Around the Campfire

By Dwayne MacInnes

It had taken quite a while and a lot of planning for our camping trip to come together. My work schedule only had me off every other weekend. Wes had black out dates from his job that he could not take off and Doug was scrambling to finish remodeling his kitchen. So by the time we all finally got together it was late October.

The one thing that worked for us was the weather. The days were warm, the mornings and evenings were cool. Only the nights were cold. It was actually quite beautiful to be camping in the fall as the leaves turned. Another plus was that we were secluded in our campground as most campers had packed it in for the season long ago.

We made sure that we stayed at a public campground especially with hunting season in full swing. Nothing invited getting an unwelcome bullet in the body more than running through the woods during deer season. Most hunters were cautious and made sure of their target. However, there were always a couple of first-timers usually from the big cities. They tended to shoot anything that moves, whether it is wearing hunter's blaze or not.

So it was on one of the last nights of our stay we were sitting around the fire. Wes had placed a pot of water on the flames to heat so that we could enjoy some cocoa before we turned in. We were telling tales of past camping adventures/mishaps as well as ghost stories and having rather good time.

Doug was again regaling us with the story of being attacked by a gull while in his canoe when he approached its chicks he thought were albino beavers. We were all laughing pretty hard when we were surprised by the "Excuse me" spoken by a stranger standing next to us.

None of us noticed the man approach us. He was in his mid-fifties and wearing an old red and black checkered jacket, a hat with earflaps, and laced black boots. Needless to say, we were all pretty dumbstruck as we fought to put our hearts back into our chests.

"Sorry," the man apologized, "I did not mean to startle you. I only wanted to warm myself by your fire."

"Sure," I said as I offered a vacant log he could use as a chair.

"I just don't see many people out here this late in the year," the stranger continued.

"Well, one thing led to another and by the time we got out here it was nearly winter," Wes replied.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" Doug asked already pouring some hot water into a metal cup.

"Mmmm, I can't rightly say the last time I had cocoa. I would love some," the stranger said accepting the cup offered by Doug.

"Well, my name is Jason Bitner," the man said.

We all exchanged our names and shook hands as the firelight flickered upon our faces.

"So what brings you out here?" Doug asked.

"I like to walk these woods this time of year," Jason replied. "I have been doing it for many years. I guess it is a habit seeing as how I used to hunt around here many years ago."

"Really," I said. "I thought you couldn't hunt in this area."

"Oh, this was a long time ago. Before this became a campground. In fact, it was about this time of year the last time I hunted here," Jason stated as he stared fixedly into the fire.

It felt like there was something in the air that compelled us to sit there and listen. Afterwards we all realized that we were entranced by Jason's story and we could do little but listen as he told it.

"I was doing some deer hunting. I had my pack and rifle and I have always had good luck in this area. Of course, back then you had to be wary of the mountain lions. They could sneak up on you that would be that.

"I had started early in the morning so I could get the most of the daylight to use for my hunt. My initial optimism was starting to fail when by afternoon I still had not found anything. No tracks whatsoever. Nothing.

"Now, not many people know this, but over in that direction," we all looked over to where Jason pointed, "there is a wonderful clearing. It has a small waterfall that cascades down into this chasm.

"I figured I would head over there eat a small lunch before I circled back and called it day. That is what I did. I set my rifle against a tree and I ate my sandwich. Afterwards I decided I'd take a look into the chasm. The sheer drop is about fifty yards into a shallow river. If you ever lost you balance and fell in...Well, that would be the end of you."

The firelight bathed Jason's face in an eerie orange glow as he stared into the snapping flames. The three of us waited, barely breathing for our guest to continue his narrative.

"That's when it happened," Jason finally said. "I was looking down into the chasm when I heard the sound of soft footpads behind me. I slowly turned and there a few yards in front of me was a mountain lion. I stood there frozen with fright; I fought to get my mind to function again.

"I glanced around and I finally remembered I had a rifle. However, it stood resting against the tree I ate my lunch under. Unfortunately, the lion was between me and it. The lion gave a most bone chilling cry you can ever experience. I frantically looked for an escape.

"The chasm was behind me and the lion blocked any escape into the woods. I had to do something. The lion then began to slowly creep near me. I knew I only had moments left if I were to escape. I had to do something."

Jason again stopped his story and stared hard into the flames. His eyes were not focused on the flames but instead on an incident years past. The seconds past slowly and finally I could stand it no longer.

"What happened?" I asked.

Jason snapped back to the present and smiled as he looked at us. "Well, I died," he said with a laugh.

"Thanks for the cocoa. I better head back. Good night," and with that he retreated back into the shadows from where he came.

"Well, he got us pretty good," Doug finally said.

The next morning we thought we would locate that clearing Jason mentioned. There weren't any trails and there was a lot of underbrush, but by noon we thought we located it. There was a small waterfall that fell into a deep chasm. We looked down at the small river Jason told us about and were about to head back when I noticed something.

"What's that?" I said pointing to a tree.

We ran over and there on the ground at the base of the tree lay a rusty rifle and tattered backpack. We quickly rushed back to the chasm and stared down.

"I think I see something down there on a ledge," Wes said excitedly.

Doug quickly pulled out his cell phone and called the Park Service.

It was not long before the place was a buzz with deputies, rangers, and rescue teams. We stood back from the action and watched from a distant as some rangers finally hauled up the skeletal remains that Wes saw on the ledge.

A ranger finally approached us. "Good work guys. It looks like you did find a body. According to his driver's license his name was Jason Bitner. He must have fell down there sometime around 1949."

A Bottle of Elixir

By Dwayne MacInnes

I remember as a child, when visiting Grandma and Grandpa O'Brien's, there was this old bottle that sat over the mantle piece of their fireplace. It was made of clear glass in the shape of many bottles of supposed medicinal purpose from an earlier part of the 20th century. It was a quarter full of some brownish liquid. It had a cork stopper which prevented the liquid from escaping. The simple paper label on the bottle proclaimed the liquid as "Dr. Harrison's Elixir".

This was an odd item to be found in my grandparent's home. Especially since Grandma O' was a devout teetotaler and alcohol was forbidden in the house. Whenever I asked about it, grandma would mention that it was a reminder to Grandpa O' of his past. Grandpa O' was just as elusive when I queried him. He responded to my questions that it "had changed his life forever".

So, there the story stood for decades, a mysterious bottle sitting on a fireplace's mantle full of unanswered questions. However, I noticed that not once in all those years did the contents of the bottle change. It was always a quarter full.

It was about a year after Grandma O's passing that my grandpa caught me unawares one day by saying, "Jimmy, my boy, do you want to hear the story about that bottle of elixir?"

I of course nodded my head. I was sure the story was not all that great. But the fact of it remaining a tantalizing mystery all these years only added to its aura. I sat down on the couch as grandpa reclined in his chair. He looked up at the bottle and pointed at it as he began speaking.

"There was a time in my life when I was out of control," he said as his eyes took on a glassy look. "I was a slave to anything that would get me drunk."

He glanced over at me and smiled, "Now this was before I met your grandmother. She would not tolerate any drinking as you well know. But over the years in trying to mask my drinking problem I turned to elixirs. It was easy to say I had a scratchy throat or some pain in my shoulder.

"It is well known, that elixirs were just a gimmick to help a man sneak a drink. That bottle there represents my favorite choice, Dr. Harrison's Elixir. It had a nice smooth quality and tasted a bit like cherry brandy. Well, to be truthful it probably was just cherry brandy," Grandpa O' chuckled to himself. "Sometimes I miss that taste, but my love of your grandmother was one of the two reasons why I never went back to drinking."

I was now leaning forward on the couch trying to catch every word that grandpa spoke. He looked over at me again and smiled.

"I will now tell you the second reason why I gave up alcohol. It was back in the forties and I used to stay out late visiting all the bars in town. Now for me to get home to my place outside of town, I had to pass by the cemetery on Rosehill. You know by the old Picken's place, right?"

I nodded my head. The old Picken's place had been this old abandoned mansion on top of Rosehill. It was abandoned even when my grandparents were children and it -- of course -- was said to be haunted. I suppose it didn't help that it was directly across the street from the Rosehill Memorial Cemetery.

"So, I was stumbling home one fall night. The wind was blowing the leaves around my feet and the full moon lit my path down the broken road. I had my coat pulled close to my body to help keep in the heat. I would occasionally take a slug from that bottle to help fortify me against the elements and then I would shove it back into my coat pocket. My sole purpose was to get home and to bed.

"That was when I heard a large crack emanating from the cemetery. I figured it was a tree branch breaking but as I turned I saw this coffin sticking out of the ground. It was standing upwards as if the caretakers left it there leaning against the headstone.

"The wind blew the lid open to reveal that it was in fact empty. I was about to turn and continue my trek home when suddenly the coffin 'hopped' towards me. In surprise, I stumbled backwards and fell on to my rear. What I saw could not be real. I have seen many things in my drunken state including a pink elephant or two but never a hopping casket.

"With a bang, bang, bang the death box hopped towards me. I jumped up to my feet and ran. The box continued to follow with its bang, bang, bang. I unconsciously ran through the old gate leading to the Picken's place. I figured that I would be able to secure myself inside the house. The casket never gave up its pursuit. I would look over my shoulder and see the box hopping after me. Its lid flapping as if the welcome me into its interior.

"Soon I had pushed myself through the old door, its rusty hinges protesting against being open. I quickly shut the door and secured it with the old chain-lock. I could still hear the bang, bang, bang of the casket hopping up the walkway. I looked across the musty and abandoned room for anything to reinforce the door. However, before I could find anything the front door exploded in a cloud of splinters. The coffin was in the doorway, again its lid opened to reveal its empty interior.

"With a scream that would put any of those horror movie girls to shame, I bolted up the old rotted staircase. Occasionally, my foot would break through the steps, but I was moving so fast that I am almost certain I was flying. When I reached the top of the landing I looked down and watched as the death box hopped up the stairs with a bang, bang, bang. It was destroying those steps that remained intact after my ascent.

"I was completely frightened and my mind raced through a cloud of horror and alcohol for a way to escape or stop this supernatural monstrosity. I grabbed the newel post and tossed it at the coffin. It bounced harmlessly off the lid not even leaving a dent on the wooden surface.

