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How I met Death… (Lance Morgue beginning.)

It was a beautiful and not so cold Sunday afternoon… I woke up to the eye piercing of sunlight coming in through the Victorian shades of my town home. It’s funny how in the summer time the noon sun is hotter and as it hangs way overhead, the light is proportioned uniformly all around the time zone. Winter time though, it is a totally different aspect. The angle that it hits the Earth with its’ rays works in strange ways. If you look towards the Sun, it pierces you right through your retina; if you look against it, then things seems dimmer… like a fading light….

After an exhilarating hot shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and made my way to the kitchen. When I opened the door my eyes laid upon half a carton of eggs with a single shell; half a cup of milk and some wicked smelly summer sausages. “Street takeout it is, then.” I muttered to myself. 

I got dressed, retrieved my gym bag and my set of keys then made my four minute walk to the bus stop. Usually the Sunday buses are rare. Likely every one hour or so. Lucky me, the bus was approaching when I made the corner. The ride wasn’t so bad… the usual low income elderly and the unruly kids, dressed their best, returning from Sunday school. Once I arrived at the bus terminal, I ordered a hot dog with mayonaise. Yes it sounds really strange but I love my food dipped in mayo. A byproduct of eggs, it contributes to my protein intake… once food was ready, i grabbed the container and walked to the nearby park with the intention of enjoying a couple of chapters from one of my many favorite authors. This time it was Ghost Ship by Clive Cussler. I find Clive awesome because his novels, with their in depth description of the Earth’s oceanic borders take me on different sea tours without even stepping in a boat. After finding a bench that was totally splashed by sunrays, I started to munch and read. Lips coated with mayo and smacking my lips. I ain’t that much of a sloppy eater but this time it was obligatory. A college aged girl sitting on the bench across, her auburn hair playing with the wind over her eyes; kept giving me dirty looks for no apparent reason. Typical feminist, I should say. It has been official for some time now; feminists and I do not get along. Usually it is about their idiotic ideas and their use of the word “rape” more often than the number of mushrooms I can count after a thunderstorm. Speaking of that, my house is built on a forest hilltop… 

All of the sudden i felt an arm around my neck, then blows. Hard, cold blows centered mostly on top of my head… followed closely by warm liquid, fogging my eyes… In the middle of the turmoil i threw a couple of punches vectored towards the assumed position of my attacker. Sharp cuts on my left hand exposed bone and tendons…. then nothing… light begun to fade…

They say walk towards the light but all i could see was fog…. and a feeling of dizziness… then it got clear again… I was awake on my birth suit, bed set up on a forty-five degree angle, tied to machines that i didn’t even know they existed… like at my ankles there were two torniquets resembling a blood pressure sleeve, squeezing and releasing my ankles in a calculated rythm. At the foot of the bed, standing statue was the man himself, Death. His jaw shut in a relaxed manner kept starring at me. “Well?” I asked lifting my hands, palms up. “I would have taken you in a heartbeat, son. But your machism and foolishness into thinking and acting like a true action hero which I am pretty sure it is your everyday mentality, is forcing me to give you another chance… A chance to do bigger things.” “Are you even real?” I was still puzzled. I could feel it, he was the real deal, I still needed some convincing though. “Don’t push it, idiot” then he disappeared into thin air.post

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Black Eyed Kid (A terrifying encounter)

