Wideo Wednesday: Melancholy for the End of July

 

Charlie Brown - It Changes - YouTube

DOUG CAMERON - MONA WITH THE CHILDREN - BAHÁ'í - YouTube

Diamond Incarnation - Sound Life [Tsuneo Imahori (今堀恒雄) Cover][English Version] - YouTube

Mining Melancholy Restored to HD - YouTube

Sunrise, Sunset - YouTube

Gorillaz - Feel Good Inc. (Official Video) - YouTube

A Friend You Haven't Met: Part Ten

 

It was already a lot bigger than it had been when it came out of the fountain in the morning daylight. Whether it was spreading out in the cloaking shadows or swollen with feeding off the latent evils of our world, it was bigger than a horse now and moving with the smooth machine-like grace of a spider. I stood there, stunned, as it turned and fell springing on its legs, hideous face towards us, jaws splayed and hissing.

Before I could recover Roth had sprung forward charging like a bull, with a roar that sent his futile mask flying off his muzzle and fluttering through the dusty twilight like a falling flag.  In a heartbeat the burly Morg closed the space between himself and the beast, bringing his sword swinging down like the arc of a butcher’s cleaver.

The Tekkel recoiled under the power of the onslaught, but the blade simply went sliding along the armored hide, unable to penetrate its chitinous protection. The sword went ringing off into the shadows. The next instant the creature had clamped half-a-dozen limbs around the struggling Roth and was drawing the pinned, roaring Morg in toward its chittering fangs.

I uncorked the flask and jumped forward, but I felt like my old bones were moving like molasses. I couldn’t possibly reach the pair in time. Then I was suddenly pushed out of the way. I fell to my knees with a searing jolt of pain. There were two explosions right by my ear and I saw the beast stagger back and loosen its hold on the Morg. With two crunching punches to the Tekkel’s throat Roth broke free and went rolling to the side. I twisted my head and saw Kassie had run forward and was standing with the little gun smoking in her hand, a look of grim but satisfied horror on her face. I knew that look. It was the look of someone who has finally found the worthy and proper target of their wrath and had let it go without any holds.

That look switched to fear, though, as the Tekkel rallied and turned its attention straight onto the girl and snaked forward with barely a pause. She seemed to realize that whatever this freak was, bullets weren’t going to stop it, and that thought was robbing her of the strength to pull the trigger again. She stood there in front of the approaching monster like a deer frozen in headlights. I fought to rise up on my crackling knees but was having trouble. Korm bent down to help me, but it was hard for me to grip his paw and still hold onto the slippery flask, my only weapon. The flashlight beam swung wildly as he tried to pull me to my feet, and I could see alternately Kassie’s shocked face and the grotesque monstrosity that was bearing down on her.

Then with a bellow of “The Father Son and Holy Spirit!” that was quivering with fright and rage, Father Timothy came barreling down the lane. He had snatched up one of the flimsy plastiform chairs and was holding it in front of him like a lion tamer as he ran. He collided with the charging Tekkel and for a few seconds he bore it back, just enough time for Kassie to snap out of her trance. The priest’s face went beet red under his snowy hair with the strain of holding the monster back.

The cheap metal and plastic split apart with a crack and Timmy went tumbling thunderously to the floor. Kassie raised her gun to shoot again, but it had jammed; she fought furiously to get it to fire. The Tekkel reared up, vicious foreclaws poised to come splitting down on the old man’s head. I hobbled forward, desperately trying to fling sprays of the sanctified water at the beast, but my feeble swings didn’t reach it. Korm drew his arm back, as if he was going to throw the flashlight in a futile act of last desperation.

And then suddenly Maggie was there, interposing herself between the monster and the priest, flying and buzzing like a furious wasp, tendrils of grass and vines shooting out in a mad halo, that in her anger made her look three times bigger.

“You’re not gonna hurt my Timmy!” she bawled. “Take that! And that! And that!”  With each yell a dirt clod came hurtling out of her fists and struck the creature on the head. Vines shot out of her mud body and tangled themselves around the Tekkel’s legs. For a moment the beast was halted, not by any pain of the puny attack but in sheer amazement. Then it recovered itself.

It reached out an abrupt, casual claw, and Maggie’s severed head went rolling away and her little body thumped soddenly to the floor, earth to earth.

Timmy howled, a great wordless cry of denial, but at that moment Kassie swooped in and hauled him out of the way, grabbing the collar of his robe and tugging him up backward to his feet. Then the way was clear, and my time had come. I stepped tottering up to the monster, and in the moment it took to assess this new thing confronting it, I said, “Mister, I don’t reckon you’re welcome in these parts.” With a practiced swing, I sent a splash of holy water right across its face.

The effect, as my old friend used to say, was immediate and electric. The creature hissed and shrank into itself like a salted snail. As I advanced and threw spray after spray on the writhing body it got smaller and smaller. It seemed nailed to the spot in its agony. At last it was down to the size it was when it came through the door to our world, but showed no signs of further dissolution. The sweat was standing on my forehead.

“Come on now, quick!” I called to the others, not taking my eyes off the cowering beast. “Its spiritual powers are bound down, and that makes its body vulnerable! But once the water runs out … you got to strike now!”

