Valentine's Day

The Cat that Saved the World

By Douglas E Gogerty

I could not believe she was gone. The world seemed so empty without her. Every spare moment was taken with thoughts of her. It was if she was haunting me. I felt so alone. It was at its worst at night. I just laid there awake. No matter how tired I became, sleep would not visit me. As the days went past, the world seemed to become a darker and darker place.

After several days of reclining on the bed without sleep visiting once, I took to wandering the streets. I thought that a walk would distract me enough to get some slumber. I had hoped that I would be relaxed and distracted enough to find sleep. I was wrong.

I would pass a person sleeping under a bridge and feel envy. With their troubles, they still managed to put it aside for sleep. I thought that perhaps I should drink until I passed out. Only then would I get some rest. However, the morning would come and I would have to function. I could not bare a hangover. Thus, I did not take that route. I just walked through the night awake -- envious of the sleeping world.

Night after night I wandered. I felt like the cat I came across nightly. For several nights the furry black creature avoided me. She was suspicious of anyone stalking though the streets at night.

However, after numerous encounters, we became friends. We were two strangers passing in the night. We had no plans to harm one another. We would just rendezvous on a bench. After a few strokes of her black fur, we would be on our separate ways.

I could feel her bones underneath that black coat. So, prepared to bring my friend some food. I think she appreciated the treats I provided. These encounters were not enough to forget, but it gave me a respite from my ever-present thoughts of the departed.

After a nights sojourn, I would arrive at home at dawn. Sometimes I would think she was there, but of course, she was not. Despite my attempts to forget, she was forever in my thoughts. I showered and headed off to work. Work was another escape. It was mind numbing work, but it kept me distracted.

Naturally, I thought of her on breaks. There was no escape from images of her. When working, my mind was somewhat freed from thoughts of her. However, when I got home the haunting thoughts returned.

I could not rid myself of of her laugh, her smell, her touch. On one particular occasion, I glanced at the calendar. It was Friday the 13th of February. The pangs of loss struck me hard with the upcoming holiday -- the holiday for lovers. This pending occasion was not the day for those of us who were alone. All of the memories of my time with her flooded my thoughts. I remember the previous Valentines Days. An enormous wave of emotions overcame me, and I became more restless than ever before. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of her. I knew that I could not stay in the house. I had to get out.

Being a Friday night, I did not have to work the next day. I could drink until I passed out. However, I would have to brave the couples enjoying themselves out on the town. If I were to drink, I would avoid the popular night spots. I would have to go a little farther afield.

Happy people was something that I thought would break me. I had to avoid those fortunate couples who had each other. Straying from my normal route, I would miss the encounter with the cat. In this mood I was in, I did not want any company. The cat would be find for a day without me.

I did not even want to encounter the sleeping homeless. I was filled with envy of the entire world. They lived in such a happy place, that I could not stand to join them. I would make a turn whenever I would encounter a sound of joy. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts.

After many twists and turns I ended up down by the river. Perhaps the sound of water would clear my head. Perhaps it would be enough to relax me. Being February, the river was frozen solid. There was no sound of rushing water. It was just a cold harsh reality of winter. A cold breeze chilled me to the bone. I gave a brief thought of shelter to protect me from the cold. However, I pressed on.

While down by the river, I discovered a series of caves. I guess I had always known they were there, but I did not give them much thought. These dark places were mostly ignored by the city. They were boarded up to prevent people from entering, but it was never enough. There were occasional reports of some kid was lost in them. There was no chance of that on this frigid winter night.

With every step, my despondence grew. My despair became so great that I did not care what happened to me. All the the fear and apprehension vanished from my normal self. The blackness of my heart matched the blackness of the caves. Thus, I entered.

The darkness of the cave was enhanced by the darkness of the night. I had a small flashlight from my phone. It did not offer much light, but it allowed me to look where I stepped. While I was dressed for the cold winter's walk, I was not prepared for the journey into the caves. Nevertheless, I did not care. I climbed through the dilapidated barricade and wandered the caves.

I had heard that the caves where a catacomb of passages. Because of this, it was easy to get lost in them. Further, you could walk for hours and get deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. These thoughts did not push through my thoughts of her. I was undaunted in my journey. In these dark caves, I would unlikely run into anyone. I would have the entire weekend to myself. The idea of being alone with my thoughts drove me deeper into the caverns.

A person of sound mind would have turned back long before I did. The spot I found myself was dark. My phone complained about its failing battery. I shut it off, and the spot must have been as black as any spot on earth. The cool dank air hung heavy in my nose. There was a distinct smell of sulfur. Despite that smell becoming more pronounced, I pressed on. I spared the phone battery as much as I could.

Suddenly, the cool dampness turned to a dry heat. The dark fog lifted and a strange light illuminated the cavern. My phone was no longer needed. I could see enough to avoid tripping. I wondered how the cool air became so strangely warm.

Where was I? I did not know, but I had entered someplace strange. This particular cavern had a strange red-yellow glow that emanated from some mysterious place. I glanced around as the hellish smell washed over me. I looked back and noticed that I had crossed a rune on the ground.

I was at the entrance of large cavern with no other apparent exits. It appeared that I was at a dead end. It did not look like I could go any further. I would have to turn back. However, this place caught my eye.

Where was I going to go? There was no sense in turning back immediately. I decided to explore this strange place. As I looked around, I noticed some strange glowing marks upon the walls. I studied these glowing red runes. Whatever they meant to indicate was completely lost upon me. They simply did not mean anything to me. I had no idea what language it was, or who had placed them there. It seemed strange that anyone came in this deep.

I began to appreciate the warmth as I explored the cavern closely. The more I looked the larger this cavern became. It was as if the cavern held a small city. No, it was a large city. It seemed to expand as I looked around. Every corner led to another part of the cavern -- and more city. As I wandered around, I felt that this city was enormous. I did not know there could be such a city below the one in which I lived. This city's streets were as numerous as the caverns I just traversed.

Everywhere I looked, there were strange runes. However, not unexpectedly, there were no people walking about these streets. At least, I did not see any people. On occasion, I did hear disembodied voices. I could not quite make out what they were saying. I tried to follow where they came from, but they would vanish and come from another direction.

Welcome to Riley? I thought to myself. Is this town called Riley?

I kept trying to find where the voice was coming from, but I seemed to simply chase shadows. I did not see any people in this city. I could not locate where these voices came from and which direction I should travel. I just heard the voices saying things that barely entered my consciousness.

Bring the Necrinomicon to the temple, I thought I heard in a raspy wispy voice.