Disembarking off the midnight train at the Forest Hills terminal, I scanned the information screen for the public bus departure estimations. Nothing seemed to conform to my taste. The short escalator ride explained the delays: a slight snow storm that was working its way into heaviness with each minute that would pass. “To hell with it,” muttered to myself. “Seven minutes will not kill me.” Thus I rounded the corner to the end of the upper busway, released my precious companion of a Nicaraguan maduro cigar out of the cellophane wrapper and off I went into the dark, being enveloped by a white blanket of fresh snow. As annoying as the wet snow is when it hit your face, it becomes beautiful once you start to power walk and the snowflakes with the help of wind seem to pass you by like stars at warp speed. But the fun was just about to get started. Crossing Washington st at the light would happen to throw my entire journey home around one hundred and eighty degrees. A dozen steps after I passed by the door of the ex Harvest Co-op building, my ears tuned to the weirdest frequency. A voice stranger than the night. Almost mechanical…
“Sir, I need some assistance. My car is parked over there.”
Half startled, half attentive with my hand on my right hand pocket where my tactical pen rests peacefully to never be deployed, I turned about one hundred degrees. I was greeted to the image of a young man, ten years younger than me. Long emo rock hair and thin lips. Facial hair seemed non existent. Strange outfit as well… bomber jacket and tight skinny jeans. He tended to stare at the floor. Judging by the location, he seemed to have been hiding in his stakeout behind the bike park of the Harvest building.
“Kinda late for a young fellow to be out at this hour with no purpose. Don’t you think?”
“Sir I need your assistance. My car is parked over there.” Same mechanical voice; same spiel. He now was pointing in the back of the lot.
“Ok.. I am not a car mechanic. All I can do is make a call to the police or emergency personnel.”
By the time I finished the sentence, the young man seemed to lift his head. Everything seemed different. An aura of uneasiness was steaming out of his entire being.
“Sir, I am here to collect you!”
They say the eyes are the window to a man’s soul and his eyes were the most abundant source of evil that I’ve ever seen. As a matter of fact i don’t recall seeing any eyes at all. Because the sockets were two pitch black caverns. The young man commenced to take several steps towards me. The instinct of fight or flight was surrounding me. I began to back off while looking at him. Just me and snow as my witness against this force of evil. Three more steps, then I was right by the first few headstones that make up the small fake cemetery advertisement of Davis Monuments.
“We make a deal,” I said as new ideas popped up on my head. “You have a chance to collect only if you lead the way to your car.”
The young fellow seemed to agree with me. He pointed on the back lot one more time and set ahead.
During the entire interaction, it came to my attention that there were no cars (neither civilian nor police) driving around. “Smart kid,” I muttered as I put my hands on his shoulders and used my entire being’s will to bash his head on the nearest granite head stone.

To be continued….

Oops…

Alright. This will be tough to write, but something seems to be really wrong with my website. Either the copy paste feature, or the theme that I am using. Will test it further on with several other themes and see what the deal is. As of right now, ‘Something intriguing’ is a total mess. the body of the post should be longer and the sentences should be structured in a way that it makes more sense. It might also be a problem steming from google docs software. I apologize for the inconvenience and for making you think that i tyoed the last post while having a seizure.

Something intriguing…

First feeling that came upon John Ramos is the rigid complexity of his back. Frozen in time. As if someone recently pulled him from the reefer. With every second that is passing, John can feel every nerve end spring to action. One million and one needles pricking him on his back. Next it’s his vision. He can not open his eyes yet because the eyelids feel shut tight against the skin of his upper cheeks. But he can see. He can make out the dark red or purple hue that penetrates our eyes when we close our eyelids anytime that a strong light pierces our vision. That is a good sign. So far there is light. Solid matter on his back… powerful lights to create a hue… John is deducing that he is being held captive in some type of a warehouse. Next item in the body’s checklist of prickling feelings manifests itself on his extremities. The fingertips begin to prick. then it moves over to the cuticles, alongside the fingers and the back of the hands.

The torture is just getting started with him, though. As the feeling returns to the heel of his hands, prickling multiplies horrendously. The heels are on fire. Oh god. If John could only open his eyes.

If John ever broke his atheist beliefs, now is the right time. Somewhere up there. Deep in the vastness of the abundant universe, the higher being that governs our lives answered to John’s woes and enabled him to open his eyes. First it was the powerful halogen lights overhead. The happiness of getting his vision back turns out to be short lived because John realized that the overhead lights are too powerful for his comfort.

He is forced to squint hard so the smallest percentage of light penetrates his recently awaken vision as he takes his surroundings for the first time. He turns his head right and sees the weirdest version of a kitchen set up. Below the countertop there was a long cooler with three or four doors. Just like the ones that adorn the back of the house on every deli restaurant. Weirdly though, together with the counter top it created one unit. Every inch of the surface seems to be impeccably polished and shines against the overhead lights.

As John scans above the countertop, he finds some strange machinery… A cast iron tiny cabinet with thin shelves. Next to the cabinet there is a strange microwave oven. As a second thought, it looks more like an autoclave. What the hell is this place? Even the blender does not look normal. It has two long cables protruding out of it. All the forced stretching is getting John dizzy. He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds so he can get his bearings right again. After all, in his field, success is reached by strong focus and mental precision. Both require a well calibrated brain.

To be continued….

A witness

Graveyard shift. The night was still. Prolonged radio silence was making it eerie. Officer Kraken sat on the wheel while his partner, officer Beaucomb snoozed softly on the passenger seat. With no reports to write and no nearby plates to run, Kraken decided to tune in to his favorite show. “Coast to Coast” with a well-known space and time travel theorist. A little late-night gem that saturated the night atmosphere with a light coat of menacing feel.

