photo: (One From RM)

As a service to the Vampire, Werewolves, Sidhe, Mothmen, Pimps, and other supernatural horrors on the threshold that inhabit the majority of our readership we proudly present…

Huntington by Night
 by Dr. Rev. Chase Henderson, MD, DD

How To Get that Swimsuit Bod by Summer
 (As whispered to me on the darkest of nights by the maddening voices from beyond the spheres.)

Thank you for joining me. I am here in my study sipping absinthe and tenderly watching a font of hellish power as it pours through my fireplace. I grin over looking the city from my zeppelin vantage point. It is here that I retire to write or pursue my studies most arcane in between shifts of shagging interns at Arkham Asylum. Audible sigh, a doctor’s work is never done.

Now it has been some time since the New Years, and I’m sure you started walking everyday. Maybe lifting weights? Perhaps, dipped into bulimia? And I am almost certain that you are not satisfied with the results. The reasons are two-fold. The first being that you are a slave to your ego and will never truly be happy. The second and foremost reason is that being overweight is not a direct result of poor eating and health habits. It’s not your fault.

Let me explain. While our basic needs appear to be oxygen, food, and drink it is in fact far from the truth. Or at least far from the whole story. You see we survive on various elements unseen that reside in our bodies long after we have passed. This is the reason behind the tradition of ‘witch funneling’ by various occult groups in the region. These funnels are placed in the graveyards to collect these elements as they are exhaled from the dead.

But I’ve gone off track. Our air is polluted, yes, but not entirely in the way that you think. Invisible to us are the demons, Gods, Pixies, and other unsoundly spirits from the depths of the Earth that feed on these exhalations. They feed on it and their waste refreshes our spiritual atmosphere again in such a way that resembles trees recycling oxygen. Now this is usually a beneficial symbiotic relationship. However, certain individual’s auras are a delicacy. You see you are not obese as much as you are bloated with demons.

Now the cure is exercise. Western medicine has gotten the name right, but not the correct definition. It’s not exercise as in working out, but exercise as in the medieval rites to drive out the demons. Fasting, intense prayer, self-flogging, and cleansing rituals are all well and good but this is America in the Now. Which also happens to be when problems are solved in America. Now.

With good old American know-how and ignoring all future consequences I’ve distilled these medieval concepts and rituals into fine liquors. Potent liquors that will quickly get you krunk with knowledge and power, but you have to drink it by the shot. Or you’ll die. Of knowledge poisoning and brain failure, because that’s just how potent my informative brews are!

Now here are some fine tips for getting fit by this summer.

• Stop sleeping – These demons enter your body in your sleep so logically if you are not asleep they can’t creep into your dreams and gestate. When you finally do go to sleep you’ll be too tired to dream. Careful, though, more than five days without sleep causes permanent mental damage, which is like candy to demons.
• Spin three times before entering any building – Spinning confuses demons, because it reminds them of tops, which we all know Our Lord used to distract the Fallen Angels. By the time they got back to Heaven, he had already changed the locks. Their buzz was so harshed that they were transformed into the invisible, screaming horrors that hate all life. Tops most of all.
• High sodium diet – Sea salt cleanses areas of tainted elements. So a diet of only salt will purge all demonic infestations and prevent new ones. Drinking eight glasses of water a day allows the body to purge these demons faster. For larger demon concentrations double this dose. To save even more time drink sixteen glasses of sea water a day.
• Seconds at communion – If you’re Catholic always be sure to get seconds at communion. The body and the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ is a wonderful source of protein and demon killing salts. If you’re not Catholic just go to the nearest Catholic Church, and then treat the communion as a buffet. There is nothing they love more. You’ll need all those Christ-nutrients once you’ve been assigned as a concubine to a Goetic King once you’re burning in hell.
• If you’re plagued by the special insulin stealing sprites known as Diabeetus, then you need to purchase a copy of The Maker’s Diet, but reading it or following it is not required. Simply plaster the copy into your wall like I’m sure you’re already going with a copy of the Holy Bibble and a bottle of Jack Daniels. The diabeetus will be compelled to read it and follow the diet. Only the repeat this cycle over and over again each time it falls off the fat wagon. However, it will never plague you again.

Follow these tips and soon you’ll be fit as any linebacker in the Miskatonic Cephalopods.

Dr. Chase Henderson, currently works as the Chief of Medicine at Arkham Asylum the position once held by his mentor Dr. Hubert West. There his responsibilities include playing God, reanimating the dead, and boinking interns as per his Hippocratic Oath. He was recently upgraded to a Super Scientologist after his Operating Thetan level broke the one million mark. He was hailed as a hero for finally brining Xenu to justice with his cane-sword and pathological lying.