They came forward out of the darkness, to where I had the Tekkel pinioned in one of the dusty shafts of afternoon light. Timmy with a jagged metal chair leg, Kassie snapping together her newly cleared gun, and Korm with the heavy flashlight. Together they clubbed, stomped, and stabbed at the beast. Everyone drew back as the girl put her last few bullets right into the monster’s head. But even though it squirmed and chittered and bled dark acrid blood, it seemed nowhere near dying yet. And I was running out of water.

Then Roth came up, carrying something heavy in his hands, half-concealed by the drape of his red cape.

“Sorry,” he rumbled. “Couldn’t find my sword. But maybe these will do.” He pulled out his arms, and there in his paws were clenched two enormous bowling balls.

With a roar he sprang forward, and we all fell back out of his way. Grunting fiercely, he brought the balls down crushing into the shell of the Tekkel, first one and then the other, in a continuous left-right motion, as if he were cracking open a particularly stubborn and outsized lobster. The skittering limbs scrambled wildly under his assault, then went stiff, then fell limp. In a moment, under Roth’s blows, they were a loose collection of sticks around a steaming pile of pulp. And then even that evaporated, leaving only another dark stain on the dusty floor.

"A War By Other Means"

Whinfrey: What’s the game, Carne?

 

Carne: Oh, it’s not a game, Mr. Whinfrey. We’re trying to start a war. A war by other means, if you like. A war in which everyone gets a bit of territory and no-one gets hurt.

 

Whinfrey: Except the poor blighters who used to live here.

 

Mr. Girton: They are very happy …

 

Whinfrey: Well, where the hell are they?!

 

Mrs. Otway: In Germany.

 

Whinfrey: You captured them, I suppose?

 

Carne: No. We offered them a two-year inclusive holiday in the Bavarian Alps! They all accepted very happily. Oh, apart from the vicar. He chose Dortmund. He has a sister there.

 

Whinfrey: And you take their place over here.

 

Carne: Absolutely. We have a highly trained force waiting to move into England. Six hundred vicars, a thousand shepherds…

 

Mr. Girton: Two divisions of Cockneys.

 

Mrs. Otway: Forty-four judges, and a dozen eccentrics; eight hundred and fifty private nannies.

 

Whinfrey: And you expect to keep this a secret?

 

Carne: We have succeeded until now, Mr. Whinfrey.

 

Mrs. Otway: Until you came along.

-- "Whinfrey's Last Case", Ripping Yarns.

There seems to be some disagreement whether it should be 'Whinfrey' or 'Winfrey'; I've seen it spelled both ways, but I think 'Whinfrey' is correct.

 

A Friend You Haven't Met: Part Nine

 

“St. Helwig Sunday Massacre,” I mouthed, racking my brains a moment. “I’m sorry, but I can’t quite place the memory …”

“Nobody can,” she snarled. “It happened right at the time of one of those big school shootings. Got lost as a fucking footnote to the main story: oh, yeah, and this happened too.” She spat. “Didn’t quite fit their narrative because a good guy with a gun stopped a bad guy with a gun.” She snorted. “Lot a good it did old Chet; he died of his wounds later. Hero’s reward, I guess.”

“My God, I remember it now.” Timmy gripped my shoulder. His voice was awed and solicitous. “No wonder the name rang a bell. It happened when I was on a parish assignment out-of-state, Bob.” He turned to the girl. “The man was a Satanist, wasn’t he?”

“He was a nut is what he was.” The girl looked at Tim’s robe resentfully. “It didn’t matter if he was a Satanist nut or a Christian nut, those folks are just as dead.”

“It might matter more than you know.” He crossed himself and turned to me. “This is a dark place, Mr. Bellamy. It’s no wonder the beast was drawn …”

“Now, now,” I cautioned. I turned back to the girl. “And just why are you here, little lady?”

“I come here to think,” she said, leaning back on her elbows against the porch rail. “Not that it’s any of your business. Today I got the feeling that something bad was coming my way.” She glared a challenge. “And here you are.”

“Now, honey, you got nothing to worry about us. Here.” I reached nice and slow into my pocket and took out my wallet and flashed my old DEA badge. Just long enough for her to get a look. “We have reason to believe we got us a dangerous fugitive holed up in here. Do you know another way in? We want to check, and if there’s nothing here, we’ll be on our way. We won’t touch anything, I promise.”

“You mean there could be another asshole, hiding in there?” This seemed to really piss her off – sorry for the phrase, but her style was starting to get hold of me. She stood there a moment, irresolute, then made up her mind. “Okay, I’ll get you in, but I’m going with you to make sure. A quick look around and then out.”

She reached into her shirt and pulled out a steel chain necklace. A key dangled at the end. I stared at it.

“How did you get that?” I asked.

“I told you. This place is a shrine, and I’m taking care of it. I’m Kassie May Jet and my mom died here, and I’m not going to have a bunch of murder-whores and crime-tourists crawling around, understand? I don’t go in, myself.”

     “Yes, I think I do understand,” I said quietly. “We will be … respectful.”

“Sure you will. You just back off while I unlock. That goes for your goofy goons as well. What’s their deal? In disguise?”

“Something like that,” I said, glancing at the Morgs, who had been following our dialog quizzically. I think they wondered why I was taking so much guff from a scrawny little kid. I gestured them back. “It’s kind of a cover, you could say. Who’d believe we were serious? Heck, I almost don’t believe it.”

She had been undoing the lock and now threaded the chain from the door handles. It clanked to the floorboards.

