on the Martian Cruise Ship that offers tours of the planets in the Milky Way. The passengers were allowed to step outside the ship, according to international protocols, for ten minutes to experience your atmosphere.

“Just my luck that one of the crew members checked the baggage hold where I was hiding. I managed to get past him and ran outside. I didn’t stop running until I found this place.”

So that doesn’t tell use why you’re going around killing people,” Mr. Moore said.

“It’s all I know,” the alien explained. “I’m wanted on three planets for multiple murders. What else was I going to do?”

“This won’t do at all! Doctor, throw that switch again, and let’s see how long it takes to electocute this monster!”

The next day.

“It’s not my fault that the body melted into a bloody mess,” Doctor Dark contended.

“No one is going to believe us now. We could have been famous.” Mr. Moore moaned.

As It Stands, my sorry slueths may be back again some day.

How Vampires Managed To Get In The Movies

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Vampires tried to make movies as far back as the 1800’s.

The French are credited with making the first ever movie film.

It was titled “The Waterer Watered,” and came out the same year as a group of vampires attempted to make a movie (the working title was, The Dark Count) in 1895.

The earliest known surviving motion picture is a French movie called :Roundhay Garden Scene,” filmed on October 14th, 1888. The earliest known all vampire production was made on September 9, 1988.

Titled “Vampire in Venice” this breakthrough movie was about a professor who visits Venice, to investigate the last known appearance of the famous vampire Nosferatu during the carnival of 1786.

It was a great case of type-casting because the newly created production company, “Lost Souls in Paradise Studios” was able to sign the real Nosferatu to play the lead part.

It wasn’t until then, that vampires were able to figure out how to get their images on film. A breakthrough in technology allowed them to use a series of filters in conjunction with a software program that reconstructed their images accurately.

Thanks to those enterprising individuals, vampires were able to share their work with the world.

The resulting parade of vampire movies is still going on today. You may have seen Anne Rice’s breakthrough story “Interview With a Vampire,” in 1994, starring Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt.

Along with those (and other) stars, there was a real Vampire in the cast; Count Barsetti Albergati.

Luring stars to the blood-drinkers movie studios was/and is, actually very easy. The ability to control minds, and memories, allows vampires to get whoever they want to star in their movies.

The list of movies made by the studio contains some great classic vampire flicks. You’ve seen the real thing if you saw: ” “The Night Flyer (1997); Blood: The Last Vampire (2000); “Queen of the Damned (2002); or Vegas Vampires (2007).

Those movies are only a sampling of the vampire’s cinematic achievements.

Recently, vampires have come out of the coffins to let the world know how artistic and educated they are. The American Actor’s Union was the first to acknowledge their place in our society.

Vampires have been embraced by the Goths and the younger set these days. Baby Boomers tend to be wary of the normalization of blood-drinkers, but they still can be found going to their movies.

By the way, I hear Lost Souls in Paradise Studios is having a casting call for victims at eight o’clock tomorrow night. Good luck.

As It Stands, vampire actors don’t say “break a leg” for good luck…they prefer “drain a vein for fame!”

Colorado USA, 2377: ‘It Isn’t A Good Day To Die’

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A year after the Krillion invasion of earth, there were still holdouts who didn’t surrender.

They were driven to isolated – hard to get to – parts of the planet.

The last Americans in North America found refuge in the Rocky Mountains 3,000 mile span, from the Canadian province of Newfoundland and Labrador, to central Alabama.

The people who fled there still had a fighting spirit and an abiding thirst for revenge.

The survivors represented a cross-section of races. They shared a common bond; they all loved freedom. Most were still scattered about in small multi-ethnic groups. But one of the groups consisted of forty-eight Sioux men, and women.

There were representatives from all seven Sioux bands. The leader, Cloud Walker, was a descendant of the great chief Touch The Clouds from the Miniconjou band.

Cloud Walker served for 10 years in the U.S. Army. He was a Special Forces Ranger who saw many perilous missions in his highly decorated career. He was also a natural leader who inspired loyalty.

It was he who brought the group together and organized a survival system best suited for their circumstances. They group never stayed in one place for more than two days. They had hunters who went out and killed game the traditional ways.

The only person who carried modern weapons was Cloud Walker. He wore a Glock 48 automatic Lasergun, and carried a molecular destroying rifle on a sling. It was one of the Krillions own weapons that he had taken in an ambush two months ago.