Were these voices in my head? It seemed strange for them to be in English when the runes clearly were not. Where had I heard the name Necrinomicon before? Why did this voice want it? I wondered where the temple was. I continued to walk and look about the city. I turned a corner, and somehow knew that the temple was on this high spot in the cave. I had never been in this place. How would I know where the temple was? My fragile mind led me on.

Kahlua awaits! I thought I heard.

I began to doubt the shadowy voice. It did not make any sense to me. What was it saying? Was it just my mind playing trick on me? Was it just echoes from the city above? It was saying such strange things.

Nevertheless, I entered the temple. Visions of a great evil flashed through my head. This was a temple for one of the great old ones. I do not know how I knew this, but I found myself in a temple of the elder gods! The pieces began to take shape.

I was not in Riley, I was in R'lyeh. Chthulu awaits -- not Kahlua. I needed to chant from the Necrinomicon in order to summon the great god. I felt my sorrow wash over me. My great adventure came to an end. It was time to turn back. I did not know how long it had been since I thought of her. The search of the city completely distracted me. Suddenly, the lonely restless nights washed over me. I nearly toppled over in grief.

At that moment the earth shook. One of the elder gods could feel my pain. It reached out to me. It grabbed at me and shook me. I knew the words! I did not need the book.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" I shouted.

Without her, I wanted the world to burn. A tsunami of pain and anger rushed back to me.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" I shouted again.

The sorrow I felt for the homeless people living under the bridge. It was not fair. The world deserves better.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!" I shouted a third time.

The earth began to tremble. The roar was deafening. I could feel my mind slipping into the madness of power. I looked forward to the world burning. There was not a single thing on this earth worth saving. I could think was let it crumble into dust.

However, the cat that I had befriended came to my mind. The innocent creature had comforted me on several of my walks.

"Go away pitiful creature!" I shouted.

The madness continued to grow. The insane power grew within me. I could feel the entire world shake beneath my feet. I could feel the emense power flow through my entire being. Despite my concentration on the destruction of the world, the cat kept breaking into my thoughts.

The words, which once came easily, they would not come. It was a struggle to speak. The kindness of the cat fought against the spell.

The world was not fair. The innocent always suffer for the sins of the evil. The world deserved destruction. The world deserved destruction. The world deserved destruction.

My resolve wained. Sure, humanity has its problems. There is pain and suffering in the world. However, it is a much gentler place than it was just 50 years ago. Where were these thoughts coming from? I could feel the madness and my razor-thin sanity fight.

"She was gone!" I shouted.

I felt that the world should pay simply because of that fact.

"Not everything is about you!" I retorted. "The world should not pay because you are alone!"

"The pain and suffering can end tonight," I said as my resolve began to break down.

"What about the good things?" I asked.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu..." I shouted but caught myself as I looked down.

The cat had followed me into the caves. Rubbing against my leg, it seemed to say, "What are you doing? Where is my treat?"

I realized that I was taking my pain and transferring it to the world. Should I take my pain out on the world? What of all the happy people? Perhaps, happiness will come to me again. The world should not suffer because of one coincidental day. Good thoughts of her flooded my brain. I almost saw myself walking hand-in-hand with her.

I could not bear to see all of the happy lovers in a mangled heap because of me. With the summoning one of the old ones, I could destroy the good with the bad. My anger, fear, and all my negative emotions drained from me. I felt at peace for the first time in weeks. I grabbed the cat and began stroking her.

"Good kitty," I whispered and the cat purred.

I heard a bell chime midnight. It was Valentine's Day. I smiled. I collapsed on the steps of the temple. I slept. For the first time in a long time I slept. I do not know if I moved. I just slept. It was a long hard sleep. Nothing could disturb me from it.

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."

Friday Fun

The New Computer

Read By Douglas E. Gogerty

Dwayne MacInnes and I have created an e-book entitled Terra Mortis. To give you a taste, here is the entirety of the first story read to you by that master thespian -- me:

<Download Here>

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."

"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.

"Kalluunle" - V (Final)

Kalluunle

V

By Dwayne MacInnes

Gulf of Aden: 0816 Hours

The entire pirate crew ran to join Omar at the ship’s bow to look down towards where the death scream came from. However, the thick blanket of fog obstructed any view from what happened down below.

Some men were calling out to Nadif and Korfa, but neither one returned their calls. Others looked at each other with wild eyes. Fear was now running rampant aboard the German cargo vessel Kohl.

Omar knew he had to act quickly before he lost his crew. "Men, men," he called out to his pirates. "It was an accident. The ship must have over run the skiff. That is all."

"Haa!" Asad threw his support to Omar. "Sayid is right. Taban, you and two men get in another boat and see if you can help Nadif and Korfu."

"Maya," Taban refused fearfully. "I will not leave this boat. There is a laab out there."

"That is just nonsense," Asad retorted. "You are just letting your fears overcome your senses."

"I will go!" Abdi shouted. "I told you that this was naxis. Even Nadif tried to convince me it was sanac and look where he is now. I will gladly leave the ship even if no one else will."

Just as Omar feared Abdi’s dire superstitions ran through the crew. Many of the stout pirates began arguing amongst themselves. Omar tried to calm everyone down, but it was no use. Not even with the help of Asad did the crew quiet down.

About a dozen men led by Abdi ran for the lines securing the two remaining fishing boats. Before Omar could stop them the men were in the skiffs and were now speeding away. They were not even interested in seeing if they could help Nadif.

Once the malcontents left the boat the remaining pirates stood in silence. They could hear the boats’ engines recede in the distance. But just as suddenly as it did with Nadif and Korfa the men in the departing skiffs began to cry out in fear and pain. The automatic fire from a dozen AK47s ripped through the air only to fall silent one by one.

The fog felt like it was becoming thicker. The white mist was becoming a malignant yellow accompanied by the foul smell of sulfur. The remaining pirates looked towards Omar for guidance. The pirate leader did not know what to do.

"Sayid, what do we do?" Asad asked.

Omar looked at the man for a few seconds before replying. "If we leave the ship we are doomed. I will continue to run the ship west until we hit land. Even if we run her ashore, we certainly can find shelter on land."

It was not the best answer, but the men accepted it. Omar went to the bridge and ordered the engines run at full speed. The Kohl tore through the water at its top speed. The fog continued to cling to the cargo ship as it ran in the direction that Omar believed west to be.

The remaining crew went below decks to either find food in the galley or to be alone in one of the crew cabins. With the ship’s equipment out of commission Omar did his best with dead reckoning until the sun reached its zenith around noon.