Tonight’s theme was the Black-Eyed Children. The moderator was getting in a powerful debate with several guests. A gentleman with an Asian drawl was insisting that those cringy beings were the souls of the dead children. The next guest was a Muslim man. He was proclaiming to have read both, the Bible and the Quran. He was debunking the Asian guest by counterclaiming that neither of the holy scriptures talked of ghosts. He insisted that those beings were demonic that impersonated young children. A pastor kept backing the Muslim man up by reciting the appropriate verses on the Bible. When the audience thought that the pastor and the Muslim gentleman had the Asian man backed against the wall… another voice joined the conversation. The voice sounded confident and had a pronounced southern drawl.

“Gentlemen,” the voice interrupted. “You do realize that all the sightings of these darn boys got done seen in the California and Nevada desert, no?”

“I have not thought about that before,” the moderator chipped in the conversation. “But it all makes sense if you read all the accounts posted on the internet.”

“Thus,” the voice concluded. “Chances are, those menacing looking beings might as well be extraterrestrials. And you, father! You should be the first to accept that fact. Both you and I know that in one way or the other, the Holy Bible insinuates their existence in more than thirty-one different parts. That’s only in the First Testament.”

Old mamma Jeanine was sitting crossed legged on her sofa as she moved her nine-inch knitting needles lazy between her fingers. She was more focused on the sarcasm that the show’s host was throwing around toward the audience. He seemed to agree with the man with the southern drawl. He seemed to defy the other guest’s religious claims and kept insisting that those beings were alien greys. “Chances are”, he said. “They had managed to have obtained human masks. As for the folks in Washington… they were in knowledge of their existence and had no other choice but to back them up one hundred percent.” Mamma Jeanine had been roaming this earth for way too long. She has realized by now that politics were a refined joke. To her, it all seems like the politicians strive to compete with Hollywood, so they can provide the American public a much better daily show. From her sofa, Mamma Jeanine could see her front door well. Suddenly something interrupted the weak glow of her porch light. Something else is reflecting on the front door… Or so the old lady thought…

Her heart to her throat. She realized that someone is rotating the handle to her front door… A quarter of a turn left. Then halfway right. Such a stressful situation, she felt warm liquid running down her aging thighs.

“Is anybody there?” she asked with a quivering voice.

“We are lost. We need to call our parents. Let us in.” the voice on the other side of the door sounded monotone and ridiculously strange.

Mamma Jeanine opened her door halfway. There in front of her stood two children. One taller than the other. Both were looking down. Strange was the way they were dressed. Heavy winter coats. Stranger their haircut… Emo style jet black hair that brought their skin tone to a pale grey. Or was it bluish?

“The police station is around the corner. They might be able to locate your family or give you a ride there.”

“You do not understand.” the taller kid spoke with a beautiful grammatical order. Still, his voice remained monotone as continued. “We need to call our parents. Let us in.”

Mamma Jeanine is a tough nail to beat. She stood her ground still.

“If you can give me your parent’s phone number, I will be more than happy to give them a call for you.”

“Let us in. They will come to pick us up in here.” The last monotonic part is lost in Mamma Jeanine’s conscience as she now noticed that both boys had lifted their heads up and they were looking at her. Tough as a nail, Mamma Jeanine locked her eyes with the children, so she could do her best effort to intimidate them.

Once she established eye contact, she realized that something was wrong… Everything about their eyes was black. Even the sclera area. Dread washed over her, and she began to tremble with fear when she realized that she was staring into two black holes. “Get the hell away from me, you demons!” Mamma Jeanine reached for the cross that she religiously wore on her neck for most of her life.

But the children did not flinch… Neither did they back off. The taller one repeated his monotonic speech about their parents one more time. “You do not understand. You must let us in.”

Kraken was focused to the radio and he was listening so intently. In this job that he loved so much, he had seen almost anything. Still… He got a chill down his spine. Followed by the need to scan the outside of the cruiser. His sheer panic was brewing into something more sinister. To avoid any possibilities, Kraken woke Beaucomb up. He brought his partner up to date with the conversation in the show.

“What’s up?” Beaucomb stretched wearily in the passenger seat.

“How would you react if one of those fellas walked right up to you?”

“Bro, we are the highest force in the town of Frighville. We have guns and the authority to detain. If they set foot in this town, they automatically trespass.” Beaucomb’s eyebrows shot up full of authority. “They either get jailed and turned in to the military installments such as Area-51, or they eat lea….”