“Yeah, I guess not,” she conceded. “But just to show you I’m serious …” She reached into the pocket of her jacket, and then she was holding a pistol in her hand, trained right on me. I had been thinking about the danger inside, but that focused my attention right smartly.

“I’m not walking in there with four strangers without a little insurance.” Her voice was cool.

Tim, however, was not. He raised his trembling hands, half in surrender and half in appeal. But his voice was steady.

“Do you really think, that in light of your experience, you should be carrying that thing around?”

“I think in light of my experience, I’d be a fool not to.” She gestured with the gun barrel. “Specially if there’s a bad dude in there. Now let’s check it out so you can be on your way.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about from us,” I said mildly. “But if what we think’s in there is in there, don’t hesitate to shoot. Be warned.”

“Geez. Let’s just go.” Her voice was tight.

We drew in near the door, and I started pulling it open, straining against creaking hinges. Korm nervously switched on the flashlight, flinching at the sudden brightness, then clumsily tried to focus it in over our heads into the dusky darkness that yawned in the growing gap.

We started to head in, and then Kassie gasped. I heard her voice but didn’t dare turn away from searching the shadow ahead.

“You taking a little girl in there?” she snapped.

“Don’t let looks fool you. I’m a lot older than I seem.” I could hear the concealed glee in Maggie’s voice, to be at the same time fibbing and telling some truth. “Maggie Margaret Malloy, murderous midget agent, at your service.”

That seemed to dumbfound the teen into silence. We crept forward, and amid the creaking and shuffling I heard a sharp, slithering sound. Roth, the big Morg, had drawn his blade.

We found ourselves in a windowless vestibule, with dusty benches, empty hooks on the wall, and a broken coatrack slouching in one corner. Korm anxiously twisted the light dancing all around, and I had to tell him pretty sharply to settle down.

     The double-door entry to the inner room was not secured in any way. I got the holy water bottle ready, its cold metal sweating in my hand. I pushed the right-hand door open, the ancient unused hydraulics protesting every inch of the way, then cautiously stuck my head through and looked around.

The long shadowy room was badly lit with a line of high, narrow, dusty windows that let in a few beams of murky sun, just enough to dazzle the eye and make the remaining patches of darkness even more baffling. But even in that uncertain light, I could recognize the layout of the old church beneath the converted bowling alley.

Down the room, where the pews used to run, were four guttered bowling lanes, no longer smooth but warped from years of neglect. At their end, where the alter would have been in the old days, four dark pits yawned against the far wall. In one of them, still miraculously upright, was a single yellowed bowling pin, like the last carious tooth in a gaping jaw. It was still as death, nothing moving but the dust stirred up by the opening of the door, but there was a curious tension in the air that I had come to recognize over my years in the Bureau. I edged cautiously inside, guardedly aware of the blind darkness on either hand.

“Bring that light forward,” I urged the skinny Morg. “Careful! We need to check our right and left, right here.”

“Right you are, sir,” Korm answered. His voice was muffled behind his mask, but I could hear his teeth chattering, even through the cloth. He came up on one side and Roth on the other, who held his short sword on guard to the left as Korm swung the flashlight the other way.

The dark huddle there resolved itself into a service desk, a pigeonhole with empty slots for bowling shoes behind it, and a door marked “Restroom” to one side. A deep cobwebbed shelf held a few dusty rental balls. A turn of the light the other way showed what must have the bar, completely empty now except for the cracked mirror watching behind the counter.  

“Cover me a minute,” I said, and headed over to the restroom door. I checked all the way behind the counter first; no place for anything to hide. I paused, then shoved the door open abruptly.

Nothing in the tiny room but a sink and a toilet and hardly enough room to stand. There were still a few inches of cloudy water in the toilet – at least I hoped it was water. I hastily withdrew.

“Nothing there,” I announced.

By this time Tim and Maggie and the girl had entered the main hall but were still crouched watchfully around the doors. I crossed over to the bar side to check out any cabinets there and jumped when I heard an unexpected sound. Behind me, Kassie had flicked open her lighter and was using it to light up the seating area.

It was a tumble of loose tables and chairs; the only fixed features were a couple of old scoreboard projectors bolted to the floor. The girl was moving slowly forward, eyes set on the ground, apparently unconscious of anything else around her, and my heart seemed to skip a beat when I realized how vulnerable she looked, gun or no gun.

“Hey, you! Wait a minute!” I bawled, and my voice seemed to shake even more dust from the rafter. I lumbered over, the rest a few steps behind me, and grabbed her by the shoulder. “It’s not safe …” I started, then looked down to see what had fixed her attention.

In front of our feet was an old police outline in cracking tape laid out on the ancient rayon rug. There were still rusty stains etched blotchily in the unnatural fabric. I could see others on the edge of the little circle of light, splayed or curling out of sight on either side, but the girl couldn’t take her eyes off this one. In its center was on old, dried, brown bundle of field flowers.

I started to try to say something but couldn’t. Instead I just paused and then patted her gently on the back. By this time the others had come up behind me and clustered around.

Timmy was the only one who understood, of course. He crossed himself and bowed his head, then looked up angrily.

“Truly, this building is twice-desecrated. It is no wonder the Tekkel chose this dark place of violence to hide. I am so sorry, child.”

“The Tekkel? What kind of a name…?” she started to murmur distractedly, when suddenly Korm yelped behind us, “The Tekkel!”