Omar held the helm in a death grip not allowing his hand to budge one inch lest he stray from his course. His teeth were clenched tight in his jaw and beads of perspiration dotted his brow. He focused his entire being in looking ahead into the fog, hoping to see some outline indicating land or some structure.

Asad walked onto the bridge with some sandwiches that he tried to offer to the pirate leader. However, Omar could not be torn away from his duty. He had less than a dozen men left and he determined that he would not lose them.

"Sayid, you must eat," urged Asad.

"Maya," Omar said tersely, "No, I have to get us to land."

"What is this?" Asad asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I do not know. Maybe there is a laab, spirit, or this may be naxis, bad luck," Omar said woodenly. These same thoughts have been plaguing his mind as well. "I am no prophet."

Asad sat in the captain’s chair munching lightly on a sandwich. "I remember this Ethiopian mercenary I once met." Asad said to no one in particular. "He always carried that Bible those Christians follow."

"Haa," Omar said. He did not hold too much to religion, even though he was raised a devout Muslim. However, having Asad speaking was better than staring into the sickly yellow fog that obstructed his view of the horizon.

"There was this one passage I remember him saying. I think it was in the back of their holy book. I do not know much about it. However, I remember these words and they have been coming to my mind often today," Asad continued. "And the sea shall give up her dead."

These words did not comfort Omar at all. In fact, when Asad mentioned them, a chill ran down his spine. Then out on the bow near the rail Omar noticed movement. At first it was slight and barely noticeable. Then it became blatantly obvious. The fog was starting to enclose over the ship. Furthermore, within the thin yellow veil Omar could see figures, human-like figures.

Omar grabbed the intercom microphone. "Attention all men!" he yelled. "Prepare to repel boarders!"

Asad jumped up at the announcement and looked out the windows. He too saw the encroaching fog and the figures within. Asad grabbed his AK47 and ran to the platform outside the bridge. His automatic assault rifle opened up on the fog. The bullets tore into the fog with no effect.

By now Omar could see the pirates running upon the deck. Some fired their weapons and others tried to grapple with the figures. It was useless. Once the fog reached the pirates, the figures shrouded inside would tear into the men. Hideous cries split the noxious air.

The fog slowly advanced towards the bridge. Asad continued his relentless fire. Omar willed the ship to shore, but the sea continued to play beneath the German cargo ship. The yellow fog now crept up towards the platform and Omar noticed the stench of sulfur overpowering him.

Omar watched helplessly as Asad fired frantically at a figure approaching him. When the pirate was out of ammo Asad tried to wrestle with the figure. It was hopeless. Asad cried out in agony as the figure tore the pirate apart like a facial tissue.

Omar backed against the bullet-riddled wall opposite the door. The fog seeped through and coalesced inside the bridge. A figure approached Omar. Omar knowing the futility of resistance still fired his AK47 into the creeping figure until it was empty.

Omar grabbed his knife and prepared to meet the figure in hand-to-hand combat. Once Omar jumped into the fog he had to fight an urge to retch. His eyes burned, yet he could see inside the bank of fog. There inside grinning at him stood a skeletal figure with outstretched arms and behind it even more skeletal figures. What stopped Omar was that behind the skeletal figures, he could see the broken body of Nadif shambling towards him.

The figures grabbed Omar and began to pull, twist, and break his body. Omar heard a horrendous scream tear through the air. Shortly before he succumbed to darkness, he realized the scream was his own.

* * * * *

AP: Today the missing German cargo ship Kohl was found in the Gulf of Aden. From the bullet holes found riddling the ship investigators believe the ship may have been taken by pirates. However, the ship full of very valuable cargo appeared to have everything aboard except the crew. The owners have not divulged if any ransom demands have been made by pirates from the region. The U.S. has decided to step up its presence in the area in order...

"Kalluunle" - IV

Kalluunle

IV

By Dwayne MacInnes

Gulf of Aden: 0247 Hours

"Kalluunle?" Nadif asked as he poked his head onto the bridge. Omar was sitting in the captain’s chair staring out into the night fog. The pirate leader looked over to his lieutenant.

"Haa," Omar said, "yes."

"Kalluunle, we have searched the ship from bow to stern. There is no one aboard," the ex-soldier stated. "The crew seems to have just left before we arrived. Do you think it is a trap?"

"Haa, I do," Omar replied flatly. "But not one set by the world’s navies."

Nadif chuckled nervously, "Now, who is starting to sound like Abdi seeing a laab hiding in every corner."

Abdi gave Nadif a wounded look, "I told you that a ship with no crew was naxis."

"And I said it was not bad luck, but instead good luck, sanac," Nadif shot back. He too knew what one rotten apple of fear could do to an entire crew.

"If it is such sanac, then why are we stuck here on this ship," Abdi yelled back more in fear than in anger. "The equipment is broken and we are blind in the night!"

"Abdi, you are a good man," Omar finally said raising himself out of the chair. "When the sun comes out we will know which way is east. Then we can navigate at least that much."

"What good is that?" Abdi countered. "We do not know where we are. We can run aground or wind up in unfriendly waters."

"Abdi, we can send a skiff out ahead of us," Omar said calmly. "Just far enough off the bow so we can hear each other over the bullhorns. We will move only at two knots."

Abdi quieted down. What Omar said made sense, but his heart told him that this was beyond the realm of men. A ghost ship, in a ghost fog, lost in a ghost sea. If there was not a spirit or laab involved then what was?

Omar replaced himself into his chair. He looked over to Nadif and asked, "How is the rest of the crew doing?"

‘They are all scared, most are putting on a brave face," Nadif replied. "I have been keeping them busy so that they cannot think about it."

"That is good, Nadif," Omar said. "I want you and some of the men to get some sleep. We will have a lot of work to do when the sun rises."

"Haa kalluunle," Nadif said with a salute before leaving the bridge.

"Abdi, you should get some sleep too," Omar suggested.

Abdi shook his head, "Maya, no, sayid. I will stay here."

Omar figured that the man was too scared to leave the sanctuary of the bridge. Regardless, Omar positioned himself into the captain’s chair and fell asleep.

0757 Hours

"Kalluunie? Kalluunie?" the soft voice of Nadif slowly penetrated Omar’s subconscious. The pirate leader forced himself awake.

"Haa Nadif," Omar said groggily. "What is it?"

"The sun is up," the ex-soldier stated.

Omar stretched and lifted himself from the captain’s chair. He then walked over to the large windows of the bridge and looked outside. The sky was very dark. Only a small amount of light was filtering through the thick enveloping fog. The light appeared a little brighter on the starboard side.

"This is very peculiar, maya?" Nadif said walking up next to Omar.