"I ran down the hallway and into a large room. I again quickly shut the door. However, there was nothing to secure it. I frantically, looked around the room for anything that I could use to stop the box. However, it continued its hopping with a bang, bang, bang, down the hall towards me. All I found was some rocks on the floor that kids over the years had thrown through the windows. The moonlight filtered in through the broken windows and a quick glance out them revealed a sheer drop of over twenty feet to a stone strewn ground below.

"With another crash the unholy sarcophagus had exploded through the door. In a frantic state I began to throw the rocks at the box as it now slowly slid towards me. The lid creeping open as it relentlessly approached. I retreated back to the window and continued to throw rocks. They only bounced harmlessly off the casket.

"As the box was a mere five feet away I ran out of rocks. I was now faced with the choice of jumping out the window or being consumed by the casket. I unconsciously retrieved the bottle from my coat. The box was now almost upon me. In desperation I threw the bottle at the death box it flew past the lid and landed inside the casket. Suddenly it stopped.

"I must have fainted because when I came to in the morning I was on the floor of the old bedroom. There were rocks all on the opposite side of the room and my bottle of elixir on the floor where the coffin was before I past out. However, there was no sign of that evil death box.

"The first person I ran into when I left the Picken's place was your grandmother coming home from church. I can tell you honestly that I have never let a drop of alcohol past my lips since that night."

I was a little shocked by my grandpa's story. It was too much to believe. He must have noticed the look on my face because he got up from his chair and walked over to the fireplace. He grabbed the bottle of elixir and looked at it for a minute.

"But, how did your bottle stop the coffin from getting you?" I finally asked.

Grandpa tossed the bottle to me and I caught it. "Read the label," he stated.

The label simply said, "Dr. Harrisons' Elixir: a Coff Re-med-die." The words were written phonetically. In finer print below, with a folksy type of grammar, it proclaimed: "Gar-un-teed to stop you a coffin."

Abraham Lincoln: President, Statesman, Action-Hero

By Dwayne MacInnes

The silver moon hung low in the night sky above the canopy of trees surrounding the inky black lake. The lunar reflection upon the glassy surface of the lake began to ripple as a long black cylindrical object slowly emerged from its icy depths.

Making a minimum amount of noise, a gaunt face framed by a black beard and large ears that supported the dripping stovepipe hat soon emerged from the lake's depths. A cold, hard look of determination set in the eyes of the man as he slowly walked towards the shore. A long black coat sat upon his lanky frame. A large oilskin bag was over his left shoulder; an old steel axe was in his right hand.

Once out of the lake, the dripping man crept into the woods as he made his way stealthily towards an old mill. It stood by the river that fed the lake. The mill sat upon four large wooden beams that kept it about four feet above the ground. A large water wheel turned by the river creaked nonstop as it powered unseen machinations inside the building.

A well-worn dirt path ran through the woods and ended at the mill's wooden steps. Those steps led up to the mill's entrance. The man stealthily slipped from tree to tree; his soggy boots squishing softly in the still night. He could not hear or see any sentry as he neared the mill. However, he remained cautious.

Suddenly, a small light flashed brilliantly into existence as a guard outside the mill lit a match. He put its burning flame into the bowl of his corncob pipe, which illuminated his middle-aged face. The butternut colored uniform reminded the man sneaking through the woods that he was in enemy territory. A slip up here could mean the end of the war for his country.

The man tightened his grip upon the ash handle of his axe before he set the oilskin bag down. He untied the knot that secured the opening and reached into the bag. From within he withdrew 2 Colt M1861 Navy pistols and one large black six barrel Gatling gun. This gun, instead of a carriage, had a leather sling attached to its frame. He set the large Gatling against a tree and stuffed the pistols into his coat pockets.

Picking up the axe the man left the woods and approached the guard outside the mill's entrance. The guard, too occupied with his late night pipe, at first did not catch the movement of the shadow creeping slowly towards him. However, the snap of small branch under the boot of the man sneaking towards the sentry quickly brought the guard to attention. The guard in a smooth motion picked up his old musket and cocked the hammer as he pointed it towards the man approaching him.

"Who goes thar?" the guard demanded.

"I do," the man stated plainly, as he stepped further into the moonlight.

"My God! Yer, yer, Abe Lincoln!"

"Yes," Lincoln replied as he hefted his axe.

Two more sentries unnoticed by Lincoln crept up behind the president, their rifles aimed squarely at his back.

"Suh, I must ask you to surrender," the sentry ordered.

"Son, that I cannot do."

"We have you surrounded and you are only armed with an old axe."

"Everyone desires to live long, but no one would be old," Lincoln stated as kept the axe head in front of his face with the blade aimed toward the sentry.

"What?" the sentry replied as Lincoln took a step closer.

"I will help with the latter," Lincoln said taking another step closely eying the barrel of the musket.

"Not if I can help it," the sentry replied firing his old musket aimed at the president's head. As if in slow motion, Lincoln watched as fire and smoke erupted from the musket's barrel. He watched as a ball flew towards him. He felt the impact of the led projectile as it made contact with the edge of the steel blade of his axe. The ball split in two, the angle of the axe's edge sent the two halves flying past Lincoln's ears, and into the men behind the president.

Before the bodies of the slain rebel soldiers slumped to the ground, Lincoln with a swift motion tossed the axe forward. The stunned sentry watched in fascination as the blade tumbled through the air end over end before it split his head.

The echoing report of the musket alerted every Johnny Reb in the area that there was danger afoot. Lincoln retreated into the woods and waited. Soon some soldiers in a mixture of gray and butternut uniforms came jogging up the trail. Lincoln picked up the Gatling gun. He placed the frame in the crook of his left arm and slung the sling over his shoulder. His wiry muscles were like steel cables as they strained under the weight. With his right hand, he grabbed the crank.

As the soldiers approached the bodies of their slain comrades, they looked around alert and confused. Before they could determine their next course of action, Lincoln turned the crank. Fire spit from the six black barrels as lead bullets slammed into the bodies of the rebel soldiers. Some soldiers managed to raise their rifles. However, before they could fire, the Gatling gun cut them down. In a matter of half a minute, the bodies of over twenty men lay still upon the ground.

Lincoln next turned the Gatling gun upon the mill. He aimed the weapon at the roof of the structure and slowly lowered his aim as bullets ripped into the wooden frame. The president continued to fire until the hopper was empty and only white smoke emanated from the hot barrels. When he was finished a ragged line of chewed up wood ran down the mill from top to bottom.

Some frightened men ran out of the building in a mad rush. Lincoln, now armed with the two Navy Colts, approached the mill and systematically fired into any man who posed a threat. Most of the men simply ran into the woods fleeing for their lives.

Lincoln calmly climbed the steps and peered into the mill. Inside the building and amongst a number of machines and slain bodies of workers he noticed a large steel monstrosity. It was the feared steam-powered land ironclad. If the rebels ever made any of these in great numbers the tide of war would greatly turn in favor of the Confederacy.

As moonlight filtered through the bullet riddled mill a man in a leather apron stood upon the land ironclad. It was Dr. Higby, a man of great imagination for war vehicles and a threat to the Union cause.

"You will never get away with this," Higby bellowed as he aimed the cannon of the land ironclad at Lincoln. The weakened timbers of the mill's floor creaked and moaned in protest to the strain of supporting the weight of metal war machine.

With a wry smile, Lincoln calmly replied, "A house divided against itself cannot stand." Then Lincoln raised a booted foot and slammed it down hard upon the crack that ran the length of the mill. The Gatling gun's bullets created the crack, which weakened the structure's frame. The weakened building moaned in protest as Lincoln jumped backwards the same instance Higby fired the cannon. A large iron ball flew past Lincoln barely missing him and exploded deep in the woods as the mill finally collapsed under the strain of the cannon fire and the weight of the land ironclad.

Soon fire erupted amongst the wooden timbers of the mill and quickly began to consume the wreckage. Lincoln smiling in the firelight repacked the Gatling gun into the oilskin bag and began the journey back to his hot air balloon on the other side of the lake. If the wind was right, he could be back in D.C. as morning broke and none would know he had left the city.

"Rebellion and Cognac" - A Halloween Tale

Rebellion and Cognac

A Halloween Tale

By Dwayne MacInnes

Robert Blythe walked along the meticulously manicured lawn on his uncle's estate. The neatly trimmed hedges stood at attention like the soldiers the Colonel led during the Crimean War -- or as his uncle, Colonel Belmount, called it -- The Russian War. Robert chafed under his uncle's domineering guardianship. The old man never let Robert enjoy any of the money that came with his uncle's estate.

If his parents had not died in a tragic shipwreck three years previous, it was a good chance that they would be running the estate instead of his uncle. However, his parent's will firmly established Colonel Belmount as Robert's legal guardian until his eighteenth birthday, which was still two long years away. Robert would not see his inheritance until then.

The Colonel ran a tight ship. He was very frugal with his funds and the allowance he gave Robert was barely enough for Robert to survive in a manner befit his tastes. It did not comfort Robert much when the Colonel reminded him that his monthly stipend was more than most Britons made in a year. The Colonel also did not approve of Robert's pastimes. Hanging out with Lord Westbrooke and partaking in games of chance. The Colonel felt these activities were a waste of time and were not becoming of a gentlemen.

Robert tried to argue that the Lord Westbrooke was a cousin to the queen. However, Robert was unable to persuade the Colonel to the contrary.

"The doings of Lords are above our station," the Colonel replied. "You should join a regiment, become an officer, and distinguish yourself in battle as I and our forefathers before us had done."

So far, the only battle Robert was waging was against the throbbing pain in his head. The night before Robert joined Lord Westbrooke in a game of cards. The only thing Robert won was a raging hangover. The lecture from the Colonel when Robert awakened that morning did not help things out. Therefore, Robert decided to take a walk around the grounds in hope that some fresh air would alleviate some of his discomfort.

Robert had no longer established himself under the shade of a venerable oak tree when a lone rider came galloping down the lane. With a groan, Robert stood back up and squinted to make out the man riding towards the estate.

The rider noticed Robert and steered his mount towards the young man.