For nearly a year, Cloud Walker taught his group to use military tactics including ambushes, sabotage, raids, petty warfare, hit-and-run tactics, and mobility to fight a larger and less-mobile military.

The aliens used their advanced technology to destroy all of the traditional armies on earth. Major cities were leveled. Millions of people worldwide were incinerated during the initial three-day attack.

The rest tried to hide as best as they could. Some groups still fought for survival in Asia, Europe, and South America. Governments collapsed in panic as the slaughter continued. But Cloud Walker’s group grew in numbers and confidence.

On July 4th, 2378, Cloud Walkers warriors grew to 147, and they were ready for their first big raid against the Killions. The target was Granby, Colorado. It was once a small tourist resort town not far from Denver.

It now served as a command center for the Krillion invaders who continued to hunt for surviving humans. Granby, nestled along the Continental Divide and Rocky Mountain National Park, was a six-hour walk for Cloud Walkers guerrillas.

They’d been studying the security of the compound for days and were surprised to see there was very little. A few guards lingered outside the two giant domes. After capturing one of the guards they studied him for two days.

It was obvious the aliens had to wear a filtration system in earth’s atmosphere. The system was a mask that wrapped around the lower half of their heads. Tiny feeders ran inside their suits exoskeleton into a small tank of Krillion atmosphere located in the back.

The shiny black exoskeleton space suits were bulky and imposing. Inside however, the actual alien was thin, hairless, and it’s skin was various hues of blue. They were nowhere near as strong as a normal human.

The warriors knew what their foes weaknesses were after 48 hours of experimenting on their live hostage. Just before attacking the guards Cloud Walker took the alien’s mask off and they all watched it die quickly.

“We don’t know how many of them are inside those domes. We do not know if they will be fully armed and dressed, or running around like turtles without their shells,” Cloud Walker quipped.

“Our goal is to kill as many as possible before retreating back into the wilderness. This is a hit and run. No more than 10 minutes before getting out of there. Remember to use your speed.”

One of the men spoke up, “Today is a good day to die.”

Another man, a Hunkappa Sioux, said “My ancestor Sitting Bull said that. “

An Oglala Sioux named Two-toes said, “No. It was Crazy Horse, a great war leader, who said that before attacking Custer.”

Cloud Walker looked at his men and smiled. “My brothers, no Native American wants to die in battle. We were never afraid to fight, but it was some white newspaper man who came up with that silly saying.

“Instead, let me say today is not a day to die, but to overcome our enemies, and to live on to fight another day!”

A war-whoop went up and the warriors moved in on the alien guards.

As It Stands, I’ve always considered native Americans to be a wise race that fell victim to technology.

The Space Hobos of Saturn

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Meeting Hall of the Intergalactic Space Hobos Fraternity

Saturn Chapter – Special Session

“I’ll be straightforward with you,” said the president. “We look like a pack of amateurs!”

The membership stirred uneasily.

“Every Hobo Chapter planet in the Milky Way is racking up better numbers than us. Their Hobos catch three times as many free rides as we do daily. Mars, the leader, records six times as many illegal hops a day more than we do.”

A nervous buzz broke out among the membership. One member stood up on all three legs and asked if he could speak. The president nodded affirmatively and moved away from the podium.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Rill-Tara, and I’m the librarian/accountant for our chapter. I’ve been following this disturbing trend for three years now, and I think I know how to turn it around.”

Excited whispers. President Nor-Rav held up all three of his hands and called for silence. “Proceed brother.”

“As we all know, for many years the earthlings had the best hobos in the universe. Then earth became embroiled in inter-planetary wars that sent mankind back to earth’s stone age.

Technology of all kinds was lost. The remaining humans were reduced to hunter gatherers who could no longer read or write. The trappings of their great civilization crumbled and rotted with time.

My interest of study started with the origin of Earth’s great hobos, and then branched out to the years they were dominate in the Milky Way.”

Someone in the crowd yawned.

“Okay! I get the message. I’ll keep it short. The first hobos emerged during the Great Depression. The most well-known hobo of the period was the King of Hobos, “Steam Train Maury.”

Generations of other hobos have been inspired by his exploits. The five-time holder of the title, set the standard for stealth and inventiveness. I couldn’t find much about him as I shambled through earths decaying libraries, but I did find a movie (that I converted into a hologram) about his life.