Even those who couldn’t understand his words could hear his fear and jerked their heads up, looking along his shaking, pointing beam of light. As if in answer to the thrice-summoning of its name, the beast was coming crawling out of one of the pin pits, its spiky, groping legs pouring, spreading out upside down from the hole, squeezing forth like a gigantic cockroach out of a crack you would swear was far too small for its bulk.

A Friend You Haven't Met: Part Eight

 

Maggie, in the meantime, was becoming frisky to a near unbearable degree, and acted as my co-pilot.

“Warmer … warmer. No, colder! Try down this street here … no sorry, go back … Could this be right? We’re running out of town already!”

“Pay it no mind, child,” I said. “In fact, cover your eyes and feel it out. Less distracting. Don’t worry, I’ll do the navigating.”

She put her hands over her black beetle-like eyes, and I took a few turns under her guidance, but it was true. We were getting to the end of the few streets, and the buildings were thinning out and getting spaced between barren, weed-covered lots. Suddenly she shuddered and dropped her hands away from her face.

“There!” She pointed. “Right there!” I hit the brakes.

In front of us was the last building in town. Or the first, I guess, if you were coming in from that way. It was some distance off from the rest of the place, as if it and the town didn’t want to associate with one another. Its proportions and design were strangely off.

Paint was peeling off the bricks of the long building from years in the blistering Texas sun. High narrow slits of windows lined the sides. The front was blind, with only a massive double door lurking behind a warped, fenced-in porch. Faded police tape fluttered around the posts in ghostly tendrils. A flaking marquee sign on the overhang declared under rusted, bulbless lamps: ST. HELWIG BOWLING ALLEY AND BAR.

“You sure this is it?” I asked.

She winced.

“Yes. Yes. I can barely look at it!”

“All right, boys, this is it.” I pulled carefully into the overgrown parking lot, weeds hissing around us and gravel crunching under the wheels. “Be cool but prepare yourselves for action. You might think there’s less chance we’ll be noticed in a small town, but I’ve found that the case is often quite the opposite. Any natives come by, let me do the talking. I’ve got the holy water, and Roth has his sword, so we’ll go in first. Padre, this thing has spiritual power, but so do you, and don’t be afraid to use it in a pinch. Korm … well, here.”

I put Bessie in park and reached under my seat. From the scattered maps and hamburger wrappers I pulled out a heavy, rusted flashlight.

“This is a kind of a torch.” I passed it over. “Here’s how it works. You can light our way, and if necessary, it makes a pretty good club.” I took a deep breath and checked the watcher one last time, more as a nervous tick than a necessity. “Okay, the trick until we get in is to be casual, keep your masks on, and most of all, act like we belong here.” I started to open the door, then paused. “Maggie, no flying.”

“Fine by me.” Her voice trembled. “I’m hiding right behind Timmy anyway.”

“You can always stay in the car.”

“No thanks. I’m sticking with Tim.”

“Then let’s go.”

We were an odd group, but we only had to go about ten feet to reach the railed-in porch. With any luck, I thought, we could be inside undercover before we drew too much attention. Not that I was worried more about that than about the danger of the Tekkel, but old DEA habits of discretion die hard. And any trouble with the local police would ultimately draw the interest of the Bureau, and in my semi-retirement I didn’t particularly care for their notice of my existence.

These thoughts passed vaguely through my mind the ten seconds that it took us to walk across the driveway and up the steps into the dim recesses of the overhang. I had almost relaxed when we were suddenly confronted by the doors.

We huddled around, and I examined them, stymied. I had been expecting the kind of flimsy entrance you’d normally get in a small-town establishment, with a normal lock or at least some glass we could discreetly bash in. Instead, we were confronted by two heavy solid-wood doors that might have graced a castle, with rusty black iron fixtures gripping the building, which, up close, looked to be solid stone under all that peeling paint. To top it off, a hefty length of chain was knotted through the double door handles and secured with a heavy padlock. I was not equipped for this.

“Roth, you think you can break this chain with your sword?”

He came forward and tugged at it with one black-nailed hand, then both. It rattled with a depressingly solid sound. He grunted.

“I don’t think so, even if I could get the right leverage.”

“Padre, maybe you could scout around back and see if there’s a more accessible back entrance …”

“There isn’t.” The sudden, unexpected flat voice made us turn. In the dark corner of the porch to our left there was a sudden flash of light as a huddled figure lit a cigarette, then straightened itself up, drawing in the smoke, until it stood in the dim afternoon light, staring at us defiantly.

It was a young girl, maybe seventeen, dressed in an old beat-up leather jacket that made her look bigger than the slim body underneath – a form of protection I’ve noticed often in the animal kingdom. Despite the heat she was wearing a black knit cap on top of her hair. The hair wasn’t quite brown or blond, but both. She squinted at us and breathed out an angry cloud of smoke.

     “So what are you guys up to?” she challenged. “You some kind of half-assed grown-up LARPERs? Don’t you know this is a shrine?”

“That’s odd, I thought it was a bowling alley,” I said mildly. “What’s a LARPer?”

“It’s a live-action role player, Bob,” Tim cut in. “A kind of dress-up game.” He turned to the girl. “A shrine? Like in a church?”

“You guys don’t know anything, do you? You don’t care.” She took another bitter puff, drawing her lips into a thin, pinched line. “Yeah, it used to be a church, then it was a bowling alley. But now, now … now it’s the site of the god-damned St. Helwig Sunday Massacre.” She tossed the cigarette down and ground it out spitefully, as if it were to blame.