Still suffering the after-effects of last night," laughed the voice of Lord Westbrooke.

Robert more grimaced than smiled when he saw the man sitting upon the horse. After all, the young Lord was not much older than he himself.

"You took my last penny and left me with a painful reminder," Robert replied rubbing his head.

"You need to learn to hold your liquor," Lord Westbrooke continued. "I suppose Sir Belmount was not pleased."

Queen Victoria for his gallantry during the Crimean War had knighted the Colonel. However, the old soldier still preferred to go by the title Colonel. The Colonel lived in semi-retirement on the estate recovering from a terrible wound he suffered in battle. It was his superiors' idea that he recuperates at home; however, the Colonel felt fit again and constantly petitioned his superiors to allow him back into active service.

"Yes, Once more into the breach my friends," Robert stated with a pained smile. "It normally would be bearable if I was not suffering the after-effects of that pub-swill you call liquor."

"I am sorry you do not like a good port. I suppose you have sampled some of your uncle's rumored fine cognac. Therefore, any other type of refreshment would pale in comparison."

"Alas, I have not. I know he keeps the barrel well hidden -- for I have looked. But, it is supposed to be one of the treasures he secured from his campaigns."

"Well fear not my friend, Sir Belmount will not live forever, and you will then have this estate and all that comes with it -- including your uncle's prized cognac," Lord Westbrooke replied.

"He'll probably outlive us all, the old bird. He is quite the specimen of physical fitness. If only the military would accept him back and send him off on some campaign. Then perhaps, I will indeed come into my inheritance."

"Ah yes!" exclaimed Lord Westbrooke. "I almost forgot why I came here. There appears to be a revolt in India. I rode here knowing Sir Belmount would appreciate such news."

"Yes he would, and he would chafe at not being able to partake in putting down the revolt," Robert replied dryly.

Military and politically matters did not interest Robert at all.

"You know," Lord Westbrooke said thinking aloud. "I have some pull with court. I may be able to make you and Sir Belmount happy by having him reinstated. They could very well send him over to India to put down the Muhammadans."

"Oh that would be grand," Robert smiled his headache now forgotten.

* * * * *

It had been months since the Colonel went off to India to put down the rebellion. Robert had the estate to himself; however, he still only received his monthly allowance that the solicitors allowed him. This would have been bearable if it was not for the fact that his uncle took with him his prized cognac. The Colonel evidently did not trust his nephew with his spoils from the Crimean.

Robert reclined in a chair upon the lawn trying to enjoy a glass of sherry. He had sent the servants away, because Robert was in no mood to have anyone bother him. To make matters worse, Robert had already lost his allowance to Lord Westbrooke, so there was little chance his friend would show up to entertain him.

No sooner had Robert finished this thought than the sound of hooves clacked down the wooded lane leading to the estate. At first, Robert thought Lord Westbrooke might have been responding to some subconscious summons. However, Robert soon distinguished the sound of a pair of horses pulling a cart. The horses turned onto the road of the estate.

Curiosity compelled Robert to leave his wooden chair and meet the cart on the road. The driver pulled on the reigns bringing the horses to a halt.

"Ye be Robert Blythe?" the teamster asked in a thick Scottish accent.

"Yes, I am he," Robert replied.

"This came for ye by ship from India, laddy," the Scotsman replied pointing back to a barrel in the back of the cart. "It is said a relative of yours died in the campaign and this was to be sent to ye."

Robert's eyes lit up in excitement. Uncle Belmount was dead! The barrel of cognac was his!

* * * * *

Lord Westbrooke wasted no time when he received the summons to come over to Robert Blythe's estate. A servant opened the door for the lord when he approached the manor.

"I'm sorry your lordship," the servant began as Lord Westbrooke entered the manor, "Master Blythe has taken ill. However, he has asked that you visit him in the study."

Lord Westbrooke entered the study where Robert sat upon a couch wrapped in a blanket. The young man obviously was in the grip of a fever. He rose upon shaky legs as Lord Westbrooke entered the room.

"Robert!" exclaimed Lord Westbrooke, "you do not look well. What has befallen you?"

"Never mind that," Robert said with a weak smile on his pale face. "It had happened as you predicted. My uncle died in India and he left me his treasure."

Robert pointed to a corner of the room where a barrel rested upon two chairs. A spigot already placed in the bunghole.

"I could not wait so I sampled some last night. It is divine."

Robert staggered over to the barrel and filled a glass offering it to Lord Westbrooke. The lord took the proffered glass looking at the brandy.

"What has happened to you?" the lord continued.

"I was in a mood yesterday, and I probably sat too long in the outdoors. I caught some damned cold. However, this will restore my strength." Robert stated as he grabbed his glass and consumed the cognac.

The Lord Westbrooke lifted his glass towards Robert, "To your health," before drinking his glass.

The brandy was indeed of exquisite quality, he could understand why Sir Belmount went to great lengths to protect it.

"Would you care for another glass?" Robert asked.

"I do not mind if I do," smiled Lord Westbrooke giving Robert his glass. "So how did your uncle meet his demise?"

"There's a letter there on the desk that came with the cognac if you care to read it. I do not really care, all I know is it is finally all mine."

Lord Westbrooke took the now refilled glass and sipping it went over to the desk. There a letter lay still unopened and addressed to Robert Blythe.

"You sure you do not mind if I read this?" Lord Westbrooke asked Robert who was now on his third glass of cognac.

"No not at all. I think I will sit down for a bit," Robert said as shivers ran through his body. He returned to the couch and looked over towards Lord Westbrooke.

Lord Westbrooke opened the letter and began to read. "It appears your uncle and his regiment were ambushed by some sepoys. Rather ghastly business." The lord continued to read, "Dear God! It appears it was a week before a relief column was able to retrieve the bodies of the fallen. They had been out in the hot sun the whole time." The lord took a sip of cognac before he continued to read. However, soon Lord Westbrooke exclaimed, "DEAR GOD!" and he dropped his glass spilling the precious liquid on the ground.

"Hey, careful with that!" shouted Robert on seeing the cognac spill onto the carpet.

Lord Westbrooke did not hear him. He looked over towards Robert and slowly stated, "They put the body of your uncle in the only preservative they had on hand, his barrel of cognac."

Twilight Zone

A Halloween Story

By Dwayne MacInnes

The moon hung high in the night sky its soft glow competing with the various city lights reflecting off the wet slick concrete of the city below. Tall buildings thrust proudly into the night air with their multitude of lights dampening out the low flicker of the stars above. The sounds of traffic and sirens floated through the atmosphere. It was just another night in New York City.

Maciste slunk down a dark lonely alley. Mist and trash obscured the rough surface of the dead-end that housed overflowing dumpsters filled with the every day debris a city like this discards. The lithe man pulled the hood of his black hoodie jacket over his pale bald head.

A casual observer would notice that Maciste was very slim, maybe even claim he was emaciated. His eyes were like dead pools of darkness, reflecting no life set in a cadaver gray face. His nose was long and hooked much like his fingers that ended in long stiletto-like nails. Even his ears were long and pointed, as one would expect to see on some fairytale elf.

Maciste, however would never lower himself to help some cobbler. No, Maciste was a vampire. A damned soul doomed to roam earth eternally hungry for blood. Most people in the 21st century did not believe in vampires. Movies and books distorted and romanticized what for thousands of years even an uneducated peasant would know and could take the proper precautions.

Maciste stooped down and picked up a scrap of the front page of a local newspaper. Its black and white headline emblazoned the words: Twilight Killer Strikes Again. The nosferatu chuckled to himself. The police were helpless in their pursuit of the "Twilight Killer" as the newspapers had dubbed Maciste. They did not know they were up against a vampire.

Nicodemus, an old friend, had bestowed this gift upon Maciste some time past. Nicodemus claimed that the famous Mordecai (at least famous in the vampire circle) in turn transformed him. The rumor ran that Mordecai was careful in his selections only choosing those that would be cautious. For another rumor stated that there were still a dedicated few mortals out there that acted as vampire hunters.

However, Maciste and Nicodemus were friends when they were still mortal. Both were outcasts even amongst the fringe groups of young adults. They used to challenge each other on vampire lore and fiction. They both started to adopt vampire customs like the drinking of blood.

Suddenly one day Nicodemus vanished. His house was vacant. His few friends knew nothing of his disappearance. Even his blog had shutdown. Of course, there was the standard police search but after awhile they gave up filing Nicodemus's vanishing to the cold case unit.

It was shortly after all the excitement finally died down that Maciste awoke one dark night to see a slim bald man sitting at the foot of his bed. The smell of decay and freshly turned earth hung on the apparition's breath. Before Maciste could scream, a slender boney hand shot out and covered Maciste's mouth.

"Quiet," the man said in a familiar voice, "it is I, Nicodemus and I have finally become what we have always desired."

Maciste's eyes opened wide in recognition of Nicodemus's voice. Even though he wanted to, Maciste could not respond through the strong fingers squeezing his mouth.

"I have chosen you to enjoy this gift if you desire," the vampire said hoarsely. "However, you will find it does not bring the benefits we thought."

Maciste struggled to speak, but was only finally able to nod his head. His pleading eyes were enough to convince Nicodemus to release his grip.

"Good," Nicodemus smiled exposing his sharp and deadly teeth that glittered in the moonlight filtering through the bedroom's window.

The two had roamed the country together for some time. However, they soon parted ways. Maciste figured he could do better in a large city like New York. Nicodemus did not share his companion's enthusiasm.

Maciste's plan was simple. He used to be quite an avid blogger himself before the transformation. He also, like many mortals, believed more in the modern rendition of vampires than the old folklores. He soon learned that the reverse was true. So using these pieces of knowledge Maciste would charm and lure unsuspecting teens, mostly girls, to their doom.

It was too easy. Especially, with vampires being such a romantic figure to young teenage girls. The books and movies always got it wrong. Vampires could not expose themselves to sunlight. They did not merely "sparkle" in the sun's rays but would actually burn down to a fine ash to be scattered by any passing breeze. Nor did they desire the affections of a mortal. The mortal's blood was the only thing a vampire desired. However, the wooden stake in the heart would kill a vampire, which most books and movies kept in their stories unaltered.