Earth movie director, Robert Aldrich, made the hobo opus titled, Emperor of the North. After watching this movie I was inspired and invigorated. It was about a brutal conductor of a train who had a personal vendetta against the best train-hopping hobo in the Northwest.

The hobo in the movie was called A-1, and he prevailed against the cruel conductor. I believe this movie can serve as a wake-up call to all of us!”

President Nor-Rav thanked him and took the podium. “Let’s vote on this idea,” he said.

Two weeks later the Saturn Chapter of the Intergalactic Space Hobos Fraternity celebrated when they moved into third place.

As It Stands, I always thought Lee Marvin’s best performance was the character A-1, in Emperor of the North.

The Last Blood Drive

The human slave donors stood quietly in line outside the temporary tent, waiting to give their lives.

Blood was desperately needed for the victims of the attack.

Nine of them lay in a row of cots, weakened by their terrible wounds. A slave knelt by each of them making sure the IV’s were working properly.

When the donor slave was finally drained of all life blood, the body was tossed aside into a growing pile of corpses. The four vampires that survived the attack intact were gathered outside the black tent keeping watch.

It was the second time this winter that the werewolves launched a vicious sneak attack deep into the vampire’s stalking grounds on a full moon. Clearly, something had to be done. It was a lean time, and their human stock supply was getting dangerously low.

The vampire community was using up their walking blood banks to survive these savage assaults.

Count Baltar, their leader, urged them to come up with a way to find out where the werewolves spent their days as humans and easy targets. This was the second blood drive, and possibly their last, if they weren’t successful he warned them.

The population of werewolves in the area had been growing steadily for years.

The werewolves knew they were getting close to killing the last 13 vampires in the entire country. By banding together, the werewolves were finding out they were more than a match for their blood-sucking foes.

Their wounds healed faster and they didn’t require human blood to heal.

In their human state the werewolves were able to organize the humans in the small country. They taught them how to kill vampires and where to look for their lairs during the day when they slept.

Finally the day came and no more blood lines were needed. The vampires were all gone.

Once that was achieved the humans celebrated for days. So did the werewolves who declared open season on them with their foes out of the way.

As It Stands, mankind is no match for the supernatural.

The Thing In Ted’s TV

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Ted was 4-years old when the thing in the TV first appeared.

He was watching the roadrunner make a fool out of wily j. coyote when something that kind of looked like an octopus to Ted, appeared and grabbed the unfortunate coyote with its tentacles.

The thing then turned to Ted and asked him if he ever eaten a coyote?

A four-year olds thought process is still unencumbered with a world of facts, so he answered the things question without giving it any thought, “No. Don’t want to eat doggies.”

The things eyes glittered with mirth at Ted’s innocent response. It finally had discovered the elusive conduit it needed to go back to it’s planet…this small human named Ted. It would take time to totally control Ted, probably a lot of earth years.

That was okay with the thing because it’s lifespan was 1,000 Tomiad years-old. Earth years were just a drop in the bucket. In addition, the process would reveal human weaknesses, making it easier to invade Earth when it returned with a fleet of warships.

So the thing befriended Ted.

After Ted told his mom one day about his new friend on the TV, the thing warned him to keep their friendship a secret. She laughed it off and kissed her son. But that was the last time Ted told anyone about the thing.

In fifth grade Ted brought his class assignments home. He would turn on the TV while doing his homework and the thing helped him. His mother would chide him about having the TV on when he was supposed to be studying, but didn’t make an issue out of it because he had great grades.

Ted was a straight A student that got scholarship offers from four major colleges when he graduated from high school. He chose the University of Los Angeles (UCLA) and entered the Henry Samueli School of Engineering and Applied Science.

The program was listed among the 10 most prestigious Engineering Schools in the nation. It was an honor to be accepted.

Throughout this time Ted stayed in daily contact with the thing. The thing only appeared when Ted was alone in the room. The thing was pleased with Ted’s progress and felt closer every day to accomplishing it’s mission.

But the thing didn’t count on the human brain’s ability to expose danger in any situation. It had no idea how complex humans really were. It assumed Ted was an easy mark. What it didn’t know was that Ted had been suspicious of it for a long time.

By the time he entered first grade he knew his relationship with the thing in the TV was odd. He suspected something wasn’t right when no one else he knew ever spoke of seeing a thing on their TV’s. And he didn’t want to be laughed at.