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photo: (radiant guy)

Warren Elliot stirred from his two day coma.

     He clenched his eyes as he ran over the events in his cloudy head. This was the delicate time while waking up where one tries to shuffle their thoughts into the categories: memories or dreams. A time where one could actually believe that they had woken up as an insect before they remember who they truly are. Occasionally, dreams slip through this filter and Hollywood religions are born.

      The eye boogers cracked as Warren opened his eyes. The room was such a sterile-looking off white that when the light reflected off it his atrophied eyes could barely make out his surroundings. Warren flinched and looked away. For a moment he slipped back into his dreams, this was nowhere are near as bright as the white he had seen. In his dreams Warren Elliot had seen black and white in their purest forms – light and nothing.

     He took a deep breath and squinted into the brightness. The dark shapes of the life support machines leaned against the walls. Their beeping finally registered in his mind as he realized he’d been hearing them all through his dreaming. He jumped when he spotted the dark shape heaving at the end of his bed.

     Warren regretted catching the shape’s attention. He feared that the shape was one of those dark amalgamations that haunted HP Lovecraft’s dreams. After significant squinting the amalgamation revealed her to be the ordinary beauty of Janet Rockbell. His fiancé’s face was striped with black streams of mascara. She was still beautiful – the fact that she would even stay with Warren made her beautiful to him.

     He was in no way a looker. His body was in the final stages of “Programmer’s Ass” an ailment common amongst computer programmers who are rarely able to leave their computer. Those afflicted with this ailment suffer from an ass at least forty pounds overweight. Like most programmers he had grown a beard in a vain attempt to establish a chin line.

     “What…what happened?” He knew damn well what happened.

     “When we were on the phone…” Janet said, “You were t-boned by a Hummer.” Liar. You mean while we were arguing on the phone I stopped in the middle of the freeway.

     He could clearly see what happened playing in the small theater of his mind. They were arguing about finances. He could make more steady money working at Circuit City, but he was a programmer godammit. At one time he forged the dot com boom with millions of strings of code. Then the bubble popped. No one wanted a programmer without a degree, which is just a nice way of saying “We don’t want anyone associated with the dot com crash.”

     Hateful words were exchanged. Like “mother-fucker” and “cunt”. Both were classics in destroying any kind of relationship. Janet hung up on him, wishing she had an older phone so she could have slammed it back on the cradle. Warren scrambled to call her back.

     He screamed her name into the Bluetooth headset. His cell phone seated next to him reported in the voice of a monotone, robotic female that it was dialing one of his clients. Ok, his only client. The owner of an Australian website which provided 24-hour streaming “Ostrich Shows” to subscribers.

     Warren glanced away for a moment to hit the cancel button on his phone before the Birdman’s phone rang. But what happened next was very unclear, and it was fading fast.

     Warren spotted his handheld tape recorder sticking out of Janet’s purse. He intended to grab it, but nothing worked. He used it to record any important thoughts so uses were few and far between. He was worse off when he lost the damn thing, which was more often than not. He was amazed to see that it was intact, but surmised that he probably left it at the apartment.

     “Janet, I need you to get out my tape recorder. I need you to turn it on.” She looked at the tape recorder in her purse. It had been her only source of his voice for forty eight hours. “Please! Quickly! This…this is the dream I had…while I was out.”

2  

I don’t remember much about when the Hummer hit me so I was probably out immediately. I do remember seeing the doctors working on me. I was floating above them…no, no, don’t give me that look. It was a dream, of course. You know it’s incredibly common that when someone visualizes themselves it’s from above.

     Anyway, I felt almost a tugging at me. I followed it far away. I soon realized that I was no longer even on Earth anymore. It wasn’t heaven or hell. I wasn’t anywhere. I was surrounded by nothing. Absolutely nothing.

     It was the purest black I had ever seen.

     There was nothing, but I don’t think you’re getting how black it was. I don’t think I have the words to ever get you to understand it. This is what H.P. Lovecraft was trying to say when something was indescribable. He was talking about his dreams, you know.

I was seeing what Joss Whedon called the Black. It’s terrifying. Nothing that stretches to infinity. I continued forward, because I was drawn. I wandered through this void for what felt like days, but of course it was really only minutes.