"Haa, very peculiar," Omar nodded his head somberly. He was hoping with the sunrise the fog would lift. That obviously did not happen.

Abdi approached the two men. The young fisherman looked about with blatant fear painted on his face. "Naxis! Naxis!" he said frantically.

Omar grabbed the young man and shook him.

"Abdi, you need to calm down!" Omar shouted. Abdi froze and stared at Omar. The pirate leader never raised his voice to one of his crew. So when he finally did it snapped Abdi back to a more normal state of mind.

"I am sorry sayid," Abdi said in a small voice. The pirate then returned to his station at the helm.

Omar stroked his chin for a second and then turned toward Nadif. "Get two men together to guide us with one of the skiffs."

"Haa Kalluunie," Nadif saluted. "I shall ride in it personally. I will take Korfa."

"Dhurwaa, good," replied Omar.

* * * * *

Omar stood on the bow of the Kohl with a bullhorn in his hand. The oppressive fog wrapped the cargo ship in a thick blanket that allowed little light to filter through. It was so close that Omar could reach out his hand and touch it. Yet he did not. The mere fact that the mist did not cover the deck of the ship was strange in itself. But the feeling of dread kept Omar’s hand clasping tightly to the rail.

The telltale noise of one of the fishing boat’s engine could be heard approaching form the portside. Omar looked over the railing to see if he could glimpse the pirate’s skiff. Sadly, no matter how hard he strained his eyes they could not penetrate the fog.

"Nadif, are you nearly in position?" Omar said over the bullhorn.

"Haa kalluunie," Nadif’s voice boomed back over his bullhorn.

"Bal, head forward at two knots we will follow," Omar said over the horn.

"Haa kalluunie," Nadif said as the engine’s pitch increased on the fishing boat. The Kohl followed slowly behind.

"Kalluunie?" Nadif’s voice boomed back towards the ship. "We cannot see anything in this fog. Maybe we should increase our distance…What is that?"

Before Omar could inquire into what was going on a blood-curdling scream cut through the fog from the where the skiff was. A short burst of AK47 followed this briefly before falling ominously quiet.

"Kalluunle" - III

Kalluunle

III

By Dwayne MacInnes

Gulf of Aden: 0125 Hours

"Nadif, you are being a habilaawe," Omar lightly scolded. "So, the crew left before we did. Why does that concern us?"

"I fear it may be trap, but my stomach says it is like Abdi claims and is naxis," Nadif replied.

"Abdi is a good man, but he is a habilaawe. He believes everything is a bad omen. Now even his superstition has you seeing a laab everywhere," comforted Omar.

"Maya, maya," Nadif said lowly. "No, no sayid. My gut says this is a cursed ship."

Nadif only called Omar sayid or leader if there was something very grave going on. "Bal, okay," Omar finally said. "I'll take a look at the mess. I am sure there is a good explanation. Or at the very least I should be able to grab a meal."

"Sayid, I would not joke about this. The food may be tainted," Nadif said very seriously.

"Bal, bal," Omar said in a soothing voice. "I will look at the mess."

* * * * *

Five minutes later Omar stood in the mess hall of the Kohl. The tables were set with food on plates and beverages in cups. The food by now was lukewarm, but most of it was untouched. Omar could not understand why, but a shiver went down his spine. Why did having everyone abandoning the mess in a hurry have him feeling like Abdi.

"Did you inspect the galley?" asked Omar.

Nadif nodded his head, "Haa, yes. The galley was clean. Just some of the food on the stove, but the stove was shut off. "

"Bal, this is what I want you to do, Nadif." Omar said to the ex-soldier. "Get some men together and scour the ship. Be careful, maybe there are some crew members still left. Report back to me as soon as finished or if you find something."

Nadif saluted and exited the mess hall like one leaving a diseased village. As the thought reached Omar's mind, he too rapidly left the mess hall. "I pray this is no plague ship," Omar thought.

Omar was outside the mess hall's doors and heading down a long corridor of the ship's interior when he saw the young boy Taban run towards him. Taban was completely out of breath by the time he reached Omar.

"Sayid..., sayid...," the boy panted.

"Calm down, Taban," Omar said comforting the gasping boy, "Catch your breath and then tell me what is so important."

After a few attempts to begin again in which Taban fell back to panting the boy finally leaned against a door and sucked in deep breaths of air. After a couple of minutes, Taban finally was composed enough to relay the message.

"Sayid," Taban said still breathing heavy. "The compass does not work. Neither does the GPS."

"Relax Taban," Omar said with a smile. "I all ready know this. That is why I told Abdi to use the compass off the fishing boats."

"Sayid, you do not understand," the boy said with fear escaping from his voice. "It is the compasses and the GPS from our boats I am talking about."

Omar was really beginning to get uneasy about being on this ship. He calmed himself so that the frightened boy would not panic further. "Taban, I will look into this. It is nothing. There maybe some electrical interference that is messing with the equipment. We will use the stars to navigate."

Taban smiled at Omar. The boy believed everything the pirate leader said. It was well known that Omar never betrayed his men and the men were fiercely loyal to Omar.

* * * * *

Omar returned to the bridge to consult with Abdi. The helmsman stared fixedly ahead. Beads of sweat ran down from his brow. Occasionally, Abdi reached up with one hand to wipe the sweat from his eyes.

Omar could hear Abdi say under his breath over and over again, "this is naxis. We are doomed."

"Abdi," Omar said to the fisherman. Abdi startled turned and looked at Omar. For a moment Abdi did not recognize his leader and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Abdi, relax. I am no laab here to take your soul," Omar said.

Abdi gave Omar a weak smile, "Maya, no sayid. You startled me, that is all."

Omar walked over next to the helmsman and studied the hand compasses that came from the skiffs. Like the Kohl's compass they too spun erratically. The handheld GPS system also flashed random numbers.

"Abdi, you are a good kalluunle like me. You will have to use the stars to guide us," Omar reassured the fisherman.

"Haa sayid," Abdi replied. "But the sky is overcast and I cannot see the stars."

Omar looked out the windows towards the sky. The cloud cover was so thick that even the moonlight could not break through. This was not good. In fact, this was very dangerous for they had no idea where they were going.

Omar reached for the microphone for the ship's intercom. He toggled it on and said to those below over the ship's speakers, "Men turn on the search lights and see if you can locate any land."

Within minutes at various points on the ship the searchlights lit up. As the high intensity beams played out from the ship all that reached their eyes was a very thick bank of fog. The fog acted like no fog Omar ever experienced. It surrounded the big cargo ship, but it did not cover it. Omar could easily see the ship's bow from the bridge on the aft but he could not see beyond it.