Ted was always a clever kid with a boundless imagination. He spent his life trying to figure out what to do about his situation. On one hand, the thing taught him a lot and was always a good listener. On the other, he knew the relationship wasn’t natural.

Eighteen months after graduated with honors, Ted was given a million dollar grant to pursue his studies on Artificial Intelligence.

Using a process that transformed the artificial intelligence field, Ted discovered an effective drug combination that optimized the eradication of roundworms, and common agricultural parasites that infect livestock.

Unknown to anyone, including his assistants, Ted was pursuing another agenda. How to get rid of the thing. He suspected for a long time it wasn’t telling him everything. He was sure it wasn’t a guardian angel. It was too damn ugly.

Ted developed a software program capable of intelligent behavior. He named it XZAR. One day he decided it was ready for the real thing. After installing XZAR in his flat screen TV, Ted turned on the evening news.

Five minutes into the broadcast, the thing appeared in the top right corner.

“Will you help me go home now that your research has taken you this far?” the thing asked, unaware that wily j. coyote was sneaking up on it.

As It Stands, TV sets are always good science fiction material.

Moe The Manipulator, or Whatever You Want To Call Him

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In the absence of facts and truth there is a void, an alternative universe.

It’s parameters are loosely defined by physics subject to change daily. In this universe you can find Moe the Manipulator.

It’s his job to hold reality at bay. He’s the guardian of the gullible. The Gatekeeper of Gall. Nothing is too far out for Moe. He can be the Master of Disaster, or your Daddy. He’ll take up residence in your brain without pain.

Once he’s riding your cerebrum you can sit back and watch. He’ll introduce you to your frontal lobe, parietal lobe, occipital lobe, and temporal lobe. It’s a wild ride when Moe hits his stride.

Some say he is the devil. It could be true, but who knows for sure? Whatever he is, he’ll try to get inside of you. If you give in to greed, hate, and power you’ll be devoured by the void.

Moe has nothing good to say. He spends his time trying to lead you astray. He’s a clever character who reads you like a book. Can’t take detours with Moe. Ya Gotta drive him out of your cranium like a NASCAR driver on his last lap.

He’s crazy with a capital C. He’ll make your brain burn like a dried-out tree. No sympathy. No hope. Moe will get you hooked on dope. You’ll be buzzing like a stoned bee bumping into eternity.

It’s best to just stay away from Moe. Ignore those little voices and don’t go there. He’s a bedbug that will burrow into your brain. He’ll happily drive you insane.

He goes by many names, and likes playing nasty games with your life. Hate, vengeance, cruelty and bigotry. He’s the harbinger of strife. His goal is to ruin your life.

Look around you. How many people do you think have Moe the Manipulator embedded in their skulls? Has Moe gotten to you yet? If not, then spread the message; Love conquers hate.

As It Stands, despite the fact that many people carry Moe around like a medal, I believe there’s more good people who aren’t afraid to stand up to him.

Moonshine Mayhem in McKinleyville

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Circa 1950, The Arcata Union Newspaper

Mystery Murders in McKinleyville Continue

“Locals say the horrific murders are happening during full moons and claim it’s an ancient Yurok curse.

This reporter was unable to get anyone in town to go on the record about the supposed curse.

All that’s known for sure is the victims were all horribly mutilated. County coroner reports have been consistent in the analysis that it was probably a wild animal attacking people.”

McKinleyville is a small town that proudly harkens back to its early pioneer days and independent citizens. A sign posted, as you come into town over the hill, says, “McKinleyville – Where Horses Have The Right of Way.”

It was a quiet unincorporated town without its own police force. The city fathers contracted with the County of Humboldt for protection.

As can be imagined, response times were often slow when an emergency happened in Mack Town (what the locals called it) because it was located 21 miles north. Residents of McKinleyville did their best to solve their own problems.

Grandpa Zeke was a moonshiner. His whiskey took the paint off metal, but was popular throughout the county. His still, set up east of the populated area of Mack Town, was a hand-me-down from his father.

The old man came into town every Sunday to sell his Hooch to the church-going husbands who bought his whiskey after church services were over, in a back alley. Children loved him because he was always telling tall tales.

Four months after the brutal murders began Zeke started showing up in town every night at the local bar. It became the talk of the small community. Old Zeke was buying commercial whiskey instead of drinking his own product.