Maciste in his hoodie disguise could enter any cybercafé and correspond to some mortal online. The building's cameras could never capture Maciste's image. This was one of the gifts of being undead. In addition, a slim man witnesses describe wearing a black hoodie nearly matched the description of about a few thousand users in a cybercafé late at night.

* * * * *

Maciste now awaited his latest victim. They were always so eager to meet with him. Even if that meeting was to take place late at night in some secluded area in New York City! One would think the headlines warning of a killer using the trend of teenage romantic vampire literature as a lure would alert people. Well, teenagers rarely paid attention to the news.

The soft click of woman's heels echoed from the sidewalk leading to the alley. Maciste pulled himself back further into the shadows. Shortly a small woman cautiously entered the alley.

"Hello?" a timid voice said softly. "Is there anyone down here?"

"Yes," Maciste stepped out into the dim light.

"Are you.the..." the girl stammered.

"Vampire?" Maciste smiled, his teeth reflecting the pale light. "Yes, it is I."

"Are you going to make me...you know?" the girl stammered some more.

Yes," Maciste replied stepping closer to his victim. It was all too easy he thought to himself.

As the vampire's arms reached out towards the girl, a hiss punctuated the night from behind the vampire. Maciste's sensitive ears picked up the new sound and as he spun to see the source of the noise, a fiery pain shot through his chest. A wooden arrow protruded from his torso. Maciste looked up in time to see the silhouette of a figure on the fire escape of a nearby building armed with a bow before the second arrow penetrated his lifeless heart.

Before Maciste could react, he fell forward onto the ground dead, truly dead.

* * * * *

The man jumped down from the fire escape and stood over the body of the vampire. The shy girl cautiously walked forward.

"Did you get him?" she said her voice no longer timid but now strong.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Cathy," the man said as he rummaged through a satchel slung over his shoulder. "I couldn't see too well and barely missed his heart with the first shot."

"Thank God you got him with the second, Father Theo," the girl replied as she pulled a vial out of her purse. "Let me do the honors."

She uncorked the small crystal bottle and started to sprinkle some water onto the vampire's body. Wherever the drops landed on the vampire a small fire started, soon a conflagration consumed the whole body in flames that burned high for a second before it finally died down revealing only a fine pile of ash.

"Holy water," Father Theo smiled as he pulled his vial from the satchel. "Never leave home without it."

"At least if you are a vampire hunter," Cathy laughed.

"Year 2525" - Part 3 (Conclusion)

Year 2525

Part 3

By Dwayne MacInnes

"You do not need to believe any such things. However, to persecute those who do, is against my teachings. For God works in mysterious ways and His ways may not be what you believe they should be," the voice said.

"That is good because it is stated in Genesis 1:26 we were made in God's image," Grand Pastor Brendon stated.

"This is an example of which I speak. God in making man in His image is referring to man's ability to reason and think unlike the other animals. It is unfortunate that over time man has made God into his image. Furthermore, why is evolution beyond the ability of God the Father? Would He not like a carpenter continue to refine His creations to perfection over time?

"Does not the Bible in Psalm 93:1, Psalm 96:10, Psalm 104:5, I Chronicle 16:30 and Ecclesiastes 1:5 state that the earth does not move? Yet, even to this day you have no problem accepting that the earth moves around the sun. Does this take away from the power of God?"

"Lord what you say means that the Bible is not 100% accurate. Why would God put such inaccurate information in the Bible?" the Grand Pastor asked.

"You forget that men still wrote the Bible. Even if God ordained that every word be written as He stated, some men would take the time and effort to change it. Have you not done so to serve your purposes?"

Grand Pastor Brendon became troubled in his mind. What he was hearing was not what he had been taught to believe. If what the voice he believed to be from Jesus was correct, then that means he and his followers were damned.

"But Lord the Book of Revelation states clearly the signs that signal your arrival. Certainly this cannot be inaccurate," Grand Pastor Brendon said.

"Again you read from the wrong book. I did not write the Book of Revelation; in fact, it is not clear to many men if the Book is telling of things to happen or of things that had happened or even if it is divinely written. I am not here to tell you this one way or the other.

"I will tell you that in Luke 17:22-37 and in Matthew 24:4-14 and 41-44 I laid out clearly that you will not know when I arrive. I will arrive like a thief in the night and that there would be those who would in fact wrongly say there would be certain signs to look for. These were my words and I would hope that you would give them greater weight than those belonging to others."

"What of the two great commandments that I mentioned in Matthew 22:36-40? Have you loved God the Father with all your heart, soul, and mind? Or have you focused on earning treasures here on earth that will do you no good in heaven?

"Have you loved your neighbor as yourself? Or have you spread hatred? Did not your forbears' centuries ago say the former nation of the United States was cursed by God because of 'liberals, homosexuals, feminists, and abortions?' This resulting in the terrorist attacks that destroyed to great towers?

"I say unto you that 'the sins of the father shall not pass onto the children.' I will also point out that I mentioned in Luke 13:4 that when the tower of Siloam fell on eighteen people killing them that they were no greater sinners than the holiest in Jerusalem.

"You and your predecessors have corrupted my message of love and peace over the centuries until it became about hating homosexuals and people who want abortions, to prosperity for the righteous and war on the nonbelievers. If you want to win people over to your side you must use love and understanding. You have to realize that not everything is black and white, right or wrong.

"You are always stating that God is with you. The more important question is are you with God?"

Grand Pastor Brendon's head swam. This must be some terrible dream. All the plans and efforts over centuries to prepare the way for the Lord's return he was told were wrong. Maybe this was not Jesus but instead the Deceiver, Satan himself trying to lead him and his flock astray. It would be most cunning for the Devil to use the Bible itself against him, to use it to sow the seeds of mistrust and doubt.

"If you are truly the Lord I will need some proof," Grand Pastor Brendon stated bravely though he did not feel brave.

"You doubting Thomas!" the voice exclaimed. "You yourself this very day reminded your followers that you shall not test the Lord.

"However, if it is proof you need then I shall give you something to prove that this was not just a simple dream or that I am Satan. Yes, I can read your sinful heart.

"Therefore, when you awaken I will have gathered all those worthy. Those that remain will be doomed to live out their existence on the world you have destroyed over the centuries.

"If you so choose you can change your ways and repair the damage done to the earth then those who remain can join those who have been chosen," the voice said.

Before Grand Pastor Brendon could ask anything further the voice disappeared. The Grand Pastor continued his slumber in unease. For his mind was deeply troubled. Everything he believed in could very well be false -- or worse. Still, he could be facing a test against the Prince of Lies. It was not so easy to just say, "Get thee behind me Satan."

* * * * *

The buzzing alarm awakened Grand Pastor Brendon. He liked to get up early in order to get a head start on the day. After showering and eating, Grand Pastor Brendon then turned on the teleview News Service. The big news that blazed across the 3-D screen proclaimed, "Several Domes have reported a sudden disappearance of citizens. In fact some of the Domes where the poor resided are completely empty. Was this a terrorist plot?"

Grand Pastor Brendon watched in horror as news anchor after anchor repeated the strange and bizarre story. Not one of them considered that the Rapture had just happened and that those who remained on earth were not going to be taken up to Heaven as they believed. If this got, out there would be pandemonium. Grand Pastor Brendon decided then and there to keep his exchange with Jesus to himself.

"Year 2525" - Part 2

Year 2525

Part 2

By Dwayne MacInnes

"That is correct," the faceless voice replied.

"We have waited long for your return Lord," Grand Pastor Brendon said reverently.

"Yes, you have waited and in that time what have you done to my world?" the voice said forcefully.

"Lord, according to Genesis 1:28 you made us stewards of the earth," the Grand Pastor replied meekly.

"Yes, I left you in charge as one would leave a gardener in charge while the master is away. When the master returns he would hope the gardener had improved the land not destroyed it."

"Lord, we thought you were going to return quickly. The signs were all there and one does not repair a vehicle if it is not going to be used any more," Brendon, no longer feeling much like the supreme and divine earthly ruler with the title of Grand Pastor.

"The signs you speak of were always there. You believed that if there was grief and war upon the earth my time to return was at hand. Yet, I point out to you that the world is a broken world and it will always be filled with war and grief.

"However," continued the voice. "You also tried to force the prophecy along as if you could force my hand."

Grand Pastor Brendon felt shameful for the pride of his predecessors did indeed allow them all to believe they could force certain events to happen by manipulating certain factors.

"Do you not remember my teachings?" the voice asked.

"Yes, we tried to follow them faithfully. Like in the parable of the talents in Matthew 25:14-30. We knew you were a hard master so we went forth and tried to double your wealth. We converted many a soul for you and in return we were rewarded with prosperity and wealth," Grand Pastor Brendon replied.

"Hypocrite!" spat the voice. "You converted people by the sword when I taught peace and love. You also claim your riches were my reward to you for a job well done. You fool you have been deceived by Satan. I stated in Matthew 6:24 and in Luke 16:13 that you cannot serve two masters. You cannot serve both God and riches!

"My anger burns with your words of twisting my teachings into condoning bloodshed and storing up earthly treasures. What did you do with your wealth then?

"For it was John the Baptist who proceeded me who said in Luke 3:11 'the man who has two coats to share with him who has none; and he who has food is to do likewise.' Yet you passed tax laws benefiting the wealthy and hurting the middle class. Therefore, you are taking the coat even from the man with one leaving him without. Did I not state in Luke 20:25, Matthew 22:21, and Mark 12:17 'Then render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's?' You are privileged and therefore a greater burden is upon you to help your fellow man.

"You also seem to have forgotten my words in Mark 10:25, Matthew 19:24 and Luke 18:25, 'it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.'

"Furthermore, did I not tell the rich man in Luke 18:25, Mark 10:25 and Matthew 19:21 'to sell all that he had and give it to the poor and then he could follow me?"

Grand Pastor Brendon was silent for a while before he lamely added, "Lord in Mark 14:7 and in John 12:8 you said we shall always have the poor."

"Fool, again you have twisted my words and meanings. What I said was, 'because you will always have the poor with you and can help them whenever you want, but you will not always have me.'

"I was reminding my disciples to celebrate that I was with them while they could. After I was gone they would have all the time they needed to help the poor.