At the sudden the polcom radio went off:

“All available units, there are reports of many domestic disturbances along Beech Avenue. Two subjects ranging in age of teens have knocked on several doors with the claim that they need to go in and use a phone so they can call their parents. Both subjects are donning in heavy winter coats. One resident that had come to contact with them, described their skin tone as bluish grey. They are also sporting black spectacles.”

“Those aren’t no damn spectacles,” Lance Morgue muttered to himself as monitored the polcom from the comfort of his 1995 Deville hearse. Lance was the most interesting resident that the town of Frightville had. A true asset. No one knew where he came from… What the folks know is the fact that he bought the failing funeral home. Nowadays it has been thriving in business. To this day, the town folk cares more about the fact that Lance is the most reliable person when it comes to solving problems. Other than providing a reliable and affordable funeral service, that is… And one of the things that he thrives on: Ass kicking. bonus points if the opposing subject belongs to the supernatural spectrum. Excitement for a new adventure began to swirl through his veins like a raging tornado. Lance wasted no time before he fired up the ignition and lurched the hearse toward his destiny.

“Fuck me!” Beaucomb exclaimed. “Pray that this is a prank…”

“Code three or one twenty – eight?”

“Code three and we beat it in the opposite direction. Declare flat tire emergency and let that Morgue boy deal with this.” Beaucomb seemed tenser than usual. something that caused Kraken to wonder where did all the tough guy talk crawl to?

“Copy that, partner!” Kraken plastered a full-on sneer on his face.

A short time later Kraken and Beaucomb had pulled over on the side of the main road. They were ready to undo the rear passenger wheel of their cruiser. All the sudden they noticed headlights approaching from a short distance away. A few minutes later an American made SUV speeded past them in the direction of Beech Avenue. Inside, Kraken spotted two well-dressed men in suits and fedora hats. No more than a quick glance at Beaucomb gave them both the mutual understanding that shit was about to get real. It was best to follow up and see what dish of monstrosity the Universe was about to serve Frightville tonight.

Less than three minutes later they broke chase and detoured towards the secondary road that leads to the hilly terrace. Located on an elevated part of the neighborhood, it allows the officers on duty the best reconnaissance view. Both Frightville’s finest unpacked their respective binoculars and began scanning the scenery…

“You do not understand. You must let us in.”

“In where? In your mother’s womb?” Asked Lance as he stood right behind the children. Simultaneously both children turned to him. “We need to use the phone. We need to call home.” “And where is home? Mars?”

The entire episode had Mamma Jeanine bug-eyed and flabbergasted. How come the boy that arrived didn’t even flinch at the sight of these ungodly creatures. Through her aging eyes she might have seen a slight wince of pity, but no signs of horrification.

Feeling made, the shorter boy lurched to grab Lance’s leather jacket. As he snarled at him, revealing a set of sharpened metallic teeth.

To be continued….

Cemetery Gates

The air was warm and damp. The clock was two minutes to striking midnight. All was quiet in the small town besides the rhythmic shuffle of James Brock. Once a bull master; he now tended to horses on the Rocking Galloper ranch that almost took his life a decade past.
Under the pale moonlight, the vast deserted flat terrain shrouded him in a fine calmness which was a bonus, when he emptied his mind from all the stress and synced with the good energy that emanated from the humongous Universe high above. He loved moments like this. He usually let the powers that be to guide him home. Although, tonight something didn’t seem right. There was a shadow perked up in the middle of the road. About eight hundred yards away ahead of him.
A soft roar that ended with a groan. James recognized the confused bellow of a brown bear. The beast didn’t seem hungry but James figured that it wouldn’t say no to harassing him just for the kicks.
Hope was not lost. The same good energy was pulling James through an alternative way. The old cemetery where his parents were buried. After all, if the beast gave chase, common sense would dictate that it would be unable to climb the iron gates.

As James is shuffling in a rush inside the holy cemetery gates, he hears a faint voice. “Hey man! Why do you shuffle for no reason?”
The poor guy feels very spooked to atrocity. “Be… beca… because I’m damned,” said James with a quivering voice.
“No you don’t!” The voice sounded like it emanated from the underground. In a graveyard, that would mean from the nearest plot.
“But I am…,” whimpered James.
“Go home. Check yourself in the mirror. Enjoy the rest of your life in peace”.
Suddenly after a short test, James realized that the shuffle was gone and to make things better, he was able to walk faster. He even broke through a power walk.
“Thank you, good man of the afterworld!!!” He couldn’t thank the man enough for that miracle.