     Then something broke the monotony. A bright light. It was the purest light; greater than anything my imagination could have ever mustered. I was convinced that this is the only thing that could have ever really pierced the oblivion. This is where I was drawn, but this wasn’t the light at the end of the tunnel complex. I wasn’t in a container. It was infinite like space.

     In the light I finally realized that I was not alone. I was surrounded by strange object and symbols. Words and letters of almost a million different languages swam around me. One string of Engrish, ‘This guy are sick.’ bounced off my chest. The letters were flung everywhere. I considered eating one.

     While I was distracted the light had grown.  Something was headed towards me. It was the strangest thing – a ship, but it wasn’t a spaceship per se. It was no space ship like I’ve ever seen in Cowboy Bebop, Star Trek, Firefly, or Battlestar Galatica.

And goodness knows that I’ve watched a ton of those. It looked just like an old sailboat. The only thing remotely space age about was the pulsating pyramid where the topsails would be and the matching pyramid on the bottom. The damn thing was even flying the Jolly Roger.

     I was suddenly hit with a feeling of dread. I didn’t want that ship catching up with me. I turned heel and bolted back the way I came. Just like a dream, I was stuck in place, but when I looked down there was a chain right through my stomach. I was pulled back towards the ship with one big tug and unceremoniously hit the deck.

     “Welcome aboard the Soulforge!” A grinning Pastafarian greeted me. The most striking feature was his red dreadlocks. Not red like a redhead, but pure red hair. From head to toe he was covered in full pirate regalia. His one eye was focused purely on me. He twirled the other end of my chain in his hand. “I’m Captain Cameron. But you may call me the Dread Pirate or the Pirate King, wakari?”

     Cameron turned sharply and walked down the deck. “I’d follow me. Beats being dragged.” I complied since the chain through my stomach was uncomfortable, but it didn’t hurt, mind you. He basically dragged me along the deck behind him like a dog.

     The deck looked like what you’d expect on a pirate ship, but the whole thing was surrounded a glass bubble. I assumed this is how the Captain survived standing on the deck. We stopped in the middle of the deck, and Cameron made a grand gesture. I was surprised to see that neither of his hands were hooks. The floor split and what I could guess is an elevator rose out of the opening.

     Cameron pulled me along into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed behind us the elevator slid down the shaft. The insides of elevator were a sterile white with absolutely no buttons or counters. The doors slid open once the elevator hit the bottom floor.

     Under the deck the ship looked an awful like the inside of the whale in Pinocchio. It just lacked any water what so ever. I expected the ground under me to be squishy, but I had just realized I couldn’t even feel the floor.

     “Mr. Elliot,” Captain Cameron said, “I’ve shanghaied you today for your technical expertise. There is something I want you’re help stealing and I will not return you until I have it.”

     “This…this is a dream, isn’t it?” I said.

     “Sorta, actually you are in a coma. Dancing between the border of life and death, if you will. In a nutshell reality is made up of many layers like an onion. Now reality as you used to know it is at the core. Where you are is in between the physical and the afterlife – what I like to call the Astral.

     The Astral is where we go to dream. So I can understand the confusion. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m rambling.”

     “If this isn’t a dream then why do you speak English, spaceman?”

     “Oh, well, you see all inspiration originates in the Astral until it trickles down to be interpreted by those in the Physical. So many languages end up repeating with only subtle changes. Wakarimashita?” That last bit I thought meant “understood?”

     I was now very bored of this dream and tried to shift it towards something more exciting like sharing a hot tube with Starbuck…I mean you dear. Unfortunately, this was in no way a lucid dream.

     “It doesn’t work that way,” Cameron said, “As long as I will this chain to exist, you won’t be going anywhere.”

     “Alright, I guess I’ll play along then,” I said, “What are we stealing?”

     “Oh, that? It’s called the Mehmet Talisman. An ancient artifact rumored to have to the power to make spirits solid. Right now it’s on display in the space museum Asterix.”

     “So what you want me to stay on permanently?”

     “No, it’s for me.” A samurai walked through the squishy wall beside me. First a pirate now a samurai, I knew now that this could only be a dream. The samurai was dressed in later samurai gear, you know, when they were wearing pants that looked like skirts as opposed to dresses. His raven hair was in a topknot, and he was sporting a bitching Dr. Fu Manchu mustache.

     “And you are?”

     “Sakamoto Ryoma deshita.”

     “He’s Ryoma Sakamoto,” Cameron translated, “He’s the revolutionary father of modern Japan. Lead the riots that disposed the shogun. It’s amazing what one Samurai can accomplish when he’s packing a six-shooter. Pretty neat, huh?”