"You have also forgotten Matthew 22:36-40 where I state that you shall love the Lord God first and to also love your neighbor as yourself. This you have failed to do.

"You have taught that you should hate those you do not agree with in thought and in deed. You have forgotten to turn the other cheek and to love thy enemy. You have even gone so far as to teach intolerance for other Christians. Our Father cares not whether one is called Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox, or even Evangelical. He cares about how you have treated one another.

"When you use me to justify your wars you anger me the most. Do you forget that he who lives by the sword shall die by the sword? Or what I said in Matthew 5:44, 'But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;'

"You fear advances in science as if learning itself was a sin. Seeking knowledge is God's plan for you as long as you remember to honor Him and to love one another."

"Certainly Lord you do not expect us to believe such blasphemous teachings as evolution?"

"Year 2525" - Part 1

Year 2525

Part 1

By Dwayne MacInnes

The men gathered around their leader in the center of the "Glorious Life" cathedral located inside the domed city of New Jerusalem. The men were anxious and looked towards their leader, a man in his mid-fifties with a gray beard. He was wearing a shimmering gold suit, the one reserved for the most holy person and supreme leader. The man in the gold suit looked at the gathering congregation.

"Grand Pastor Brendon, we beseech you to call upon God!" cried a desperate man his eyes wide with fear.

"Calm brothers, calm," Grand Pastor Brendon held up his hands to gather everyone's attention.

"Grand Pastor, the events are in place for the prophecy. We are ready. How much longer must we wait?" called another frightened man.

"All things come when ready. The Lord God will certainly be preparing to take us up to his arms," Grand Pastor Brendon said. "We have nothing to fear. Did we not rebuild the temple on its original site after the dirty bomb devastated Jerusalem over two hundred years ago?"

"Yea!" the gathered men called out.

"Have not the four horsemen been released in the form of 'Conquest', 'War', 'Famine', and 'Death'?"

"Yea!" the men cried.

"Are there not earthquakes and martyrs?"

"Yea!" the men cried.

"Have we not seen an antichrist spreading his power over the world and people being marked by the beast?"

"Yea!" the men cried.

"Have we not helped the events to happen as they were told in the book of Revelations?" Grand Pastor Brendon screamed in a fever pitch.

"Yea! Yea!" the men returned just as heartily.

"Then allay your fears and take comfort in the glory of God. Are we all not wealthy, do we not all have enough food to eat? Is there any among you who lack any comfort in life?"

"It is as you say Pastor," another man cried out. "But we have been fighting against the infidels in a holy crusade now for over four hundred years. Certainly, God is pleased by now."

"I have no doubt the Lord God is pleased. However, you must remember we are not to test the Lord. No brothers, we are to continue his work here on earth," Grand Pastor Brendon said. "We must continue to spread the word by gun and sword. We must show our enemies how futile it is to try and defeat us for God is on our side."

The men looked upon the Grand Pastor with awe for surely he spoke with the spirit within him. His words were true and the men were content to live their life in relative comfort and ease inside the domed cities of North America. All one had to do was look outside the domes to see the devastated wasteland that now covered the entire planet.

Life outside the domes were harsh. The ozone long depleted could not protect any living thing from the harmful rays of the sun. Life was short and painful without the proper protection. Few animals were able to adapt to the great polluted deserts that covered continents. The vegetation was sparse as well. The foul water was full of toxins that did little to slake the thirst of the dried-cracked terrain.

The air full of radiation, disease, and pollutants covered the earth in a brown haze that even the acid rain could not disperse. It made the sun once bright and yellow look like a festering orange wound.

Domed cities were the answer to survival. All the remaining nations of the world housed their remaining populace inside the huge structures. The better ones were reserved for the wealthy, and the lesser maintained domes housed the poor and criminal. All the domes filtered the air, cleansed the water, maintained the temperature and grew the food that the people needed to survive.

However, after centuries of living in the domed cities people were becoming restless. There was little beauty to be seen naturally. Only pictures from ancient times. Livestock that were raised in sterile barns offered the only animal life the residents could see. The people were ready to move on.

* * * * *

Grand Pastor Brendon slept fitfully that night in his penthouse apartment. He did not know how much longer he could keep his flock together. Some were even considering in engaging in the forbidden science of space exploration. Such blasphemies could make people reconsider such horrific thoughts such as evolution.

"No, no" Grand Pastor Brendon moaned in his sweat soaked sheets. He tossed and turned until finally a deeper sleep calmed him.

"Brendon," a voice said from the darkness.

"Yes?" Grand Pastor Brendon said to the faceless voice from the blackness of his dream.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Y-yes," stammered Grand Pastor Brendon. "You are the Lord."

Just Human

By Dwayne MacInnes

Blegis could not believe his luck. For centuries, his planet of Hurlon has been receiving transmissions from another planet called Earth. The Hurlonion scientists were first astounded that the Earthlings were human like themselves. The odds of such a thing happening were astronomical.

The scientists also were amazed to discover that the Earthlings were eager to find intelligent life on other worlds. However, Hurlon technology lagged far behind the Earthlings. So, until recently the Earthlings had no idea that Hurlonions were receiving their messages. Thanks to Blegis that all changed.

Even though traditional radio and television broadcasts travel at light speed, it would take literally hundreds of years for the signals to travel across space to reach the other planet. Even then, the transmissions lost their strength over distance and time, so special amplifiers had to be used to make the signals intelligible.

The planet of Hurlon spent years studying the Earthling's transmissions. The Hurlonions studied Earth's various languages and vast histories. Even the common Hurlonion could catch special entertainment broadcasted from Earth. Even though the Earthlings were human that did not mean Hurlonions understood Earth humor. Nonetheless, the Earth Channel became the top viewing station.

By sheer luck, Blegis was able to send out a transmission towards Earth and received an answer back in only a few minutes. It appeared that the Earthlings had a star craft somewhere nearby. Another remarkable coincident was the fact that this Earth star ship's crew spoke a dialect known as English. A language Blegis spent years studying.

Blegis hit the record button as he began his transmission. The scientists in the lab crowded around Blegis and his enormous computer and transmitter.

"This is Earth vessel Valley Forge. Come again please," the voice on the other end of the receiver said.

"Right on, man!" Blegis responded in his best English. "This is one hep cat Blegis of the planet Hurlon."

"Your English is...uh, remarkable," the voice returned.

"Groovy, you would have to be L7 not know English after studying your Earth broadcasts all these years."

"Glad you are a fan," the voice said. "I am Captain Meredith. We have triangulated your signal and are beginning to home in on it. Request permission to visit your world."

The scientists began to shout in excitement. The Earthlings were coming!

It took Blegis a few moments to calm the scientists down before he could continue his transmission. "That is far out! You must have one wicked rocket to be so close to us. Permission granted."

"We can reach your world in three days," Captain Meredith responded.

"That would be bitchin'. You really know how to burn rubber," Blegis replied.

The conversation went on like this for some time. The scientists on Hurlon learned that they were the first intelligent race the Earthlings have come upon in their space exploration. So, when the Earthlings learned that the Hurlonions were also human they too became extremely excited.

The crew of the Valley Forge and the scientists on the planet Hurlon exchanged some ideas and compared notes. It appeared that the Earth transmissions reaching Hurlon were roughly taking 500 years to travel through space. Unfortunately, the Hurlonions were also 500 years behind the Earth in technology.

Blegis and the scientists on Hurlon were amazed to learn how advanced the Earthlings were. Yet, the Earthlings were willing to share their ideas with Hurlon in a token of good will.

The Earth, the scientists on Hurlon learned, had finally overcome their vast differences. From the years of collaboration and unity scientific advancement in health care greatly improved. For example, the Earthlings discovered a means of recording their memories onto computer databases. Therefore, when an Earthling suffered brain damage due to disease, age, or injury they could have their memories reprogrammed. The Earthlings also discovered that the brain could have damaged areas repaired with cybernetic parts.

Blegis twitched with excitement as his fellow scientists pounded his back in congratulations. Blegis would become the most famous Hurlon for being the first to communicate with the Earthlings.

The Earthlings promised to teach the Hurlonions how to attain space travel, revolutionize food production, the secrets to clean and safe energy, and most astonishingly the secrets to immortality. Blegis had to have the Valley Forge repeat that final transmission. Immortality that was impossible was it not. However, the Earthlings insisted that they not only had it perfected but that due to their brain recordings no one actually ever dies! In fact, the Earthlings found a cure for all ailments.

Once Blegis confirmed this last transmission, the scientists looked around at each other in stunned silence. Then it slowly dawned on them what this all meant and that they only had three days to prepare for the Earthling's arrival.

The whole planet buzzed with excitement in anticipation to the Earthlings landing. A great delegation was prepared to meet the Valley Forge once it landed on its preordained site. The Hurlonion leaders gave Blegis the highest honor possible that of being the Hurlonion ambassador to greet the Earthlings on their arrival.

The day of the Earthlings arrival came and millions of Hurlonions crowded around the landing site as billions more watched on the Earth Channel. Blegis fidgeted in a mix of excitement and nervousness. He represented his whole planet, and he feared he would say something stupid like, "Take me to your leader."

At first, the clear blue sky did not reveal anything, and then gradually a small bright dot started to grow larger and larger. It was the Valley Forge! The Hurlonions pointed and cried in excitement at its arrival. The roar of the engines grew until the large saucer shaped ship landed on its designated spot.

Some honor guardsmen rolled out a long red carpet towards the saucer and then Blegis began to walk towards the Valley Forge. Once he neared the ship, a long steel ramp slid out of the saucer towards the ground in front of where Blegis stopped.

Blegis stood there like a statue; he knew the entire world was watching him. He slowed his breathing and tried to calm himself. However, the sweat on his palms and brows started to collect. He wiped his hands upon his pants; it would be poor form to shake with wet hands.

The steel door on the saucer slid open and a figure started to advance down the ramp. In the shade of the Valley Forge, it appeared to be humanoid in shape. However, no features were discernable. As it neared Blegis he noticed that is was actually a robot.

The robot stopped in front of Blegis and put out its metallic hand. Blegis approached and smiled. He grabbed the hand and said, "Take me to your leader."