A Friend You Haven't Met: Part Seven

 

To everyone’s surprise I turned over to the side of the road and parked. With the engine still thrumming I fumbled out the watcher, opened it, and adjusted the readings.

“What’s the matter?” asked Tim.

“What’s going on up there?” Roth barked.

“Just a minute, just a minute.” My head was whirling with surmises. I closed the device and sat, eyes closed and hands clamping my head to exclude distractions, and finally had an undivided think.  I opened my eyes.

“Tim, how is Maggie doing?”

“She is still here, but very faint. Perhaps we should get moving again?”

“Was there any change in her condition while we were driving?”

“For a while she seemed a little more solid, but it’s worse now.” The old man sounded exasperated. “Can we go?”

“Yes indeedy,” I said, revving up the engine, and in four fast jerky moves I had turned us around and was heading back the way we came.

“Can you remember the spot where she looked better?” I asked.

“Well, no,” Tim spluttered. “I was watching her. What are you doing?”

“I remember, if he don’t,” Roth butted in. Tim’s dismay was obvious. “There was a sign by three trees that snagged my eye. Couldn’t read it, but I can tell you when we get there. What’s goin’ on?”

“If I’m right,” I said, eye on the road, “When our evil little friend came into this world he was flailing, expending his influence trying to grab up extra power, lighting up every extranatural phenomenon in resistance to his probe. But now he’s drawn himself in and is trying to hide. Still too powerful for the watcher to get a direct bead on him, but little critters like Maggie there …”

“They’ll get stronger the closer they get and interact with its aura!” Korm concluded excitedly.

“Bingo!” I exclaimed. The Morg looked confused. “I mean, that’s exactly what I’m thinking. We can use Maggie as a divining rod to locate wherever our nasty guest has set up his new hotel.”

“Then we can stomp it and get the hell back home,” growled Roth. “I don’t know about you, Korm, but I’ve had enough of this crazy world.”

“That’s unfair! We’ve hardly seen it,” Korm said. “And not under the best circumstances, I have to say.” He patted the back of my car seat as if to soothe me. “I’m sure it’s really a lovely place, Mister Bob.”

“It has its good points,” I conceded. “And I’m glad you think so. Because if you boys ain’t magical and don’t know how to open that door again, you might be spending quite some time here.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Korm looked stricken, then brightened up. “I’m sure our wizard will come looking for us, when he’s recovered.”

“Well, I wish he were here now; he might come in very handy. In the meantime, we’ll have to try to get rid of this beastie ourselves.”

“And what happens to Maggie if you do?” I started a little in surprise. I had assumed that when I was talking to the Morgs it was in their language; apparently whatever I said was understood by everybody, and that included Tim. I drove awhile, looking ahead, before I answered.

“I really couldn’t say,” I said. I shrugged. “When I worked at the Bureau, I heard some theories. I imagine she’ll go back again to wherever she was all these years.”

“She’s not going to go into my head, is she?” he asked anxiously. “I don’t know if I could take the thought of that.”

“No, I’m pretty sure she’s externalized now,” I said evenly. I scanned the road ahead. “Especially after so many years. How’s she doing?”

“Hard to say,” the answer came. “I was looking away for a bit. Maybe a little better?”

“Keep your eye on her. This could be crucial.”

Another silence.

“So what are these theories, then? I’ve got to admit, this is strange as all get out, and creepy, but I’m still fond of the old girl. She won’t suffer, will she? She won’t just … be gone?”

I could hear the plaintive doubt in his words. I sighed.

“I tell you, Tim, I don’t know. But the theory I heard – and it’s just a working theory, you understand – the theory is that every human being is made up of a body, a spirit, and a soul, okay?”

“Like in Aristotle?”

“Yes, good, you remember that. Well, the body is obvious, and the soul is the immortal part that makes us us, as it were, but spirit is the gumphas that attaches them. The spirit is as mortal as the body, and it is the decayed bits that hang around as ghosts, whatever the destination of the soul is.”

“Oka-a-ay.” This sort of talk was obviously making the old friar uncomfortable.

“Well, occasionally a bit of a living spirit gets nipped off and begins developing its own personality and existence. A religious lady I worked with held that they, like anything people really love, will be redeemed with their own true reality in the new Heaven and Earth. So animals, works of art, even objects like a favorite old sewing machine or a beloved doll, will be part of the new Creation. They have no eternal existence on their own, but the love from an immortal soul might imbue them with immortality. Meanwhile, in this world they decay and die like anything else. Even imaginary friends like your Maggie there has a limited existence.”

I changed lanes, just to create a little diversion while that sank in.

“Anyway, that’s what I’ve heard,” I concluded.

“There!” Roth suddenly barked, sticking his muzzle over the seat and pointing eagerly with one black claw. “That signpost up ahead! That’s the place!”

“Oho!” I gave Bessie a little gas. “How’s she lookin’?”

“I think … I think … Yes!” Timmy said excitedly. “She is getting more solid!”

“Hot dang, we’re on the trail! Hold onto your hats, fellas, ‘cause here we go!”

For all my eager words I only went a little faster and slowed down almost to a crawl as we got near the sign. It was one of those town advertisements, and it read “St. Helwig: Seven Miles”. The towering hackberry trees that obscured its fading graphics told me it had been neglected for quite some time. A washed-out cartoon monk with a halo and a foaming beer mug in one hand pointed the way with ghostly hospitality.