     “Why would I make something like that up? Did I fall asleep watching the Last Samurai?” I said.

     “That crazed Gaijin the last samurai!?” Ryoma bitched in a thick George Takaiesque accent and then spat ectoplasm. Ryoma seemed to be the most real thing I saw in my dreams. Seemed the most solid.

     Cameron raised his palm and gestured at the wall with a ‘Live Long and Prosper”. Boils formed on the wall and the membranes split with a sickening slurp. A computer monitor emerged from the wound.

     “So what happens if I throw up the devil horns?”

     “A phone rings in Hell.” Cameron clicked through the computer interface on the screen that looked suspiciously like Macintosh with his fingers. A map of space came up on the screen. Planets and stars were grayed out, but colorful symbols were splotched all over the universe. Using his finger as a stylus, he drew a path connecting the esoteric sigils.

“That Sci-Fi crap you watch dubs the Astral as Hyperspace. A Hyperspace Drive does travel by the Astral passing through connected thoughts and ideas. I do it all manually, and it’s far more efficient if you know what you are doing.”

The monitor displayed an unusual starship orbiting a puke green planet. The ship was surprisingly yoni in shape. Yoni? That’s the polar opposite of phallic. A nicer way of saying Vagina, because goodness knows there are no fun words for it. I don’t want to go in how, but you could guess how ships docked.

This was our destination. The museum starship Asterix.

3

 “I feel like Hunter S. Thompson,” I said while looking at the fat green creatures covered in boils and ties mingling around the bar. “These lizards are pretty calm after getting their booze.”

“The Draco,” Cameron corrected. “They are the bureaucrats of the stars, and the administrators of this museum. The starship is orbiting their home world Baa for repairs and to change shifts for the next year.”

“Don’t you think you might be a tad bit conspicuous being the notorious Pirate King you are while the museum is closed?”

“The Draco are far more anal than you, and would never, ever close the museum short of an emergency. It passes through war zones on a regular basis all the while charging full admission. Their spiritual aptitude is worse off than most Earthlings; I’ve made it so they’d never notice me as anything unusual. Or you at all.”

Cameron took a sip of his deep space equivalent of rum and coke.

“So what exactly do you need me for again?”

“Well most people that end up here on the Astral are mathematicians, scientists, and all purpose dorks,” Cameron said, “I’m the exception. I’m not technically inclined at all. What you were supposed to do was figure out one of the tour computers for me. Now we have to find one of these guys that can speak something like English.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about the computers being down?”

     “Well, you fix it, computer guy.”

     “With what!?” I punched through the glass of Cameron’s drink to emphasize my lack of substance. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone looking at us. He wasn’t looking past me like everyone else in the room; we actually made eye contact.

     I don’t know why I didn’t notice him before. In a room full of drunken lounge lizards a nine-foot Japanese man with hair down to the small of his back still stands out. Dark half moons hung under his eyes.  He was crouched over a low bench at the center of the room stabbing a chopstick into sand somehow captivating an audience of drunken lizards.

     I tried to nudge Cameron, but failed miserably since my elbow passed right through him. Fortunately, he still noticed this gesture.

“What is he doing?”

Worry suddenly flared in Cameron’s eye.

“Kuso! A geomancer? Here?” The man stood up – he was the tallest thing in the room. He broke through the disappointed crowd straight towards us. Cameron’s hand darted to the flintlock pistol nestled in his sash. Light condensed around the Geomancer’s hands while the Pirate King produced his gun.

The hammer fell on his antiquated gat. The only report was a blinding light, and for a while I stopped dreaming.

4

I expected to wake up in my hospital bed or maybe an embedded dream, but no such luck. I was still literally chained to the dream I couldn’t pull the reins from my subconscious. I was in another completely sterile corridor – apparently I had been dragged along with Cameron.

Down the hall walked the tall man and a Draco whose gimp mask either indicated a very high or low ranking – there was obviously no in between when it comes to gimps. They were conversing, not in English, but I still knew what they were saying.

“The gun we pulled off him defies all analysis,” Commander Gimp said, “It all looks Atlantean, but we couldn’t get a peep out of him in torture. We allow you to be here as long as you don’t bring this Atlantean vs. Lemuria shit on board, Tsuen.”

“I assure you this man is not Atlantean or Lemurian,” Tsuen said. “This is something a lot direr.” Tsuen glanced at me. Why does that Pirate glow with the light of God? My dumbfounded expression registered with him so he never bothered to stop. I guess I was too much of a small fry for his concern at the moment.