"Damn," cursed Blegis to himself. However, to his great delight, the crowd broke out in cheers and even the robot gave a slight laugh.

"You must be Blegis," the robot stated. "I am Captain Meredith."

"I thought you cats were human!" Blegis blurted out in surprised.

"We are, or I should say we used to be," Captain Meredith stated. "These are our immortal state. There hasn't been a flesh and blood human on Earth for centuries.

"This is the gift we bring to our brothers and sisters of Hurlon."

"Bummer," Blegis sighed.

"A Friend to Die For" - Part Two

A Friend to Die For

Part Two

By Dwayne MacInnes

Raylondo stood up from the stool and placed the large wooden case upon the seat he just vacated. He opened it up to reveal several vials, flasks, bottles, and strange implements that Jarlis could only guess to what use they were intended.

The assassin then removed his long coat and hat. Afterwards, he neatly folded them and placed them upon a nearby shelf. He took a moment or two to straighten his shimmering, red silk shirt before he returned his attention to the man sitting shivering in bed.

Jarlis continued to find new depths of terror as he watched helplessly as the assassin went about undressing his outer rain garments. Raylondo continuously smiling his amiable smile did not relax Jarlis at all. It only heightened his fears for it revealed the fact the assassin was in complete control.

"Now before your paralyzed mind thinks of it, please do not scream out for help. I really do not want to kill more than I have too," the assassin said in a friendly tone.

The man in bed mentally kicked himself for not thinking of the obvious. Any female or even the smallest babe would have cried out alarm. Yet, he -- a grown and prosperous man -- became too frozen with fear even to contemplate such an action. However, he knew the wisdom of the assassin's words. Jarlis was a dead man and there was no reason to bring anyone else down with him.

"H-how..." Jarlis began to stammer before Raylondo interrupted him.

"How did I get past your guards?" the assassin asked in a calm voice. "I'm no thief to be sure, but I did have to incapacitate your entire body of arms men. Now relax I did not kill anyone and they are not to blame. Right now, they are sleeping from a draught I put in their drinks tonight. However, the small dosage of poison I also added will not kill anyone, but will leave them quite immobilized for the next day and a half."

"W-why..." stammered Jarlis before Raylondo again finished his sentence.

"Why was I sent? Come now. You know your publications have been unflattering to the councilman. Your constant reminders of his corruption have the man desperate to be rid of you and therefore end your posts.

"Brill hired me to take care of it because he still holds his early friendship with you dear. As you know, I am not just a member of the Assassins Guild, but the best and most expensive member. I do special requests.

"Now please do not make that face. We members of the dark brotherhood get that a lot. We do prefer that others realize us as specialized bounty hunters. We just bring ‘em in dead," the assassin chuckled at his little joke. However, Jarlis just sank down in his bed, bringing his blankets up to his face.

"Please do relax. I am here to offer you the form of death you prefer," continued Raylondo.

"What? I don't get it," Jarlis lowered the blankets and peered at the assassin.

With a wave of his hand towards the open case, Raylondo brought the man's attention to its contents.

"I can offer you any means of death you prefer. I have iocane powder. Odorless, tasteless, and undetectable," Raylondo said lifting up a silver tube.

"I can offer you any psychotropic you prefer," the assassin said now holding up several flasks in succession.

"I have a silk pillow stuffed with the finest gosling down to wisp you away to oblivion," Raylondo offered Jarlis the red pillow for his own inspection.

Jarlis could not help be taken in with the turn of events. He studied the pillow and nodded his head in approval.

"That is very nice," Jarlis offered. "Anything else?"

"Surely and definitely. I have the finest bottle of Elven Ambrosia wine I can lace with any poison without disrupting its flavor. I can cook you the finest meal any master chef could prepare using my ingredients here so your last sup will be your best.

"If your whims are of a more carnal manner, I know of certain females who could send you away in the midst of the greatest ecstasy."

"No, no," chuckled the condemned man, "my days of womanizing are long past. Nor could I long enjoy any fine meal you could prepare. My stomach is much too delicate for such."

"Anything you request I am at your disposal. Save of course sparing your life. I cannot afford to ruin my reputation," Raylondo quickly added.

"I wouldn't think of it," Jarlis said. "I think maybe the best would be a sleeping draught with some psychotropic mixed in the Ambrosia. If I can't enjoy those corporeal things you mentioned, I can at least taste them in the dream realm. Then if you don't mind I would like very much to be finished off with this pillow while in the midst paradise."

Raylondo smiled and bowed, "excellent choice."

The assassin began mixing various flasks, tubes, and bottles. Jarlis watched with great curiosity and anticipation.

"I would like one last request," the condemned man asked.

"Yes?" Raylondo said looking up from his work.

"I would like to pen a final letter to my friend Brill. I assume you have some ink in that case of yours."

Raylondo smiled and nodded.

It took only a few minutes for Jarlis to finish his last testament to Brill while Raylondo concluded his preparations.

"Ooh, I can't wait," Jarlis said with genuine excitement.

"I do aim to please," Raylondo said offering Jarlis a chalice of the special brew.

Jarlis took the proffered chalice and drank deeply. Within seconds, he lay upon his pillow with a deep smile upon his face.

"Sleep well," Raylondo said as he lifted the silk pillow.

* * * * *

"So did he die well?" councilman Brill inquired in his own bedchambers.

"Yes, here is evidence penned by his own hand your grace," Raylondo offered the letter to Brill.

Dear Brill,
I too remember our younger days and look
upon them fondly. A pity we took such varying
paths as we grew older. Yours were ambitious
and corrupt. Mine were to expose you for what
you are.
Nonetheless, I thank you for allowing me
to die in a manner of my own choosing. I however
regret to inform you I did not return the favor.
You will find that the ink on this paper will be
just as lethal as the death I chose. I can't wait to
see you in the nine hells.
Jarlis

Brill looked at the ink upon his fingers and then towards Raylondo. Fear began to sink in.

"But we had a contract..." the councilman began.

"Yes and it was concluded. Now the contract I had with Jarlis is also concluded," Raylondo replied hefting the small bag of gems. "Don't worry. Death will come upon you quickly and painlessly. Maybe it would be best if you sit down."

The councilman nodded as he sat upon a chair in his bedchamber.

"I wish you a good-night," the assassin said as he exited the room.

"A Friend to Die For" - Part One

A Friend to Die For

Part One

By Dwayne MacInnes

The steady clip-clop resounded upon the wet cobble road as the drenched black horse pulled a wooden covered wagon through the raining night. The well-maintained road from Imperial City was slick with water that pooled into dark puddles reflecting the scant moonlight peaking through thick black clouds until splashed by a hoof, a wheel, or a fat raindrop.

The lone driver huddled into his oiled-leather long coat with his matching floppy hat pulled down. Thus, obstructing any chance of an observer catching a glance of his visage. Both driver and horse puffed out mist as if they could breathe fire in the cool air.

On a night like this, the only observers would be the nocturnal animals either foraging or hunting in the surrounding woods. The patter of the heavy rain as it hit the leaves of the surrounding foliage competed with the creaking wagon wheels and the horse's steel shod hooves on the wet stone road. Occasionally the driver would flick the reins in his gloved hands to encourage the soaked beast of burden to keep its forward momentum.

The time had to be close to midnight when the wagon approached a large villa in a clearing. Stone walls surrounded the manor house inside, and the wooden gate was sealed tight for the night. Nonetheless, the driver reined in the horse as it neared the closed entrance. There were no lights emanating from the coarse servant shacks that dotted the newly plowed fields surrounding the walled villa.

The driver dismounted from the wagon and tied the reins to a nearby post beside the gate. The wet figure then reached under the plank bench and produced a large wooden case. The stranger tucked the bulky container under his left arm as he proceeded to push against the imposing gate with his right.

The gate swung open effortlessly betraying its apparent security. The man slipped through the gate and shut it behind him. He glanced around the darkened courtyard and found the sentry box where there resided a sleeping guard. A bottle lay tipped over upon the table where the guard sat slumbering heavily.

"Good," thought he stranger, "It appears my gift was received by the household guard. Now, I'll have to remember to bar the gate when I leave. With luck, everyone will think the Thieves Guild was involved."

The man proceeded up the rain-slick stone steps and pushed upon the large double doors. Like the gate, the doors too opened without effort. The man dodged inside and quickly closed the doors behind him. A thick red and gold shag carpet led down the hallway towards the main hall.

The stranger shook the rain off his large coat and hat, before he silently strolled towards the hall. Portraits portraying the previous tenants lined the walls of the hallway leading to the main hall. In the low light emanating through the high barred windows it appeared the eyes of the paintings followed the man. The stranger knew it was a trick of the paintings; nonetheless, he could not help the feeling that the ghosts of the keep's former owners were keeping vigil.

Once the man approached the main hall, he located the stairs and proceeded to climb them to the second story. Moving with care so that the sleeping residents would not be disturbed, the stranger reached the landing and disappeared down a darkened passage.

More by feel than sight the man found the door he was looking for. A turn of the brass knob found that the door was unsecured. The man mentally noted he would have to give the servant he bribed a bonus for a job well done.

Without a sound, the figure ducked into the room and secured the door behind him. It was of stout oak and it would take several minutes for anyone to hack his or her way through. However, the stranger did not plan to let anyone outside the room know of his presence.

The stranger walked over to the orange glowing embers of the fireplace and pulled up a stool. He set the large wooden case on the floor next to it and then began to feed the dying fire a few sticks of wood from the pile lying next to the brick fireplace. When the hungry flames grew to the stranger's satisfaction he seated himself upon the stool and observed the lone person laying in the large four-posted bed.

* * * * *

Jarlis awoke from a troubled sleep. The temperature in the room had grown quite uncomfortable with the thick blankets covering him. As he tossed the blankets from his body, he angrily thought how he would give a good lashing of the tongue to the servant who decided to feed the fire too much wood. He was in mid mental rant when he noticed a figure sitting next to the blazing fireplace. Jarlis suddenly sat up straight in bed with fear coursing through his veins.

Jarlis thought his heart had stopped as he noted the figure by the fire. Fine mist steamed off the stranger's long coat and floppy hat, giving the man the appearance he had just arrived from one of the nine hells.