Even more puzzling, Zeke wasn’t talking with anyone. He sat at a small table alone. After drinking steadily for an hour, or more, Zeke would start babbling gibberish about werewolves and moonshine not mixing very well.

The town fathers became concerned when the owner/bartender, Bob Goldswaith, told them about Zeke’s recent drinking habit during a town meeting. It was decided that two of them would have a talk with old Zeke the next time he came to town.

They found Zeke the next night drinking at Bob Goldswaith’s bar. The old man was well into his cups when they greeted him.

“Zeke…how are you doing old friend?” one man asked.

“Are you okay? I never saw you come to this bar in my life,” the second man asked, with a touch of concern in his voice.

Zeke looked at the two town fathers. He knew them well. They were among some of his best customers. “You boys will think I’m crazy if I tell you what’s happening,” he drunkenly replied.

“No! Not, at all!” they protested.

Zeke poured some whisky from the bottle in the middle of the table and invited them to pull up a chair.

“About four months ago some fella showed up at my still. Said he was looking for a safe place to stay in the woods. I said, safe from what? Myself, he said. Well, I can tell you right now, I thought that sounded odd.

“Said his name was Walt. No last name. I told him there were plenty of places to stay. I showed him a redwood that a natural hidey hole at the base. He thanked me and I went back to my still.

“The next day, I was sampling my latest batch of moonshine when Walt showed up. He asked if he could have a snort and I handed him a cup. Then another. Pretty soon he was getting lit up and telling me stories about his life.

“I was getting tired when the moon came out and Walt jumped to his feet and howled like a wolf! For a brief moment I thought that was the damnist reaction I’d ever seen from my Hooch!

“When he started getting hairy and dropped to all fours, I got up and ran like a buck chasing a doe in heat!

“Ran all the way to my cabin and sat there in the dark shaking like a leaf.”

Both men had skepticism edged on their faces, but one still asked, “So, what happened next?”

Zeke picked up the bottle and took a healthy swig.

“Nothing. Nothing else happened that night. About a month later Walt showed up as I was tending my still. We stared at each other a long time before he apologized for scaring me. Said he was a werewolf, but did his best not to kill folks, just animals.

“I wasn’t sure what to do, so I offered him a drink. He gladly accepted. We talked until the full moon came out and he ran off howling again.

“It wasn’t until the third time that I saw Walt, that I suspected he was killing people. By then it had become routine. He’d come by on full moons to swig my moonshine and murder my neighbors.

“So, I did the only thing I could, and destroyed my still and my whole stash of moonshine. It was apparent Walt could’nt hold his liquor and got murderous when he drank it. That was three weeks ago.

“The next full moon is coming up tomorrow night. Recon we’ll see if my plan worked out and Walt went back to catching animals instead of humans.”

As It Stands, what could be worse than a drunk werewolf?

The Sage of 4th Street’s Deadly Game

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Psychopaths come in a variety of packages.

Some just kill their victims straight out with whatever’s handy.

Some like to play with their victims. “Cat and mouse” is a favorite game. It rings a bell among the unbalanced set.

Then there’s the more refined psychos who like to stage elaborate games with their prey.

That would be “The Juicer.” He’d forgotten his birth name years ago. One of the many street denizens in Los Angeles called him The Juicer once. He liked it, and kept the nickname.

The Juicer lived to play the Deadly Game. He invented it years ago and was still refining the rules and the roles of the participants. It took three people to play, not counting himself.

The best part of the game was that players came to him. The Juicer, also known by his business and stage name, The Sage of 4th Street, had a fortune-telling business. It was located in a nondescript neighborhood that only had a few old storefronts.

“Fortunes Told Anytime,” the sign outside The Juicer’s business read.

He looked for people who were gullible in their grief, easily hypnotized, and single. It wasn’t easy, and he often waited months before getting enough good candidates to play.

When the big day arrived and he had all three qualified gamers, the fun started. Each person was locked in a wooden box that was only three-feet high by seven-feet long. with air holes on the top.

A small speaker was inside each box. The boxes were the only thing in the tiny room with the concrete floor. One bright LED bulb dangled from the ceiling. The three unwilling gamers would still be sleeping off the effect of the drug he gave them.

The Juicer unlocked the end of each of the boxes. When they woke, they’d be able to crawl out. Then he went back up the stairs, shut the trapdoor, and went to his parlor. He could see the boxes and the room clearly, with the cameras he’d installed.