Once Tsuen was out of sight I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Well, not exactly the corner of my eye, but more out of the back of my head. Cameron, surrounded in the same white light I saw around the Soulforge, passed through the wall behind him. I took a breath, unnecessary as it was, and followed.

On the other side of the wall, Cameron was shackled to, and let out a monstrous yawn. He quickly flinched and moaned.

“Ow, shite. Either got the torture treatment or the spa treatment.” Cameron smiled then ran his tongue through the new gaps in his teeth with a cocked eyebrow. “Well, the jury’s still out on that.”

“You’re missing some fingers.”

“And a kidney.” Cameron cracked his neck. “I’ll fix it later.”

“You’ll what? What the hell are you talking about? How can you be so calm about this? What the hell is going on?”

“I’ve been captured and tortured by the Draco for being a no good nick and firing a terrible weapon indoors. While they were doing that I did something productive and left my body to find that Talisman, which I did. Might I add that was far more helpful that anything you’ve done thus far?

I’m so calm about this because my gun causes an EMP after the blast and fries any unshielded technology like the locks on these shackles. The designers of these shackles were lazy and hard wired the locks into the door. So when the shackles are open the door unlatches.”

With a flick of the wrist Cameron flung off the shackles and the door back into the corridor slid open.

“Impossible!”

“No, improbable.”

“And just what the hell is that gun?”

     “Oh, that thing? The shells hold a pocket dimension containing anti-matter. The one I fired in the restaurant held one milliliter. You see when anti-matter hits any matter such as air it-“

     “Explodes. I know, I read Angels and Demons,” I said.

     “What did you think? I think Dan Brown tried to hard to get readers to turn the page. It became hacky in a few chapters.”

     “Yeah, but it was a great bathroom reader. Wait! How exactly would a notorious space pirate have read that book? And don’t give me all ‘that the same ideas trickle down from the Astral’ crap! I knew it! You’re from Earth!” Cameron made an expression like I just told him that Santa and his dog entered a suicide pact.

     “Since when did you immerse yourself so far into this fantasy?” the Dread Pirate said, “I mean this is all just a dream, isn’t it? Then everything’s from Earth, because your mind is from Earth.”

     “I suppose so…”

     “Good, now quit arguing with your subconscious and come on! That Talisman is just two corridors down!” Cameron crept through the open door and was promptly spotted by two Draco wearing gimp masks and armed with spears. This has got Freud’s name written all over it.

     The Pirate King ran incredibly fast for someone with another man chained to him. I suppose while “in the Astral” I’m weightless. Cameron darted around a corner in the corridor and ducked into another restaurant. I must have a deep-seated hatred towards restaurants.

     This restaurant was a lot smaller than the last one we destroyed, and unfortunately it didn’t have any other exits. Then I suddenly had an insight. You know how you know things in a dream. Like you’ve been filled in about your entire back-story. You’re yourself, but you know you’re someone else and exactly how you got there.

     No, I wasn’t suddenly someone else. That would have been a refreshing change, but no, I suddenly knew the back-story of a gun.

     This certain gun was invented the by the Atlanteans in an attempt to shoot people while in space. Gunpowder just can’t ignite in space without oxygen. So they developed a gun that fires small projectiles with a magnetic push.

Their earlier rail guns unfortunately broke the wrists of anyone stupid enough to fire one, and the toned down versions simply couldn’t pierce the average spacesuit. But since the rail guns operated in complete silence they became quite popular amongst the unsavory sorts planetside.

This particular gun was made in a munitions factory that was later converted into a slaughterhouse. Many of the guns and machines were still in place for killing…whatever animal they used for steaks. One of the Atlantean rail guns fell into the production line and was shipped with assorted fillets as thoughtless holiday presents.

After years of re-gifting the steaks were sold to the Asterix. A Draco “cook” dumped the box into a cooking robot that basically makes a steak with whatever you put in it. There are settings on the cooking robot, but they all just burn it to a crisp. I guess it’s comforting to know that all cultures have fast food.

A waiterbot rolled up to the Draco patron with a covered dish as Cameron made a mad dash across the restaurant. He snatched the plate from the robot’s uncaring claws, knocked the garnish out of the trigger, and fired seven silent shots into the two gimps before they went down. Three of the rounds hit, I think, it was very hard to tell. The other Draco in the restaurant was completely unsure of what just happened. Cameron used this to his advantage to bolt right back out the door.