The strange man reached down to his large case and pulled it to his lap as his low voice carried across the room to reach Jarlis's ears. "Good evening, Jarlis. I hope I haven't interrupted any good dreams."

"T-t-the gems are under the flagstone where the wood is set," the frightened man offered.

"Now, now relax. I am no...thief," the man spat the last word out with much distaste.

Jarlis swallowed twice before he could find his tongue. "Then who are you?"

The man lifted up the brim of his hat to reveal his comely face. Two sparkling dark eyes radiated from the stranger's face. He had a neatly trimmed black goatee that surrounded a well-formed smiling mouth with straight white teeth.

"I am Raylondo. I was sent from your good friend councilman Brill of Navorre," the stranger replied.

Jarlis's face lost even more color as he heard the name of the man sitting by the fire. He had to work his jaw several times before he could choke out the words. "You're the... the famous assassin."

Still smiling Raylondo only nodded his head once in affirmation.

"Fire, Iron, and Wood" - August 19, 1812

Fire, Iron, and Wood

August 19, 1812

By Dwayne MacInnes

"Her sides are made of iron!"

-Constitution gunner

---

August 1812

As he did in July, Captain Isaac Hull left harbor without orders. Then like now, he was taking a great risk with his ship, crew, and career. If he failed the consequences would be dire, however if he succeeded no one in congress would care he left without their authorization.

Hull left the harbor for fear of having his frigate bottled up as the British navy established more blockades off the coast of the United States. In a bit of historical irony when orders did arrive, Congress had ordered Hull to remain in Boston.

Hull set the Constitution on an easterly course. For two weeks, Hull did not notice anything worth engaging until 2 p.m. on the 19th. A square sail appeared on the horizon off the coast of Nova Scotia. Word of the sighting passed like wildfire, men rushed to the deck to see the ship. It was obvious that the ship noticed the American frigate as well, for the strange ship turned towards the Constitution. Only a British warship would risk approaching an American frigate.

Captain Hull wasted no time; he made careful preparations for the inevitable battle. His first order of duty was to make sure he kept the windward position. This would allow the Constitution maneuverability. If a ship found itself in the leeward position they would literally be out of wind and therefore at the mercy of the ship in the windward. Hull's second order of duty was to approach the enemy warship when he was satisfied with his own preparations.

For the next couple of hours the two ships closed upon each other. The gun crews were ready and the marine sharpshooters climbed into the rigging to snipe the enemy crew working on the exposed deck. It was 4:10 when the British ship, now recognized as the 38-gun Guerriere hoisted her colors and fired on the Constitution. Hull responded ten minutes later by hoisting his colors and returning fire. Both ships maneuvered to avoid taking fire by grapeshot, which could decimate the crew, or round shot, which could pulverize the wooden hull.

Captain James R. Dacres of the Royal Navy had no doubt that, though the American vessel had heavier armament with her 24 and 32-pounders, his seasoned crew would win the day. After all, the British navy on October 21, 1805 had soundly defeated the combined French and Spanish fleet off the coast of Trafalgar. When the battle concluded, the French and Spanish fleet lost 22 of its 33 ships while the British lost none of its 27 ships. Dacres smiled to himself. Great Britain was the master of the seas, and he was about to impart that lesson on the upstart Americans.

An 18-pound cannon ball from the Guerriere struck the Constitution near one of the gun ports. Wood splintered everywhere but somehow managed not to injure anyone. Some Yankee gunners in grim humor grabbed the spent ball, loaded it into one of their own 18-pound long cannons, and returned it to its proper owner.

Another broadside sent an 18-pounder into the foremast of the Constitution doing minimal damage. Hull was in full motion now; the time for action had arrived. He passed from officers and men addressing them and building up their courage.

"Men, your officers cannot have entire command over you now," Hull advised. "Each man must do all in his power for his country."

The crew set upon their task with grim determination and encouragement. Hull turned towards the warrant officer who relayed orders to the crew working the rigging and sails. He said in his usual calm demeanor, "You shall have her as close as you please, Sailing master! Lay her alongside!"

As the ship swung to bare its broadside, the gunners loaded the cannons and carronades with double-shots of round and grape. When the Constitution was in position, the guns exploded in a thunder of fire and acrid smoke. The grapeshot swept over the deck felling any exposed sailor with the tiny iron balls. The larger round shot smashed into the hull of the opposing ship. The wooden planks on the hull splintered into deadly missiles of wooden fragments that could injure, maim or kill a sailor as readily as the hot iron fired out of the cannons.

The Guerriere's crew was quicker at reloading the cannons. However, their accuracy was not of the same level. The British frigate's broadsides tended to fire into the Constitution's rigging doing little damage to the ship. By 5:20, the heavier and better place shots from the Constitution's guns soon had the Guerriere's mizzenmast shot away.

Nonetheless, some of Guerriere's shots found their way to the Constitution's hull. With the construction of using southern live oak combined with the diagonal beams to reinforce the frigate's skeletal frame, many of the 18-pound cannon balls bounced off the American frigate's hull. One of the Yankee gunners observing this exclaimed, "Huzzah! Her sides are made of iron!" and the Constitution earned her nickname of 'Old Ironsides'.

Hull used the Constitution's better maneuverability to his utmost advantage. He would cross the Guerriere's bow in the classic crossing the 'T' maneuver, allowing him to maximize the Constitution's firepower. However, with the damage to the rigging, this maneuver proved extremely difficult and the Guerriere's bowsprit became entangled in the Constitution's mizzen rigging.

Captain James Dacres was in the midst of preparing his marines for boarding when the ships became entangled. However, two things suddenly happened that prevented it from occurring. First, he received a wound to his back. Second, shortly thereafter, the two ships pulled apart. As the ships parted at 6:20, the fore and mainmasts of the Guerriere crashed over her side. The British frigate was now a sinking derelict. Yet she fought on.

Hull pulled the Constitution back and made emergency repairs. When the repairs were complete, he sent his marines back to the masts and approached the helpless Guerriere again.

As Captain Dacres witnessed the Constitution approaching he quickly ordered the gunners to fire to leeward in a token of surrender. The battle ended at 7:00 p.m.

After the battle, Hull sent a boarding party over to the Guerriere to help the wounded and see if repairs were possible. Unfortunately, the British frigate was beyond help. The surviving British crew boarded the Constitution and the Americans showed them every kindness.

Captain Hull was on hand as he helped Dacres from his crippled war vessel. After Dacres set foot on the Constitution Hull extended his hand and said, "Dacres, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you aboard."

Captain Dacres winced from the pain of his wound to his bandaged back as well as to his pride. He sharply replied, "Damn it, Hull. I suppose you are." As per military tradition, Dacres unbuckled his sword and offered it to Hull.

Hull smiled and shook his head, "I will not take a sword from one who knows so well how to use it. But, I tell you, Dacres I will trouble you for that hat."

Captain James Dacres of the Royal Navy taken off guard only looked at Hull for a moment before he broke into laughter and presented Captain Isaac Hull of the United States Navy his hat.

---

For further reading you can visit wikipedia or
The US Naval History website

Or if you are fortunate enough to find it: Old Ironsides: The Story of USS Constitution by Thomas P. Horgan, ©1963.

"Fire, Iron, and Wood" - July 17, 1812

Fire, Iron, and Wood

July 17, 1812

By Dwayne MacInnes

"In the handling of those trans-Atlantic ships there is a nucleus

of trouble for the Navy of Great Britain."

-Lord Horatio Nelson on observing Constitution and her crew

---

Authors note: The events and characters involved are historical -- any discrepancies in actual dialogue and actions are due to the author’s imagination.

---

July 17, 1812

Captain Isaac Hull cursed to himself as he looked out upon the five British warships. He had encountered them the previous night just as night fell and assumed they belonged to Commodore John Rodgers' squadron. Unfortunately, the darkness hid the fact that they were actually British. Daylight revealed to both the British and Hull who each other were.

The cannons from both sides fired at each other. However, the two sides were out of range and most of the iron balls fell harmlessly into the Atlantic Ocean. To make matters worse, the slight breeze was too light for steerage. This left the combatants becalmed upon the glassy surface of the ocean.

Hull had no doubt that if there was a decent wind, the 52-gun USS Constitution would out pace the British squadron. A few years previously, before the second war with Britain broke out, Commodore Silas Talbot had accepted a bet with British Captain Parker of the frigate Santa Margaretta who boasted that his ship could out sail the new American frigate. The British held the fledgling American navy in contempt. The proud British seamen believed that no sea-going nation could ever best the Royal Navy.

Isaac Hull had the honor of handling the Constitution that day in 1798 and as the sun rose, the race began. Both ships headed directly windward (the same direction in which the wind was blowing). Hull proved his ship handling skills that day and the American crew proved equal to the task ahead of them as they beat to windward. As the sun dipped into the sea ending the race Santa Margaretta was far astern of the Constitution. True to his word, Captain Parker presented Commodore Talbot with a cask of Madeira.

"Captain," Lt. Morris interrupted his captain's musings bringing Hull back to the present. "It looks like we've wandered into Commodore Broke's squadron. That'd be the ship of the line Africa with 64 guns." Morris pointed toward the largest vessel astern.

"That means those will be both the 38-gun frigates Shannon and Belvidera. There's the 32-gun Aeolus and -- ah, there she is -- the 38-gun Guerriere, whose captain is James Dacres. I remember the wager we made before the war if our two ships should ever meet in combat."

"Begging your pardon sir, what was the wager?" the lieutenant asked.

"A hat," replied Hull. "Well, then let us get to work. Keep those chasers firing and wet the sails." The captain ordered and the sailors snapped to work. Hull wanted to catch every available breath of wind so that was why sailors were now in the masts pouring buckets of water on the sails.

"Mr. Morris, it looks like we'll need to supply the 'white ash breeze'."

"Aye sir!" Morris saluted before he started yelling for the crew to lower away the boats so that they could pull 2,200-ton ship away from their adversaries.

The British seamen were quick to follow Hull's example and soon every ship had their boats propelling their ships in a slow race as their men strained at the oars. The Constitution had one slight advantage. Every time she fired her chasers, the blasts eased some of the burden from the sailors straining at the sweeps.