He sat down and poured himself a cup of tea from a fine China teapot one of his past victims gave him in appreciation when he contacted her dead husband the first time. He put one lump of sugar in his cup and glanced at the monitor. The room was also audio monitored and he could hear every noise.

Box number one contained, Dan Wrightwood, a thirty-three year-old vegan nature boy. In box number two, he had Linda Lunquist, a single 22-year old woman. Box number three contained, Elton Eisenberg, a 20-year old college freshman at UCLA.

He listened as they woke up, one by one, and realized they were in a box. The screams always provided a great prelude to what would soon come. He finally spoke to them, “There’s a little ring just behind your head. Pull it and you can get out.”

The three wood boxes shook and all three of them slithered out on their backs at about the same time. Dan was the first to stand up and inspect the room. Linda and Elton slowly got to their feet by supporting one another.

They’d all been unconscious for over 24 hours and were thirsty and hungry. The Juicer savored their confusion for a few minutes before he announced, “I’m going to give you an apple. Enjoy!”

The basement door opened and he tossed the apple in. The three looked down at the bruised apple. Elton bent down and picked it up. “We can each take a bite” he suggested.

That was Day One, and The Juicer smiled in anticipation. Seven days later he announced that he was going to give them an apple again, “Enjoy,” he called out as he lobbed it down.

Now was time to make his bet. Who would be the last person standing? He figured Dan, being the biggest and strongest, would be the sure bet. But after watching them on the monitor another week, he wasn’t so sure.

Week three was a bloodbath as they clawed, bit, and hit each other until passing out. The combination of Elton and Linda versus Dan kept the game interesting. When he tossed the last apple down on week four, Linda was the only one alive. She died the next day.

The Juicer cleaned up all the evidence, until not even Sherlock Holmes could find a clue.

As It Stands, I’ve always been uneasy with fortune teller types.

How a Bounty Hunter Saved America

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Prologue – 2022 in Earth’s Timeline.

An Inter-Galactic Wanted Poster was displayed in two Solar Systems:

Rogue Scientist, Dr. Ki, wanted for stealing secret technology from two planets. Shoot upon contact! Proof of kill needed for reward.

2099 – Earth.

“There is no beginning and there is no end. Just the here and now.”

“How’s that sound X-249? Can you help me out with this new app message? the Director asked, already knowing the answer.

X-249, his personal robot, sat down behind a computer and went to work right away. From a distance, and if you had some sight problems, X-249 looked like a human. A silver human.

“It shouldn’t take me too long to build the construct you request Director.”

The new app was an immediate hit. They always were. It worked seamlessly with people’s personal mobile communication device implants. The Director and his political staff made sure everyone had one, and that they regularly downloaded the Director’s messages.

If they didn’t, they’d be subject to a government fine resulting in five years in solitary, on the third of the sixty-two moons of Saturn.

Americans needed to be programed once a week. The Director’s apps provided them with inspirational messages while they awaited his commands. It was just one in a variety of ways he used to control the country.

There wasn’t any need for brute force since the last rebellion in 2093. That’s when the Director employed killer Cyborgs that butchered the rebel forces. Resistance faded away. The dream of justice and freedom was turned into a nightmare again.

Despite that, every decade or two, men and women gathered secretly to oppose the draconian laws imposed by the Director. The constitution was a sacred book that gave them hope. They kept their history alive by orally sharing it with each generation.

People no longer spoke aloud. Instead they used sign language to communicate. Americans had lost their voices. Talking meant they could be recorded and subjected to some obscure law resulting in punishment.

For generations baby’s were shushed and taught basic sign language. It was the one thing about the people the Director didn’t know about. He thought they were born mute, for whatever obscure reason.

A simple blinking-eye Morris Code was also taught at an early age. The fires of resistance were hardwired into their collective DNA. Everyone looked forward to the day when they would be free.

When it happened, it was anti-climatic. No one got a message from the Director one day. Then the next. A week went by and no messages, or demands! It took a month for someone to finally find the Director’s body, sans head, in his secret headquarters.

Directly above the headless Director was a shiny photo showing a gray alien holding the Director’s head in one hand, an exotic sword in the other, and a wanted poster in his third hand.

As It Stands, a bounty-hunter saving America is the kind of irony that tickles my muse.

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