The Dread Pirate slipped through an approaching crowd of Draco gimps and down the corridor towards the exhibits housing the Mehmet talisman. He was flanked by two more gimps bearing down on him with spears. It struck me that the guards were really outmatched against a guy with a gun, but it suddenly occurred to me that stray gunfire was a liability the Draco were not willing to take with the exhibits.

     I suddenly got an earful of real gunfire, which startled me so much that I’m amazed I didn’t wake up then. The utter silence of the pistol Cameron brandished suddenly occurred to me as incredibly unsettling. Not even that mouse fart noise television wants you to believe a silencer sounds like. Nothing, but bodies hitting the ground.

     This time the approaching Draco guards were not killed, but clenched their stomachs like they had a mere stomach ache. Cameron brought them down with a tackle that he barely got back up from.

     “For us,” Ryoma said, “That is the most we can hope to influence the Physical.” He lowered his smoking Colt .45, opened it, and replaced the two spent shells. Ryoma floated behind Cameron at top speed, and I was surprised to see that I could too. There was a feeling like my stomach was being tied in knots. It was slight, but it was there.

     Tsuen was nearby. He wanted his presence known.

     Then I had another insight this time about a sword. The sword bore a striking resemblance to a katana and was very old. It was forged of an incredibly sturdy alloy that allows it to deflect even a laser for up to five minutes. This particular sword was traveling with an exhibit dig site from a former Lemurian colony. Its blade was chipped and couldn’t cut, but was still sturdy.

     “Was that Cameron’s voice?” I peered at Ryoma to see if he had heard it too.

     “Yeah, he puts things on the Astral to bring about coincidences in the Physical,” Ryoma said, “We notice it, because we’re also on the Astral.”

     I suddenly noticed that the corridor was flanked with display cases. Were those there before? I can’t remember. In my defense I was distracted. Cameron pumped some rail gun rounds into one of the cases and snatched up that very sword.

     “Sakamoto! Ikimasu!”

     “Wakarimasu!” Ryoma’s form gave way to an orb and flew into Cameron’s body. He swapped the rail gun with the sword in his left hand. The Draco soon had their spearheads trained on him. With a flourish and a spray of sparks Cameron decapitated their spears. With his left hand, he planted a single shot into each Draco’s forehead. He fought like a completely different person.

     Considering their masks, the Draco slumped over each other in a very disturbing manner. Behind them stood Tsuen wearing his own sword. Cameron fired a round at Tsuen, but missed. Three more misses certainly weren’t coincidence either.

     “Onamae wa onegaishimasu!” Tsuen said.

     “Sakamoto Ryoma to Cameron desu.” I am Cameron and Sakamoto Ryoma. So I guess Cameron is being possessed or something like that. I don’t know – dreams are weird. Cameron charged over the gap with a quick thrust. Tsuen sidestepped the point, but with a flick of the wrist his attack became a slash at Tsuen’s abdomen.

     The strike was parried with his sword’s scabbard. Tsuen drew his own sword only a foot to knock the rail gun out of Cameron’s hand. Cameron shifted his weight to his back foot to clear Tsuen completely his sword, but still nearly lost his chin.

Cameron quickly thrust his blade, which was brushed aside with the handle of Tsuen’s. He shifted forwards to quickly slash Tsuen across the face, but with a back step Tsuen completely avoided it. Cameron leapt back to get out of Tsuen’s considerable kill zone.

Tsuen sheathed his sword and redrew it so fast that his blade was a mere flash of silver. Cameron ducked over the silver arc and slashed Tsuen across his spine. The tip of Cameron’s sword shattered on an invisible barrier surrounding Tsuen. He turned and struck Cameron in the midsection with open palm.

Cameron went sliding across the floor on his ass, and Ryoma went flying in the opposite direction. Tsuen shuffled forward on his heels following a sweeping cut. Cameron parried, but his sword snapped under the strain. Tsuen pinned Cameron’s wrist under his foot and pointed the tip of his sword in Cameron’s face.

“Makoto Tsuen degouzaru,” Tsuen said, “Why do you radiate with the light of God? A mere, insignificant pirate such as yourself. And why do you seek this?” A stone talisman slid out from Tsuen’s left sleeve and dangled above Cameron’s head from a chain. It glowed with a faint white light. “I can tell just by looking at it that’s what you seek. As you say, like attracts like.”

“I’ve heard rumors of a Lemurian ex-monk traveling the stars for over a century now,” Cameron said, “Exiled for killing his Guru. Do you make a point of killing the Enlightened?”