All the way home James thought about many different ways on how to pass the good deed to someone else. He remembered that his fellow foreman Tim, at the Rocking Galloper ranch had a slight hunch. He decided to phone him immediately and tell him about the good deed that happened to him. James pushed his front door open and picked up the phone. Then he explained to Tim what happened and exactly where to stop once inside the cemetery.

It was just past midnight as Tim Collins was betting with himself as which side of his hunching body would give him sweet dreams tonight. As sweet and welcoming his bed seemed to be, he was looking for a thrill. Something menacing to trash his sleep for once.
Suddenly the phone shrilled its’ outdated bell. The device had been hanging on that wall for more decades than Tim had been roaming this earth. He lifted the handset reluctantly. After all, his wish for a thrill seemed to have received an answer. Without the faintest chance to throw an hello, Tim’s ear was getting occupied by a barrage of rapid firing from his fellow James.
“Say what?” Asked confused Tim.
“Go to the old graveyard and go now! There’s a good spirit there waiting to do miracles. Trust me man, you will lose your hunch!”
“Says who? Cause you don’t exactly sound like the James I know.”
“Says James that is walking shuffle free now”, the line clicked and the touch dial tone resumed.
Tim thought about it for a minute, and then he got dressed and made his way toward the old graveyard.

“You arrived!” Came the voice from the underground.
“I did, indeed. Will you help me?” Asked Tim with a massive excitement in his voice.
“You’re a shuffler!”
“I am afraid you got that wrong! I am a hunchback!”
“You’re a hunchback and a shuffler!”
“Who says that?”
“Me! Try and walk!”
Tim smirked and took a few steps. With each off step his right shoe screeched on the gravel….

Wishful Thinking – Pt. 1

I can jump from the Earth’s surface to the rest of the eight planets when the time is right.This sounds so great if you think about it. But all of it is just Wishful Thinking.How beautiful would it be though, if you imagine for a moment, as all the planetary orbits would have a totally different arrangement which would bring them feet away from the Earth’s surface. We could jump on Mercury and take a ride closer than ever to the Sun as we hide behind the Rocky Mountains while they get scorched to coal from the intense heat.Or we could enjoy sunbathing in the sulfurous rusty sands of Mars.Why not get ourselves lost in the clouds of Jupiter as we fall through the foggy madness and then try to get ahold of a meteor and hang on it while it viciously vagrants through space until it gets arrested by the giant rings of Saturn?What do you say? Just you and me racing each other through different rings?…..until we let go and have the inertia throw us upon the cold blue icy surface of Neptune…. Can’t wait to come back to Earth….

Book Report: A Dowryless Wedding

As a writer and a published author, I like to expand my horizons by checking out and enjoying the written work of my fellow authors.

My hunger for knowledge and my taste for action and romance has pushed me to collect over 300 titles to date. My collection ranges from well known, top – shelf authors that are found on the primary displays of the chain – store bookshelves to the lesser known gems that I have dug from the various adventures that I have found deep inside one too many sacrophagi in the coffers of my neighborhood’s bookstores.

To be honest with you, several books from my collection have caused me distress. major enough to close the book mid – chapter nd hurl it across the room (or even off the mountain top, or boat – depending where I am). Then there are the others which I have treasured and enjoyed through times and times again. Just like a DVD that we play over and over gain because we can not get enough of the story.

One of those occasions was the story which I am about to tell. It has the boy, and the girl, and a thousand finely tuned details that will make their world swirl. Just the same as me, during a heart to heart with the author Dr. Merlin F. Franco, I learned that his main focus in the afterglow of the release, was the need to make people smile with his written work. Something that would bring him joy, even if there was only one person in the world to tell him “I read your book and I can relate to it. i find myself in it.”

Set in modern India, the story of Pranklee (intelligent millennial that regardless his upbringing in the India’s conservative cultural ways, struggles to maintain his western ways), picks you up like a storm in the tornado belt and twists and twirls you for about 5-6 hours until you reach the final page.

Through satire and salted humor, it portrays the ways of the poor. The greed to go big just for the eye of the neighborhood, even though it might mean that the debts would quadruple. But when the plans don’t get set in motion, then there’s the word of the patriarch and his goons against the new groom.

Dr. Merlin F. Franco is based on the beautiful island of Borneo, where amazing cultures coexist with evergreen oil palm forests.

To obtain a copy in the Amazon.com, click here.