Much to Hull's chagrin the British were gaining upon the lone American vessel and had put themselves between the Constitution and Little Egg Harbor on the New Jersey shore. Captain Hull was a man of action as he had proven in the Quasi-war against France and against the Barbary pirates in the Mediterranean. Now he was going to show it to the British. The British did not think much of the U.S. navy, but in the very least, Hull felt he could teach them that Americans could fight.

"Lieutenant Morris!" Hull called.

"Aye sir!" Morris saluted.

In a calm voice, Hull told Morris, "Let's lay broadside to him, Mr. Morris, and fight the whole! If they sink us, we'll go down like men!"

The gunners and marines nodded in grim agreement. They would fight to the last if need be. The odds were against any of them coming away alive. Nevertheless, they would show their worth to the British.

"There is one thing, sir, I think we'd better try," Morris spoke up.

"What's that?" replied the captain.

"Try to kedge her off."

Hull broke into a smile, "Mr. Morris you've earned your pay!"

The officers gave the orders and soon the sailors attached one of the ship's anchors to every available length of cordage. A crew rowed the light kedge anchor as far out in front of the Constitution as they could and then they heaved the anchor overboard.

The remaining crew began the backbreaking labor of working the anchor's capstan; this in turn brought the ship to the kedge anchor. The process repeated itself and the Constitution began to make headway. However, the British did not stand idly by, they too adopted this tactic and soon the race renewed itself.

The two sides continued this grueling procedure for two days in the oppressive July heat. Men, desperate men, continued to work despite sore and complaining muscles. Not a seaman upon the American frigate uttered a complaint despite the fact they had little food or respite during the chase. They knew what the results would be if they failed. As dawn of the third morning of the chase broke upon the combatants, it found the Constitution still out of range of the British guns.

On the horizon, Hull recognized the telltale clouds of a rainsquall. Hull knew that his pursuers would have noticed it as well. He had one last trick to play and as the storm approached the Constitution, Hull ordered the sails taken in. The British in alarm followed suit. As he did years before against Santa Margaretta, Captain Hull proved his superior ship handling. As soon as the storm enveloped the frigate, he immediately ordered all the sails reset.

It all paid off shortly when wind filled the wet sails of the American frigate and the Constitution soon left her opponents to leeward. Hull thought better of heading towards New York where there was a good chance of running into a blockading force, so he headed towards Boston. After twenty-two days at sea, two of them filled with fear and excitement Hull brought his ship safely into Boston harbor.

Breakdown

By Dwayne MacInnes

T'mai felt the shudder as the propulsion unit's fuel-line ruptured. Alarms and lights flashed inside the cabin alerting T'mai that he would need to take immediate action to shut down the main engines before the saucer-shaped spacecraft exploded into a small nova. Almost unconsciously, the space traveler flipped switches, pushed buttons, and visually scanned dials.

T'mai whistled in dismay. The damage could have been a lot worse and the back-up batteries were unharmed and fully charged. However, the location for such a breakdown could not have happened in a more unsatisfactory area of space.

This part of the galaxy was in the fringe area and hospitable planets were far and few between. Most of the habitable world's populations comprised of wild and dangerous life forms. Rumors of survey parties visiting such worlds and never returning were standard warnings against traveling through such remote and perilous areas.

Nonetheless, T'mai felt the risks were worth the gains if he could take the shortcut through the fringe and reach the Consortium's semi-rotational speculation meeting early. Unfortunately, the equivalent to a tire blowout left him stranded in the cold remorseless vastness of space.

Sure, the saucer could limp to a planet, but the chances of finding any help were remote and fraught with danger. Few of the worlds in the sector had reached sufficient technical skills to offer the rudimentary materials T'mai would need to repair his ship. None would be forthcoming with help to launch his damaged craft back into space. The curious inhabitants tended to kill those they did not understand or worse yet kept their forlorn captives caged up like a wild zoological specimen for their own primitive studies.

T'mai scanned the dials and digital scanners again. The fuel-line's rupture had damaged the food stores. The lack of rations would further limit his options of possible planets on which to land. The readout from the navigational computer listing those worlds only made T'mai's situation worse. The only possible candidate for T'mai to limp his crippled craft to was the worse of the lot. A place the primitives of the planet called Earth.

With the lack of the navigational shields, the saucer-shaped craft would be visible to the various RADAR units. These units the locals used to keep an ever present vigilance against each other. This sad and inhospitable world had not even evolved to the point where they were not a danger to themselves. T'mai shuddered to think of the approaching day when these primitives ventured beyond their own solar system.

As the shiny saucer fluttered out of the sky in a barely controlled descent, T'mai recalled the story of the survey vessel crippled by a similar incident as his. As the survey vessel descended during one of the planet's electrical storms, a primitive's aircraft fired its rockets and shot the vessel down near a habitation they called Roswellnewmexico. No one ever heard from the craft or crew after its hasty mayday and warning.

T'mai noted with some satisfaction that though he was on the same continental mass he was far from the reported location of the lost survey vessel. With careful skill, the saucer landed behind two wooden structures on the outskirts of a local habitation center.

T'mai exited the craft and visually scanned the damage. The local star by now had descended below the horizon .T'mai used a small light to illuminate the damaged area. Fortunately, if T'mai could obtain the correct material and food stores he could easily repair the fuel-line. It would take only a few moments to patch the rupture and have his craft safely spaceward.

The main concern was; could T'mai finish his work before the locals located his craft and made him one of their specimens. T'mai stifled a shudder, he had work to do and such thoughts would not assist in his need to find the materials he required.

T'mai grabbed his dimensional carrying case and donned his standard exploratory kit. He quickly scanned the structures for some forms of life. It appeared no locals resided in the domiciles. A quick survey around the perimeter, T'mai figured would be all he needed before he began his exploration of the interiors.

The small spaceman was halfway through his circuit when he heard a small party behind him call out to him. T'mai froze as his translator crackled in his hearing orifice the word "Hey!" being shouted from a local behind him.

T'mai slowly turned around. More than likely the Earthlings would have their primitive, yet lethal weaponry trained on him. T'mai knew that he did not stand a chance for survival on such a remote and dangerous world.

"No one lives there kid," the translator crackled again. T'mai turned to see that one of the Earthlings was addressing him. The primitive was a third again taller than T'mai though most in his group were about the same size as the space traveler. What astounded T'mai the most was that all the smaller Earthlings wore various disguises. Was this a ritual for greeting strangers?

"That's a neat costume you have there," the taller Earthling continued. "I'm surprised your parents are letting you out alone. You should join us."

T'mai stood there silently as he slowly tried to digest all that was happening. Apparently, the tall Earthling, the leader, must have figured T'mai as another disguised smaller Earthling. Some sort of child.

"I'm sorry kid, what is your name?"

"My name is T'mai," the translator responded from his chest.

"Man that is a cool costume. Voice box and everything" the Earthling sounded astounded. "Timmy, I am Dave and you really should join up with us for safety."

"Yes, Dave, you have made a good point. There is safety in numbers and I shall be happy to join your party," T'mai responded.

"Wow you really know how to play the part," Dave said as he herded the crowd down the street towards a structure with the lights on.

T'mai noticed one of the Earthlings donning a bed sheet kept up a constant wail. The concerned alien tugged on Dave's jacket.

"Pardon me, Dave but it appears one of our party members is in some pain."

Dave gave off a bark of laughter, "That's good. It is just Simon he is pretending to be a ghost."

T'mai continued walking with the group towards the house as he momentarily thought about the strange belief system where one becomes linen in the afterlife. Surely, these Earthlings must hold their bedding in high esteem.

As they reached the domicile, one of the smaller Earthlings approached the door and pushed a button. The ring of the summoning bell chimed through the house and as the door opened, the entire group as one recited a greeting, "Trick or treat."

The elderly Earthling at the door held a bowl brimming with what appeared to be different kinds of sweet snacks in colorful wrappers. "My, what a wonderful group of spooks we have here," the old female responded as she parceled out some snacks to each costumed Earthling. Even a few snacks found their way into T'mai's carrying case.

After each received their gift, Dave herded the Earthlings towards the next domicile. Again, some one depressed the summoning bell and again the same ritual greeting, "Trick or treat" recited. This time it was a man a little older than Dave who answered the door and he handed out little copper discs. T'mai looked at some closely. On one side, there was the profile of an Earthling's face and on the other a building of some sort. Before depositing them into his carrying case, T'mai scanned them with his composition matrix scanner on his hand.

"A few of these discs are composed of 95 % copper and 5 % zinc. However most are 97.5 % zinc and 2.5 % copper," T'mai said aloud.

Dave again broke into his barking laugh, "Or as we Earthlings call them 'pennies'."

"Pennies," T'mai replied. "Interesting things. What do you use them for?"

"Well, E.T. these are the smallest unit of money used in this country," Dave replied with a smirk.

"Ah, I see a monetary unit," T'mai said before dropping the last disc in his case. He did not know what eetee meant, but perhaps it was a term of endearment. Regardless, his foraging was proceeding along well. Before long, he would have enough snacks and discs to repair his ship sufficiently for its continued trip through space.

It indeed was not very long after that the group was returning down the street where they met up with T'mai. The night's foraging was most lucrative. The smaller Earthlings' bags were full of sugary foodstuff and some metal discs. T'mai puzzled over the ritualistic greeting "Trick or Treat" but he could not make any sense of it. However, the greeting apparently compels the occupant of a residence to offer gifts of either food or money. Because of this adventure, T'mai would recommend that there be further studies of the planet. Though such work was perilous it was worth noting that the inhabitants were interesting and not as deadly as T'mai believed.

As the group walked past the buildings that T'mai had landed his craft behind, the spaceman pulled away from the group and made his way to his stricken craft. As he figured, it did not take long before he repaired the fuel-line and replenished the food stores. The small saucer shaped spacecraft once again resumed its interstellar trek as it shot into space with a flash.

T'mai never realized that only moments after he vacated the planet, police cars and FBI vehicles descended upon the scene of his landing. The next morning as Dave read about the reported UFO sighting in the morning paper he scratched his head wondering about that strange kid he took 'Trick or treating' the previous night.