The Morgs were looking from the sign and back to Timmy, eyes squinting and frowning in puzzlement. Up close, the caricature was nearly a dead ringer for the old man. Timmy was annoyed and impatient.

“Would you tell these guys to cut it out? For crying out loud … an old friar is an old friar. We all look alike!”

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand this crazy place,” Roth muttered.

“Settle down, fellas,” I said evenly, turning down the little one lane rural road that led off through the fields. “Keep your eye on Maggie. What do you know about St. Helwig, padre?”

“Never heard of him. Sounds like a garbled pronunciation of Eligius, patron saint of …”

“Of the town, Timmy.”

“Oh! Uh, I really couldn’t say. It’s just one of those little settlements out in the sticks. Back in the day, I recall, kids from there would come into Walnut Springs, of all places, for a night on the big town.”

He hesitated.

“Seems to me I heard something about it a while ago, but … I was out of state for fifteen years; I’ve only been back a few months. I’m not quite caught up on local gossip.”

“Well, something seems to have drawn the beast. Maybe it just needs somewhere quiet to nest a while.” I drove on a bit. “How’s Maggie looking?”

“I’m doing better, Mr. Bob,” she piped up. “Much better. Can I get in the front seat? I can’t see nothing back here.”

“If Mr. Korm don’t mind it, I don’t,” I said. “Crawl on up. Don’t mess with my driving, though, and tell us if you start feeling faint again.”

She tumbled over the seat and snugged herself in between the wiry Morg and me. Though there was still a hint of translucence around her edges and her movements were rather languid, she was alert and interested again. Her brush with nonexistence didn’t seem to faze her a bit. Now that it was over, she acted like neither the past nor the future concerned her at all. Instead she looked around eagerly at the passing scene, calling out “Bird!” or “Cows!” whenever something hove into sight.

I kept one eye on her and one on the road. She was steadily solidifying. I even began to smell a scent of earth and fresh-cut grass. We passed several gravel roads, driveways really, that led to distant weather-beaten farmhouses that appeared to be likely suspects for an evil lair, but as we passed them and the strange little creature kept on improving, I never doubled back. Then, before we even realized it, we were in St. Helwig.

It was just a little huddle of buildings. The newest place looked to be a brick cube erected maybe in the Forties, housing a tiny convenience store. The rest of the houses breathed the air of an even more bygone era, except where they were patched here and there with modern plastic materials. Some had those new energy-efficient windows that stood out like a sore thumb against their ancient painted wood, and cables crawling in and out like exposed veins. I slowed down, but we were passing out of the other side of town before we even knew it and were headed (according to the green road sign) to San Antonio.

We’d gone on for another mile or so before Maggie suddenly said, “Stop. Go back. That was the place, I think.”

“Are you sure?” Timmy asked.

“Yes, I’m starting to feel … ” She swallowed. “It’s somewhere back there.”

“Okay,” I said. I pulled into the next turnaround and we were on our way back. The car was silent. Everyone realized we were drawing in on our quarry.

“I hate this thing,” Maggie said sullenly. Her sudden vehemence was surprising. “I hate that it’s making me stronger. It makes me feel … nasty.”

“Not surprised,” I said. “You’re not compatible, I’m guessing. Not only is this thing alien, it’s evil. It’s like plugging alternate current into direct. It might light you up for a while, but eventually you’ll get cooked, and then –.”

I snapped my trap shut.

“Let’s just concentrate on stopping this thing.”

“That’s something of a relief,” Timmy hazarded from the back seat. “I was beginning to wonder …”

“Tim, do you have anything like a bandana or a hanky?” I interrupted. “We’re gonna be driving around pretty slow through town, and I imagine we’ll be getting more close attention than in Walnut Springs. We need something to mask these Morgs.” I cackled mirthlessly. “In the old days we’d have to hide more than their faces, but with the weird fashions they got goin’ now, I figure they’ll otherwise pass okay, or at least without a rude comment.”

“I can do you better than a bandana.” I could hear him shuffling through the folds of his robe. “I’ve got a couple of extra medical masks I always carry in my pocket. You never know when you’ll want one, these days.”

I shook my head.

“I really need to pay more attention to the news, I guess. All right. Roth, he’s going to put a mask on you. Korm, you watch, and when he gives you one, try to put it on right.”

They got them on with a lot of fuss and feathers, Roth slapping Tim’s hands away when he seemed to pinch his ears and Korm fidgeting and asking a dozen times if it was on straight. But it was accomplished at last. The masks weren’t the best of fits over those protruding muzzles, but it gave a sort of plausible deniability for any casual sightings. We passed another sign as we entered the town. It had been vandalized; now it read “Welcome to St. HELLig.”  I grimaced.

A Friend You Haven't Met: Part Six

 

I started driving around slowly, checking out locations that I figured might draw the attention of the beast, spots, as I mentioned, where dark powers might have left stains. The town seemed nearly deserted, but the quarantine explained that. We passed very few other vehicles, Korm and Roth ducking down at my warning as they approached. Brother Timmy reported no changes in the constant revolving of the needle, however, even when we approached the crumbling old cemetery that I knew contained the hottest psychic energy in town. We stopped there, and I limped out to one white-washed mausoleum with the friar.