Omar quickly grabbed the ship's telemeter and pulled it to the ‘all stop' indicator. The large engines with in the ship brought the propellers to an abrupt halt. The large boat moved forward only by its inertia through the fluffy white mist.

"Kalluunle" - II

Kalluunle

II

By Dwayne MacInnes

Gulf of Aden: 0104 Hours

Nadif smiled at Abdi as he took a long drag on his cigarette. "Look, all we have to do now is get this ship back to port and we can sell the goods and even the ship."

"Better than that," Asad added. "We are not doing anything illegal. By maritime law when there is no one left on board we can claim salvage rights. So we don't have to worry about the navies. They cannot touch us. Isn't that so, kalluunle?"

Omar nodded his head. He did not know much about maritime law having spent most of the last ten years ignoring it. However, Asad used to be in the merchant marine and he believed what Asad said was correct.

Abdi relaxed and started to study the bridge equipment. He would need to familiarize himself if he wanted to successfully guide this ship into port.

"Nadif, make sure the skiffs are secured to the ship." Omar commanded. Nadif smiled and saluted before he exited the bridge.

"Asad, assemble the men and start taking an inventory of what we have aboard," Omar ordered the next man.

"Sayid!" Abdi exclaimed. "Look at the instruments. The radio is not working, the compass is going crazy and the GPS doesn't function!"

"Abdi you need to relax," Omar said as he walked up next to the younger fisherman. Before he started looking over the equipment Omar turned towards the remaining five men on the bridge. "You may want to give Asad a hand," He said. The remaining men left the bridge.

"Let us take a look at the equipment," Omar said in a calm voice to Abdi. The young man was probably his most superstitious pirate and saw everything as naxis, or bad luck.

Omar picked up the radio and turned a few knobs to pick up reception, but all that came over was static. This did not bother Omar much. Bad atmospherics could raise havoc on radios. He then looked at the compass. The needle spun around randomly and did not point in any specific direction. This too could be explained if there was something magnetic aboard ship or if the needle became damaged somehow.

The GPS system would only display numbers that did not make sense. Like a digital version of the ship's malfunctioning compass the numbers kept randomly changing. It too must have been damaged. Possibly this is what convinced the crew to abandon ship.

"The ship may have run into some electrical field and it damaged the equipment," Omar said to the nervous helmsman. "We'll bring the engines up to speed and borrow a compass from one of the fishing boats."

Omar did not know much about electrical fields but he figured that Abdi knew even less. The explanation seemed to work for Abdi began the task of preparing to bring the ship home.

"Do you have everything under control?" Omar asked.

"Haa sayid," Abdi replied.

"Dhurwaa, I am going to check with the men. If you need assistance use the intercom." With that Omar left the bridge.

A score of pirates scampered across the bridge laughing and joking with each other as they took inventory of the cargo. The Kohl began to move again over the sea. Omar walked over to a rail and lit up another cigarette. The air was warm and still and the cloud cover began to hide the cold moonlight. "It was all dhurwaa, good," Omar thought. "Allah had blessed them with a great prize like this."

What happened to the crew did not seem to bother Omar too much. Before the fall of the Somali government Omar used to fish these waters with his father. But with the chaos of civil war and the competitive fishing from other nations Omar felt compelled to find another vocation. Over the last decade Omar found that he and his men did pretty well with the occasional captured ship.

Most of the time the crew were held hostage until ransom was made from the ship's owners. Sometimes the captain and chief engineer were ransomed bringing in an easy $50,000 American. Sometimes, useful items were found aboard the ship that could be sold on the black market.

Unfortunately with the latter the black market demands could rapidly shift. What was in high demand a month ago could suddenly be worthless the next day. There were other risks involved too. Some ships carried armed security through the Gulf. Some ship crews knew how to repel pirates by bringing the ship up to full speed and zigzagging back and forth to create great wakes that could capsize a skiff. Even if the pirates did approach one of these ships, they could be washed off from the spray of a high-pressure fire hose. The more modern ships had the LRAD or Long range acoustic device which are non-lethal, but the pulse of sound discharge would incapacitate anyone unfortunate enough to encounter one. Omar did once, and he never forgot it.

The greatest risk however was from the multitude of naval forces patrolling the Gulf of Aden. There were ships from the United States, Russia, Great Briton, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt to name just a few. The ships were one thing; the patrolling aircraft were another. Often they could see you before you saw them.

However, it only took one successful raid to make a pirate crew wealthy. Of course, if you did it once it was worth the risks to do it again. Omar had a good crew and over the years they were known as one of the best.

Omar could feel a mist rising around the ship. The air must be cooling off Omar figured. However, little things like this did not really concern Omar right now. He wanted to get the ship back to port before a trigger-happy frigate came across them. Even if they claimed the ship was abandoned before they captured it, it was highly unlikely anyone would believe them.

"kalluunle," Nadif said behind Omar breaking the pirate leader's train of thought.

"Haa, yes, Nadif," Omar said as he turned away from looking out to sea to speak to his lieutenant.

"I believe there is something you should see below decks," Nadif said in an uncharacteristic nervous voice.

"What is it, Nadif?" Omar asked flipping the spent cigarette butt over his shoulder and out to sea.

"The mess hall, it's...well, the mess is set but everyone is gone," Nadif said in a wavering voice.

Omar too was starting to feel uneasy. "Damn, these superstitious fools who see a wandering laab, spirit, everywhere. They are now making me shiver like a young girl," Omar cursed mentally.

"Haa, we know the crew left in a hurry," Omar said in a reassuring voice.

"Kalluunle, the food is still warm. The crew could not have left but a few minutes before we boarded."

"Kalluunle" - I

Kalluunle

I

By Dwayne MacInnes

Gulf of Aden: 0037 Hours

The German cargo ship plowed through the calm sea off the coast of Somalia. The moonlight cut through the slim cloud cover of the night sky to illuminate the phosphorescent wake the large ship left in its van. Only the heavy rhythmic thrum of the large engines propelling the ship could be heard in the quiet night.

Omar looked back over towards the two other skiffs he had prepared for this raid. With a total of 23 men armed with AK47s and RPG-7s he felt confident that they could overtake the ship before the crew could react. Omar glanced at the ship's name painted on the hull. The white letters told him that his victim was the Kohl. She was a large ship and appeared full of cargo headed for the Suez Canal.