     “The weak are food for the strong. Killing any obstruction on the path to God is no sin. Even if a Buddha blocks my path I shall strike him down without remorse. Why is it that the ones touched by God are so weak?”

     “Weak? I could blink your entire family line out of existence, but that’d be too flashy. I’m far more humble than that.”

     Did he just gloat about how humble he was? Instead of trying to wrap my mind around that I made a grab for the talisman. I assumed that was definitely the Mehmet talisman Cameron was looking for. I kind of figured that if it made spirits solid then I could touch it.

     Sure enough I could feel the weight of the talisman in my hand when I wrapped my fingers around it. Tsuen turned and brought down him sword. The chain on the talisman snapped so I could get out of the way in time. At least only losing my left arm. It’s odd, really. I didn’t feel it at all.

     Why so upset? Come on. I’m almost done. I’ll stop boring you with this.

     Cameron slipped by Tsuen and tried to grab me. Both of us were shocked when his hands passed right through me. Without wasting a second Cameron grabbed my chain instead. He jumped through the wall and pulled me right behind him.

     Cameron stumbled through the new room before landing on all fours. He vomited and rolled over on his side shivering.

     “The Dread Pirate needs a moment to compose,” Ryoma said. “He just entered the Astral with his physical body to get through that wall.”

     “Does that take a lot out of him?”

     “Not so much,” Cameron said, “But the Astral is not designed for humans to live. I might as well have just jumped into space. You’d be amazed by what nothing could do to a man.”

     “Where are we?”

     “In a panic room. Walls and door are nearly as the thick as the hull. Door only uses an internal timer for the lock. The Draco take their yearly breaks here. I’d say we’ve got about 45 minutes before the door opens. The Talisman was a bust-“

     “But why can I hold it? I thought I can’t interact with physical objects easily.”

     “I don’t know. That’s not as important as getting off this God forsaken yoni before that door opens again.” There was a crash outside the blast door.

     “Looks like Tsuen is blasting the door with ki,” Tsuen said and then pulled his upper body back through the wall. “I’d say we have about five minutes.”

     “Fuck,” Cameron was sitting up now. “I’m really rethinking this whole ‘too good to blink you out of existence’ ideal.”

     “Well why don’t you?” Ryoma said. “Because you’ve managed so well without using the big magick so far.”

     “Maybe if my Yojimbo was far more competent I wouldn’t have to!?”

     “That body you let me borrow is crap. You’re too tall, barely gave me enough fingers to fire that gun, sword was too heavy, and the gun was too light.”

     At this point I glazed over in the same way that I would when my parents would fight. My mind wondered off compiling code for the new front page for BadBoyswithBigBirds.com. I immediately purged the thoughts from my mind when a transparent version of the site floated over my head. Fortunately, I don’t think anyone noticed.

     I looked down at the talisman in my hand. I ran my thumb over the inscription on its stone face. It actually felt real to me not like the distant feeling of Tsuen’s sword. There wasn’t even any pain in my arm, but this talisman felt real. The arrangement of the symbols on the talisman reminded me of something.

     “Hey,” I said, “The Astral is where thoughts and ideas filter down to reality, right?”

      “Yes, but we’ll deal with your remedial metaphysics lessons later. Right now the adults are talking.”

     “I think I know how the talisman works.”

     “Go on.”

     “I think the talisman is like computer code. You compile the code in the Astral to make a change in reality.” I held up the Mehmet talisman. “I don’t think this is real. That’s why I can pick it up.” I tossed the talisman to Cameron.

     He rolled the talisman around in his hand, and a light of understanding flickered in his eyes.

     He turned towards me and with blazing speeds wrote the symbol from the talisman on me with the glow from his index finger. I hate to admit that it kind of tickled. Then the damnedest thing. He punched me square in the stomach. He knocked the wind right out of me – it was like getting sucker punched in real life.

     He tore the symbol off of me, which was like getting your nipple ripped off on duct tape. And then passed his hand through me.

     “Son of a bitch…” I said, “That actually hurt.”

     “You can return that punch if you ever meet me in your body.” There was another crash from the outside. Now a dent was visible in the door. “Alright, change in plans.” Cameron drew his flintlock pistol with his left hand – his five fingers wrapped around the handle. He turned to me and flashed a toothy grin. He knew exactly what I was thinking. “What? You’re a computer guy. You should know the importance of restoring to an earlier backup.” Cameron leaned over to pick up the hilt of the broken Lemurian sword. He smiled and turned the sword over in his hand. The light danced down the razor edge of the full length sword.