“I just don’t get it,” I said. I knocked on the tomb. Timmy started; we could clearly hear something stirring inside, something trapped scurrying fretfully against the walls of its prison. The old man crossed himself.

“Rats?” he asked uncertainly.

“Naw,” I said absently. I took the watcher from him and studied it carefully, making a few adjustments. “But he sure sounds like one, don’t he?” I waved the instrument up and down a bit, trying to get a good reading, but it was useless.

“I just don’t get it,” I said. “This Tekkel thing we’re chasing seems to have lit up lines all over the place, but there’s no pinning it down. My guess is that by nightfall the whole county will be roused and running with every little shred of psychic energy that can suckle on its teat, as it were. It’ll be a rough night.”

Timmy shuddered.

“And Maggie is all part of this. I wish I’d never …” he fell silent.

I snapped the watcher shut gently, then patted him on the back.

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Nor hers, either. Lots of kids have these imaginary friends, little snippets of fancy that get detached from their psyche. They can do what you can’t, think of things that you daren’t, go on adventures that the timid body can only dream about. But most of all, they’re friends.” I looked at him speculatively. “For all your brothers and sisters, you were a lonely little boy, weren’t you?”

The old man looked taken aback.

“Well, yes, in a way,” he said. “Nobody really seemed to ‘get me’, as they used to say.” He looked wistful a moment, then gathered himself up. “But I’ve had plenty of friends since then. Why is she still around at all, to get ‘lit up’? I haven’t even thought about her much for fifty years!”

“These sorts of things can have an enormous shelf life,” I said. I kicked to tomb, and something inside scuffled angrily. “If you really want them gone, you have to dispose of them properly.” I shrugged. “But there seems no harm in the girl to me, and I’ve had a lot of experience in the area. If we get rid of the Tekkel, she should go quiet again.”

“I say! I say, Mr. Bob!”

I looked up. To my alarm, Korm was out of the car, wading through the deep uncut spring weeds of the cemetery and waving his arm in the air. In the quiet of the cemetery his oddity stood out like a sore thumb. If there was even one observer … I ran over, Brother Timmy following in my wake.

“Will you keep it down?” I hissed when we caught up to him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s that little mud-thing, that green girl Maggie!” Korm gabbled. “We were just talking with her when suddenly … You had best come see! She’s in trouble, I think!”

“What’s he saying?” Tim asked.

“Come on!” I grabbed his arm and we all started hurrying back to the car. As we ran, a realization struck me, but I didn’t stop. “Wait, you can understand each other?”

“We thought it was odd, too, without an amulet, but …” Korm stopped. We had reached the car and he was looking in bafflement at the door handle.

“Come on!” I reached over and pulled on it impatiently. The door swung open, screeching heavily.

Roth was sitting there, Maggie cradled in his arms. The big Morg looked more concerned and tender and less pissed than I’d ever yet seen him.

“Hang in there, child, hang in there,” he crooned roughly, his hand rubbing on her flat little chest. His eyes flicked up at me, then down again. “The old man’s here,” he said reassuringly. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Timmy?” she murmured.

“Sorry. Old Man Bob, first,” I said briskly, in my best bedside manner. “Let’s have a look at you.”

But it was immediately obvious what had alarmed the Morgs so much. Maggie was fading away.

Her entire body, which had seemed so solid despite her weightless floating through the air, had gone translucent, especially around the edges. Not only that, but even as I quickly examined the little creature, the snail shells on her head and strands of grass from her skirt were falling away, one by one, dissolving and disappearing before they could even hit the seat or the distressed Roth’s clothing.

Very gently, I opened one of her eyes wide, afraid that the lid might go flying off. I examined it a moment, then moved her body in and out of the light that struggled through to the back seat. I took out the watcher and adjusted it to the level I had found her on at first.

“Mm-hm,” I concluded, drawing back out of the car. “Tim, you should hold her.”

He looked at me like I had just asked him to pick up his own poops.

“Why? What good will that do?” he asked warily.

“Well.” I tried to be calm but firm. “You are her creator, Timmy. She’ll either get better or she won’t. If she doesn’t, I think you at least owe it to her to be there.” He hesitated; his whole body looked uncertain.

“She’s calling for you, Tim.”

He paused for a heartbeat, then finally crumbled.

“Oh, all right.” He slipped into the seat beside the Morg. “I’m not sure how to comfort a creature like this, or even if I should, but …” He accepted the faded little body gingerly into his hands and held it rather like a dead fish.

“Talk to her, Tim,” I said. I gestured for Korm to head for the front seat. “We’ll head back into town; she seemed strong there. We should get out of here anyway; in case somebody saw you. There’s cameras everywhere these days, but we don’t need for them to get real physical evidence on top of that.”

I got behind the wheel and glanced back. Maggie looked no better hanging in his arms, but I was just in time to see her open her eyes and look up at the old friar with a weak smile.

“There, now, Maggie,” he said. “It’ll be okay. Mr. Bob’s going to get you home.”

“We going to Circle Street?” I heard the shaky reply as I put the car in gear and started to pull out.

“No, no, heavens no, child. I haven’t gone there for fifteen years now. Since Mama …” He broke off, overwhelmed, then rallied. “We’re going to help you. You just hang on.”

“That’s okay, Timmy.” Her voice was soft and silvery. “It was good that we saw each other again, even if it was only one last time.”