Omar stood up in the souped-up wooden fishing boat and raised his arm holding an AK47. The men in the other skiffs watched anxiously as he then lowered the assault rifle towards the cargo ship. This was the signal. Without much noise all three boats powered up their engines and the frenzied purr of the pirates' skiffs' motors sliced through the still air as the small vessels skimmed over the sea.

With the expert arm of a former soldier named Nadif, a grappling hook was thrown and snagged onto the Kohl's rail. Omar smiled and grabbed the rope now secured to his skiff. He slung the AK47 over his shoulder and began to scramble up the rope. The rest of the men in his boat -- save the man operating the motor -- followed their leader upwards to the ship's deck.

Omar jumped aboard and quickly scanned the ship's large steel deck. There were crates of freight secured to the deck and a variety of equipment but no crew. He readied his assault rifle and began to head towards the helm. Two men followed him.

"Not a bad catch is it fisherman," Nadif smiled.

"The fish is not caught until it is in the boat," Omar replied quietly. "We only have a small amount of time before the crew becomes aware. Let us make haste."

Omar noticed that the pirates from the other boats were now aboard. They were now starting to break off into teams to secure the ship. So far the raid was going perfectly. "May Allah watch over us," Omar thought.

Silently like a jungle cat the three raiders climbed the stairs leading to the ship's bridge. It was strange that no one was about. Not even the occasional smoker enjoying the night. There was always someone on deck whenever Omar made his past raids. But again no two raids were alike.

Once the men were assembled outside the bridge's door, Omar glanced through the large windows. The interior was dark and he could not see much. "Damn," Omar thought. "They must be prepared."

"Nadif," Omar whispered to his lieutenant. "The crew must be on to us. The lights are out."

"Abdi has a grenade," Nadif responded nodding towards the third man. "We can hurl it through the door."

"Maya! No!" exclaimed Omar in a harsh whisper. "Don't be a habilaawe. That will destroy the bridge. No, you and I will cover the door while Abdi throws it open.

Nadif nodded in agreement.

Abdi flattened himself against the wall as he reached for the door's handle. Omar and Nadif kneeled down sighting down their AK47's barrels. Omar looked up at Abdi briefly and gave a slight nod.

As the door flew open, both Omar and Nadif fired their assault rifles in quick bursts spreading bullets through the bridge's interior. However, in the erratic flash from the AK47s' muzzles Omar noticed that the bridge was empty.

"Shee! Stop!" hollered Omar.

Nadif ceased fire and looked over at Omar. The pirate leader then walked onto the ship's bridge. It was empty. There was not even the helmsman. Before Omar could reflect further the ship came to a stop. "Dhurwaa, good," thought Omar. "Korfa and his boys must have reached the engine room."

Omar found the light switch and turned it on. The bridge was completely empty save for the three pirates. The wall opposite of the bridge door was riddled with the bullet holes produced by Omar's and Nadif's AK47s.

"Sayid," Abdi said. "Allah smiles upon us tonight."

"Indeed, yes," Omar smiled to the younger man. "We have captured the ship very easily."

"I believe the fish is now in the boat, kalluunle," added Nadif who pulled out a cigarette and lit it up.

"Haa ... yes, I am a fisherman and the fish is in the boat. However, we still need to clean it and bring to shore." Omar responded lighting up his own cigarette.

The three pirates explored the bridge as they enjoyed their cigarettes. A half-dozen pirates then burst onto the bridge.

"Sayid!" one said. "We heard gunfire is everything all right?"

"Relax Asad," Omar said. "We just thought we had an ambush awaiting us. As you can see the bridge is empty."

"Strange," Asad said.

"Haa it is strange that the bridge was empty," Omar said. "But Allah provides."

"Haa sayid," Asad replied. "However, Allah must have thrown everyone overboard because the ship is empty."

"This is naxis," Abdi said from the back of the bridge.

"How is it bad luck?" Nadif asked. "This is sanac, good luck."

"On a boat as the sayid will tell you, it is naxis when everyone is gone because a curse is aboard."

"Relax Abdi," Omar told his fellow fisherman. It was indeed an ill omen to find every one gone. But, Omar did not want to scare his band of rogues that was composed of fishermen, ex-soldiers, and a few boys. Most of them were superstitious. They could worry about naxis after the cargo was unloaded.

"The Phone Call" - Part 2 (Conclusion)

The Phone Call

Part 2

By Dwayne MacInnes

Jason momentarily looked from one guard to the other. Neither one cracked a smile. They all liked to joke around, but Jason had never seen the two men so serious before.

"Mrs. Feldon is haunting the phone?" Jason asked incredulously.

"That's the story," Biggs said before taking in a big breath. "It is said that Mr. Feldon never liked the way his wife would constantly talk on the phone.

"She would constantly talk, talk, and talk. For years, it seemed that Mrs. Feldon was attached to the phone. At first, Mr. Feldon felt neglected by his wife. Then he started to feel jealous.

"This went on day after day and year after year. Finally, one day Mrs. Feldon was found dead. She had died while on the phone."

Biggs stopped for a while to let this sink in. Mark picked up the story where Biggs left off.

"Yeah, some even say that Mr. Feldon killed his wife. However, there was not enough evidence to charge him with anything."

"Didn't the person on the other end mention something to the police?" Jason asked.

"The police were never able to find out to whom Mrs. Feldon was speaking," Biggs replied.

"Anyway," Biggs continued. "It was one year to the day of Mrs. Feldon's death that they found Mr. Feldon dead. His body was lying next to the phone."

"They say Mrs. Feldon called him." Mark added. "It is also said that if the phone rings and you answer it you better not hang it up or you too will die."

"Right," Jason said trying not to sound like he believed it. "How do they know that you are not supposed to hang it up? Did some leave a message on the refrigerator?"

"Laugh if you want," Biggs said in a matter of fact voice. "But it was Mr. Feldon's niece who answered the phone one day and she would not leave it. When her husband returned from work, he saw her shaking scared to death holding the phone.

"He asked her who she was speaking too, and she replied Auntie Feldon. The husband knew that her aunt was dead so figured it was some sort of cruel joke. He tried to take the phone away from her but his wife fought him off crying that if she hung up she would die.

"With renewed anger, the husband tore the phone out of his wife's hand and listened to the receiver. Indeed, he could hear someone speaking on the other end that sounded a lot like Mrs. Feldon. He couldn't make out exactly what she was saying over his sobbing wife's cries. But, he claimed she said something about death and revenge.

"Figuring it for a cruel joke, the husband yelled into the phone that the caller was sick and that if she ever called again to bother his wife he would call the police. Then he slammed the phone into the cradle and no sooner did he finish than his wife gave a blood-curdling cry and fell dead to the floor."