     “Ryoma come here, and I’ll fill you in.” Ryoma floated into Cameron. “Alright. I’m going to up Tsuen’s dosage to ten millitres of anti-matter.” Cameron pulled a shell the size of a chicken air out of the air like a magician. “But first this shell.”

     Cameron pulled the trigger, and there was a huge flash of light. The blast doors to their credit were still intact, but had been blown off the hinges. A good portion of the wall went with it. Tsuen sidestepped the door and charged across the gap. Cameron traced the Talisman in the air; Ryoma leapt through it, and grabbed the sword. I couldn’t help but be reminded of you in the morning – spritzing perfume in the air and then jumping trough it.

     Ryoma brought himself low to the ground and using the base of his sword deflected the point of Tsuen’s. He hooked his foot behind Tsuen and turned on his heel. He spun behind Tsuen and brought down the blade. I jumped when the top half of Ryoma’s sword embedded itself in the wall beside my head. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was those swords that were able to cut me or just Tsuen.

     The air cracked.

     A fracture ran down the front of Tsuen’s barrier. Ryoma leapt back and drew his antique Colt .45 from his sleeve. There was a report from his gun and then the sound of glass shattering. He fired again, but Tsuen deflected the bullet off his sword. Cameron felt blood trickling down his cheek.

     Cameron ran his index finger over the cut and it vanished. He snapped open his flintlock pistol and tossed the spent casing. He dropped the new shell in and slammed the gun shut. Tsuen used his great length to strike at Ryoma. He stuck out his tongue and rolled backwards – Tsuen only succeeded in slicing through the Talisman imprinted on his clothes.

     Ryoma flew into Cameron’s chest and his posture changed. Cameron dropped the gun into his left hand, stepped back, mounted the gun’s barrel on his hip, and pulled the hammer back with his thumb. Tsuen took a defensive stance – the air crackled with power as his barrier re-grew. The sound of ice rapidly freezing struck my nerves.

     The trigger snapped, the hammer struck, and it was like watching a nuclear blast being funneled into a Christmas tree ornament.

     Cameron shoved the gun into his coat and approached Tsuen’s smoldering torso. He placed his palm on Tsuen’s forehead.

     “You’ll have to endure for a little while. I can’t let you heal and follow us. Just be fortunate that I’m not interested in doing anything drastic like making your heart explode when you use spiritual powers.”

     Tsuen screamed wildly and tried to focus on Cameron with his bare eye sockets. “I will hunt you down to the ends of the galaxy and feast on your entrails! I will not rest until I’ve killed you, you monster! God will choose me!”

     “If that’s your wish,” Cameron said, “But I bare no grudge.”

He tugged at my chain – indicating we should leave. Ryoma jumped out of Cameron and floated beside him. “Now that we have this Talisman, you know where we should go? The whore nebula.”

“Out of the question.” I stopped following.

“What?” Cameron didn’t bother to turn around – he just stopped in his tracks.

     “I want to leave,” I said.

     “We’re not off the ship yet,” Cameron said, “I can just drag you.”

     “You know this is over. You know that there is nothing on this ship that can actually stop you now. Let me go!”

     “That’s not a good idea. Stay on my ship for a while. You won’t even have to do anything. Let that arm grow back first.”

     “I want to leave. I’m not going with you.”

     “Fine, I gave you my word.” Cameron glanced at me. I could see the guilt in his eye. I heard Tsuen scream again. “Your body has been looking for you for awhile. So when I cut the chain you’ll be catapulted back. If you want to remember any of this I’d suggest writing it down. I hope you at least take that advice to heart.”

     Cameron hooked his thumb under the chain and snapped it clean in two.

5

     “And that’s when I woke up,” Warren finished.

     Janet was sobbing profusely. Warren leaned in and shut off the tape recorder. “It’s ok. Just a dream. I’m fine now. I’m here.” Warren kissed her on the cheek. “What’s wrong?” Warren tried to embrace her, but found his left arm uncooperative.

“Your arm…” Janet whimpered.

Warren’s eyes widened. “What about it?”

“The doctors said that everything is fine with it, but it’s like your brain doesn’t want to believe it’s there.”

Warren could have said there was a logical explanation to all this. That his dream was just his subconscious telling him about his arm. But he just sat there in silence.

6

 “I think it’s funny that we’re suddenly in the Whore Nebula,” Ryoma said and peered over Cameron’s shoulder.

“I made a wrong turn.”

“Please, I know enough about this thing that you can’t make a wrong turn.” 

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