“Now, don’t say that, girl,” he said. I looked up at the rearview mirror. He was holding her closer, almost like dandling a baby. “You’re not gone yet.”

I turned to my driving but couldn’t help hearing what went on as I turned out of the cemetery and onto the road.

“Do you remember,” she began. There was a smile in her voice. “Do you remember how, for one day a week, I wouldn’t be mud and snails? For that one day, I was the most beautiful girl in the world. You said.”

“Yes, you were,” the old man said quietly. “I remember. With long auburn hair and happy green eyes.”

She sighed.

“I wish I could have been that way for you today. But … it’s not Saturday.”

“You look fine enough, Mags,” he said reassuringly. After a moment, he raised his voice. “Could you maybe drive a little faster, Mr. Bob?”

I sped up just a bit, but not much. The last thing I needed, especially with such an oddball load of passengers, was to draw attention. I cut my eyes across the seat to Korm. The skinny Morg was watching my driving moves with intense fascination. When he saw me look over him, he seemed to snap out of a trance.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But from up here I can really see what you’re doing. It seems rather complicated.”

“It is for me,” I snapped shortly. “So don’t put me off my stroke.” I saw the dismayed look on his wrinkled snout, then turned back to the road ahead of us and chuckled. “Now I apologize. I’m afraid I’m like the centipede who was asked how he walked with so many legs. If I have to stop and think about it too much, I might get confused and not be able to do it. And that would be rather disastrous for us.”

“I can see how that would be,” Korm said sagely. He was quiet for a moment. “Still,” he went on, voice brimming with curiosity and studied nonchalance. “If we get a chance, I wouldn’t mind trying …”

“No,” I said firmly. He looked hurt again. “Let’s just keep our minds on the task at hand, shall we? Keep your eyes open and hide your face if we pass another car.”

“Very well.” A minute passed in silence. In the back seat, we could hear Brother Timmy starting to croon a sad old Spanish lullaby. We listened for a while, then Korm ventured to speak again.

“What is wrong with the little spirit-puppet?” he asked. “What can we do? Why is she … dying?”

“I’m not quite sure,” I said. “I’m hoping if we take her back to the church she’ll get better. That’s where she first manifested. That’s when she first lit up … oh, my God.”

The Shadow Library: Wandering Spirits

 

Goethe's Faust, Parts I and II, An Abridged Version Translated by Louis MacNeice

Orlando, by Virginia Woolf

Not the Elizabeth We Are Usually Presented With

 

The interest of Queen Elizabeth to the historian is mainly biographical; but it has also the interest of a myth. The interest is mainly biographical because she was of very little effect upon the history of her time. We do not find any great political events produced by her will or her intelligence and there is nothing important in the Europe of her time or the England of her time of which we can say, "This was done by Elizabeth." But the woman herself is so interesting, not only as a pathological case but as an example of suffering and intelligence combined, of a warped temperament and all that goes with it, that, biographically, she is a first-rate subject and one which, it may be added, has never been properly dealt with. There is no one well-known book which gives an even approximately true picture of Elizabeth; at least, none in the English language. The reason of this is due to the presence of that other interest in her character, the myth. What may be called "The Elizabethan Myth" is only now beginning to break down, and it was during the nineteenth century an article of faith in England (and, through England, elsewhere). It is one of the most perfect modern examples of its kind in all the range of history. It is a sort of creative and vital falsehood, radiating its effects upon all the details of the time, and putting in the wrong light pretty well everything that happened. The Elizabethan myth may be stated thus:

"In the second half of the sixteenth century England had the good fortune to be governed by a woman of strong will, powerful intelligence and excellent judgment, whose power was supreme. Her people adored her, and she produced in her long time and largely under her influence the greatest figures in every sphere: Literature, Architecture, Foreign Politics and the rest. She chose her ministers with admirable skill and they served her with corresponding faithfulness. In consequence of all this the Great Queen led the nation through paths of increasing prosperity; it grew wealthier and wealthier as her reign proceeded, more and more powerful abroad, founding colonies and establishing that command of the sea which England has never since lost. In religion she wisely represented the strong Protestantism of her people in hatred of which a few venomous rebels—shamefully allied with foreigners—attacked her reign and even her life. However, she easily triumphed over them all and died full of glory, leaving her name as that of the greatest of the English sovereigns."

There in brief is the "Elizabethan Myth," and a more monstrous scaffolding of poisonous nonsense has never been foisted on posterity. I use the word "poisonous" not at random, not as a mere epithet of abuse, but with a full sense of its accuracy; for this huge falsehood which might be merely absurd in another connection has had, applied to English history, all the effect that a poison has upon a living body. It has interfered with the proper scale of history, it has twisted, altered and denied the most obvious historical truths and has given Englishmen and even the world at large a false view of our past.

...

The truth about Elizabeth is this. She was the puppet or figurehead of the group of new millionaires established upon the loot of religion begun in her father's time. They had at their head the unique genius of William Cecil, who, in spite of dangerous opposition, accomplished what might have seemed the impossible task of digging up the Catholic Faith by the roots from English soil, stamping out the Mass, and shepherding the younger generation of a reluctant people into a new religious mood. Throughout her life Elizabeth was thwarted in each political effort she made; she felt the check of her masters and especially Cecil as a horse feels the bridle. She never had her will in matters of State.

- Characters of the Reformation, Hilaire Belloc.