"How did the museum get the phone?" Jason shot back trying to poke holes in the story.

"You know old man Murphy the curator never looks a gift horse in the mouth," Mark added. "The family wanted to destroy the death phone, as they called it, but he convinced them that he wanted it. He promised that no one would ever use it at the museum.

"The death phone was an attractive exhibit for a number of years. But slowly the story faded from people's memories and the board of directors wanted the museum to be less sensational and more pragmatic."

Jason faked a yawn, "Yeah, that was a great story. It could have used more demons and ghosts, but still I would have enjoyed it more around a campfire."

"Just trying to warn you..." Biggs started to say before Mark slapped his shoulder.

"Come on. The kid doesn't believe us and our vacay is starting," Mark said leading Biggs to the door.

"See ya in a few days," Biggs shouted over his shoulder as the two security guards left the museum. "Whatever you do don't answer that phone!"

Jason waved goodbye with a smirk on his face as Mark locked up the door. That was several hours ago and now it was midnight. Jason had made several circuits around the museum checking doors and exhibits. It was the same old routine. The doors were secure and everything was in its place.

There was not another body in the museum except the old mummy the curator acquired years ago. Jason returned to his desk and started to read one of his textbooks. No sooner than when he opened it, he heard a ring.

Jason looked at the phone on the desk. None of the lights was flashing and in fact, the ring did not sound right.

RING! RING!

Jason cocked his ear. The rings were coming down the hall towards the communication exhibit.

"No way," Jason thought. He was sitting next to the only working phone in the museum outside the curator's office.

RING! RING!

Jason nervously stood up. It was possible that there was a new phone. Maybe Biggs and Mark forgot to mention it. He strolled down the hall towards the source of the ring.

RING! RING!

Jason stood in front of the communication exhibit. The black rotary dial phone vibrated with the ringing. Jason started to reach out for it, but quickly pulled his hand back. Maybe it was a trick and the caller would hang up.

RING! RING!

Maybe it was Mark trying to scare him. Jason frowned, if it was Mark or Biggs and he did not answer it they would laugh at him for months. Tentatively Jason picked up the receiver. Then he bolstered his strength and put it to his ear.

"Very funny you guys..." Jason started to say.

"Do not hang up the phone," a frail female voice crackled and wavered on the other end. "If you do you will die."

* * * * *

Mark met Biggs outside the museum three days later in the parking lot. The older security guard was locking his car when Mark joined him.

"How'd you think the kid did?" Mark asked.

"Oh, fine I'm sure," Biggs replied. "He's always performed well in the past."

"So did you call him?" Mark asked.

"I thought you were going to call him," Biggs said.

"Oh, yeah. I called him first, but did you call him later?"

"You mean I was supposed to let him in on the joke?" Biggs said anxiously.

"You didn't tell him?" Mark asked. "Oh God, the poor kid!"

The two men hurried across the lot and quickly opened the door. As they entered the main entrance, they noticed that Jason was not at the front desk. They then hurried down the hall towards the communications exhibit.

Mark and Biggs saw Jason standing with his back to them. He was still in his uniform holding the phone to his ear. The way he stood there unmoving and pale unnerved the two guards. They could see his hair had turned white.

The quickly ran towards Jason.

"Oh man," Mark said. "It was a joke."

Biggs snatched the hand unit out of Jason's hand and stopped cold.

"I didn't know you guys cared so much," Jason said behind them.

Mark and Biggs looked at Jason now in his regular clothes and back at the mannequin dressed in Jason's uniform that had been holding the phone.

"Kid," Mark said smiling. "You have style."

The End

"The Phone Call" - Part 1

The Phone Call

Part 1

By Dwayne MacInnes

The wind howled outside the old brick museum. It was fall and nearly midnight. Jason Peterson the auxiliary night watchman was patrolling the grounds alone. In fact, he would patrol the museum alone for the next three nights. The curator and the board of directors felt that they would temporarily close the museum for three days while the state finished some important roadwork. No one could visit the museum once the road crew closed the roads anyway.

Mark Hamilton and Bob Biggs, the regular security guards, decided it was a good time to take vacations as well. Therefore, the curator asked Jason if he would like to pick up some hours. The young guard enthusiastically agreed to work. He only ever picked up shifts if Mark or Biggs was sick or the museum had a special event planned.

Jason reasoned this would be a great time for him to catch up on his studies. He had spent half the semester partying instead of studying for his college classes. If he wanted to graduate in the spring, he had better start cracking open the books. There would be no distractions at the museum, neither could he expect to have one of his friends call him and convince him to paint the town red. In fact, Jason left his cell phone at home just so no one could reach him.

Before they left for the weekend, Mark and Biggs ran Jason through the museum grounds. There were new exhibits that Jason needed to be familiar with as well as a few changes in the museum's layout. The two regular security guards always walked Jason over the grounds before he started his shifts.

"So kid, you have your cell phone?" Mark asked. The guard was only ten years older than Jason, but he always made Jason feel like the gap was much greater.

"Naw, I left it at home," Jason replied. "I can't afford to be distracted."

"Smart," Biggs added. Bob Biggs was in his fifties; he had been with the museum for over twenty years and could remember nearly every exhibit that ever came through. He also placed more trust in things older. These "new fangled gizmos nowadays," a category in which he placed cell phones, were not to be trusted.

"These here are some records for the record player there on display," Biggs pointed out in a History of Rock and Roll exhibit. "I don't have to remind you not to play with them.

"Man, these take me back," Biggs reminisced. "We used to have 45s and LPs..."

"LPs meant Long Playing," Mark stated. "A record is what you would call a noncompact disc. You know like a big CD."

"I know what a record is," Jason replied dryly. "Sometimes I think you are older than Biggs. What's a CD?"

Biggs busted out laughing, "That's a good one."

Mark even joined in. He and Biggs loved to play jokes on Jason and when the youth could throw one back they loved it more.

The three men continued through the museum. Occasionally they would stop so that Mark and Biggs could point something of importance out to Jason. They nearly completed their rounds when they stopped at one last exhibit. The display read ‘Technology of Communication' and behind a sign that read ‘Please do not touch', a quill and pen laid next to a telegraph then next an old phone with a crank generator, followed by a rotary dial phone and then a touch-tone and finally a cell phone.

"I bet Biggs has a telegraph at home," Jason ribbed the older security guard laughing. Neither man joined in the laughter. This made Jason stopped rather uncomfortably.

"Uh, sorry," Jason replied. "I guess I crossed a line somewhere."

"It's not you kid," Mark said. He pointed to the black rotary dial phone. "It's that."

"I know what a rotary dial telephone is. Just because I never used one..." Jason began to say.

"Some say that phone is linked," Biggs said in a serious voice.

"What you mean it is connect to the phone line?" Jason asked.

"No linked to the dead," Mark finished.

Jason began to laugh again, "Very funny I almost bought that one."

When neither security guard joined in Jason abruptly stopped again. "What? No way," Jason stammered. "There are no such things as haunted phones."

"I don't know about that," Biggs answered. "What I do know is that Mr. Feldon died while on that phone."

"People die on the phones all the time," Jason countered. "It doesn't mean they are now haunting their phones. I think you guys have been here too long."

"Mr. Feldon isn't haunting the phone. It's Mrs. Feldon," Biggs said flatly.

"Wax" - Part Two (The End)

Wax

Part Two

By Dwayne MacInnes

Bruce soon found his way up the staircase to the main gallery of the museum. His small flashlight instantly lit upon someone holding a gun on him. Bruce's blood momentarily froze in his veins before he realized he was looking at the figure of John Wayne in typical cowboy attire.

"Stupid dolls," Bruce sniffed aloud. He wound his way through the gallery and entered upon another. Bruce at first tried to navigate his way through as quickly as possible. He was intent on getting to Amanda's apartment. He would hide in a closet, and when she returned home, he would introduce her to his knife. He planned to take it slow -- letting her experience true agony.

However the craftmanship of the wax images soon had Bruce slowing down to study them more closely. It was uncanning how realistic they looked. Genghis Khan sneared with a saber raised high in the air. Marilyn Monroe stood in her classic pose over an air duct.

Occasionally Bruce would be startled by a figure holding a pistol or rifle. He had to do double takes to make sure they were made of wax and not flesh. Sometimes he had to reach out and touch a figure to reassure himself.

"I have to admit the old man was an artist," Bruce said to the wax image of Helen of Troy. Her long slender arms held out beckoning to the observer. Helen's blond hair curled around her delicate pale face. "I can see why a thousand ships were launched in your favor, my lady," Bruce said with a mock bow.

Soon Bruce was taking up a conversation with many of the exhibits as he worked his way through the gallery. He had the impulse, a couple of times, to break off an arm or to carve an obsenity into to the wax. However, he could not bring himself to do it.

"I thought you were working at a chicken joint in Colorado," Bruce joked to an image of Elvis Presley. "Hey, King you may want to lay off the Big Mac's! They'll be the end of you."

The museum appeared larger on the inside than it did on the outside. Bruce still could not find his way to the stairs leading to the apartment. He had only been in the Benson's place once, and that was over three years ago. At that time, he had entered through the front door. He had never taken the time to look at the exhibits.

He was making up for that oversight now. Bruce knew that Amanda would be at the movie theater all night watching the horror movies she liked so much. It was ironic that she found escape from the horrors that he inflicted on her by watching others have a worse fate enacted upon them. Worse -- that is -- until she returned home tonight.

"Ayyy!!!" Bruce cried as he ran into a tall woman with long red hair in a black gown. Her face was struck with fear as she glared at her hands. What she was looking at Bruce could not tell. He moved the beam of his flashlight down to the placard.

"‘Out damn'd spot' Lady MacBeth's conscious plagues her." The placard read.

"Hmm...I don't have that problem," laughed Bruce as he lifted the flashlight's beam back up to the face of Lady MacBeth. The dark woman's face now appeared to be scowling down at Bruce.

"What the hell?" Bruce shouted in fear as the flashlight fell from his hand. He quickly dropped on all fours and grabbed the rolling flashlight. He rapidly shone the beam on MacBeth's face again. She again appeared to be looking at her hands.

"Calm down, man. You are letting your imagination get away with you," Bruce said to the empty air around him.

"Maybe I can help you," a woman's voice said behind him.

Bruce spun around and flashed the beam into the eyes of strange woman. She squinted through the light at Bruce. Her beauty left Bruce stunned. He noticed her milky white skin, cherry red full lips and midnight black hair. She was wearing a light diaphonous gown that was nearly see through which accentuated her perfect curves. Bruce felt his passion rise as he assessed her full breasts heaving underneath the thin fabric.

"Who...who are you?" Bruce's mind was at a loss.

"I can be who ever you want," the woman said as she slid out of her gown.

Bruce stood frozen as one of the wax exhibits. The woman completely nude slowly approached Bruce. "There is no need to fear. Relax the night is ours," she said in a sultry voice.

"I...I must be dreaming," Bruce stammered as she began to unbutton his shirt.

"Enjoy the dream then," the woman whispered in his ear.

Bruce needing no further prodding passionately started to kiss the woman on the face and neck.

"Yes," the woman sighed as she slid Bruce's shirt off so she could run her hands down his back.

"How did you get in here?," Bruce panted as he pulled the woman down with him onto the floor.

"I know my way around," the woman panted back as she returned Bruce's kisses. Bruce had to agree with her.

"What's your name?" Bruce said as the intensity of the situation began to escalate.

"My name is Lillith," the woman replied as her dark black hair started to entangle itself around Bruce's head.

Bruce started to massage Lillith's full silky breast. Their hot bodies were pressed together tightly. Lillith's hair began to tightly wind itself around Bruce's neck. Bruce continued to passionately kiss the woman who straddled him.

It was only when Bruce was having a hard time breathing that he began to become concerned. He tried to speak but the words would not come out. He then tried to pull the hair from his throat. However it would not loosen its hold. In desperation he grabbed the abandoned flashlight and shined its beam at the woman gyrating her warm body on top of him. In the flashlight's beam he noticed Lillith begin to smile. A smile that produced two sharp fangs moments before they plunged themselves deep into his neck.

* * * * *

Amanda returned from the theater around 2 A.M. She flipped on the light of the museum so that she could navigate around the museum. She walked down her grandfather's rogue gallery of monsters when she noticed Lillith again. Amanda did not remember there being blood on her fangs last time.

Amanda reached up and felt the teeth of the smiling woman. The blood was so realistic looking she could have sworn the vampire had just eaten. However, it was just a little wax and paint. Amanda began to walk away when she noticed a figure behind Lillith.

Strange she never noticed it before. She knelt down and looked at it closer. It was a man his shirt was off and his pants were partly undone. His face was turned away so she could not see it. However there were two red holes in his neck.

Amanda could not understand why, but she had to look at the face. She walked around and looked at the horror stricken face of her exhusband. At first, Amanda stiffled a scream then she reached out and touched it. Wax, he was made of wax.

Amanda relaxed and laughed out loud. Grandpa never did like Bruce.