by Brandon Noel
8 Bit Pulp Preview
By Brandon Noel
copyright 2013 Brandon Noel
Forward
Hello there. My Name is Brandon Noel. I am one of the founders of Destiny Comics Publishing. I founded it with my best friend, Phillip Knox, a few years ago. We wanted to publish the books and comics that we liked. It didn't take us long to bring back the pulp magazine from the 30's and 50's. 8-Bit Pulp is the first pulp magazine to be published in this country for nearly 50 years. For generations, the pulp magazine was the home of some the greatest writers of this or any other generation. Wordsmiths such as Phillip K. Dick, H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, and many, many more were featured. 8-Bit Pulp brings you the finest in new pulp stories. This preview is just for the Kindle and Nook. For free, you're going to get three of the finest stories we have ever published. I hope you enjoy this preview.
Rose Wool
By Lewis Lopez
Published in 8 Bit Pulp Volume one
Nora Shinders awoke from the same disturbing dream, and though she knew the room to be empty, some insecure part of her could not help but glance around. As always, she was alone. The sky, her only companion on nights like these, was black and still through the second story window. She got out of bed and straightened her nightgown. With weary hands she opened the window and breathed in the autumn air, letting it chill her lungs and drive away the remnants of the dream. A solitary crow cried into the night. Nora knew that it was a crow, not by the sound, but because they were the only birds that flew overhead these days.
She turned back to the bed. Gerald’s side was undisturbed. It was much too late for him to still be working. She leaned her head out the window and saw a light on in the barn; perhaps Lola was finally calving. It was a rare occasion that Nora got to see one of her animals give birth, and it was Lola’s first, so she went to the closet and grabbed one of Gerald’s jackets and a pair of his boots.
The stairwell from their bedroom was lined with old pictures. Nora sitting down at a large table with other members of the Red Hat Society. Gerald standing in a small fishing boat, holding a bloody striped bass. A young Nora leaning on a hotel observation balcony overlooking Moloka’i. Gerald had taken that picture just minutes before asking her name, and only hours before a frenzied, sweetly rough round of sex in a bathroom stall. He had been 34, she 25. Now their marriage spanned thirty-one years. There were no children.
On the bottom step Nora sat down and looked at Gerald’s new boots. God only knew why a 65-year-old man had insisted on candy apple red cowboy boots, yet he walked out of the store that day with a smile on his face. She put the boots on, noting that they were several sizes too big for her. They squeaked as she stood up; Gerald had not broken them in. She put on his jacket and realized on some level that she must look a little disturbed standing there in a brown corduroy jacket that concealed only half of her faded, sky-blue nightgown and those bright red boots. Yet nothing else would be so comforting.
She crossed the hall and found the answering machine. Neither Nora nor Gerald would be caught dead with a cellular telephone when standard phones were still perfectly good. And Nora had a telephone in her office at the university. If someone wanted to talk to her, she could be reached one way or another, and no cancer-causing electronics would have to be involved. And their answering machine served quite nicely as a way to leave little notes for each other. Though, sometimes the notes would be heard much later than they were intended. Thus was the problem with resisting the societal toilet that was the cellphone craze.
Nora pressed the button on the machine.
“Hey darlin, it’s Gerald.” He never needed to say that; who else would it be? Yet it was a beloved absurdity in Nora’s tiny life. “I guess you’re at work. Uummm . . . I’m gonna be home kinda late tonight. That Stephen Denton’s got a load of grass seed that I’ve been meanin to pick up. But he’s only available around 8 tonight. The prick. I bet it’s cause he’s gonna be at that strip club in the city til then. Uuhhh . . . Anyway, once I get home I’m gonna see to Lo, too. She looks ready to pop, I got a feelin it’s gonna be tonight or early mornin. So I probably won’t get to bed til after that. But don’t you worry about comin out and seein her tonight. You’ll get a look at the new addition tomorrow mornin. Umm . . . yeah, guess that’s it. Love ya, sugarbutt.”
Gerald had then tried to hang up the receiver, but had evidently struggled. The sounds of plastic hitting plastic and garbled curses echoed from the speaker. Finally there was a click and the machine beeped. There were no more messages.
“He wants me to stay inside,” she said aloud. “How sweet . . . To hell with that.”
The wind picked up as Nora crossed the darkened gravel to the barn in the distance. The large doors were cracked open and a slash of light illuminated the ground like a scar. She pushed the doors open a little more and stepped into the low amber light.
Old hay crunched under her feet as she drifted through the vast interior of the barn. She was always surprised at the size of it. Really more of a multipurpose garage or hangar, the barn was separated into many segmented stalls and vaguely resembled a beehive. Nora and Gerald had invested quite a bit of money into a milk and artisan cheese operation years before. The venture didn’t pan out, but they were somehow able to keep the barn. These days, they didn’t care for so many animals, but Nora had insisted on keeping Lola and some others that remained unnamed.
“Gerald, honey?” she spoke into the dark.
Nora checked Lola’s stall, but the cow was absent. Maybe Gerald had somehow moved her to a bigger one. Certainly a birth had not happened here; the soft shavings on the floor of the stall had not been soiled. She went further into the barn.
A light bulb in a low-hanging socket had been shattered and glass shards littered the ground. It must have happened at some point while Nora was at work. Why hadn’t Gerald fixed it? With how late it was, he had been home for quite a while. But maybe he didn’t get the chance to in the rush to move Lola.
There were only a few stalls remaining now. As she neared the last one she heard the familiar thump of Gerald’s work boots. She rounded the corner and saw her husband’s back and broad shoulders. He was kneeling over a lamb that lay on its side. Its legs twitched and it bleated with wide, staring eyes. It struggled to stand but Gerald would not let it go. One hand was at the lamb’s throat. Some of its wool was stained red. Gerald’s head jerked from side to side and the lamb bleated desperately against a ripping, tearing sound. A spiderweb of veins erupted in its eyes, pulsing with the sudden load on its heart. The lamb thrashed wildly, scattering hay and wood shavings. Its oval pupils ratcheted between contracted and dilated and the creature screamed a final time before its eyes rolled up into its head and it collapsed. Gerald bent his head to the lamb’s stomach and tore again. A pool of candy apple blood began spreading around his boots. A soft, wet crunching reverberated off the walls of the stall. The lamb’s leg twitched again before Gerald brought it to his mouth and Nora heard a moist cracking.
“. . . Gerald?” she squeaked.
Her husband looked over his shoulder and Nora saw that his once-green eyes were tainted with red. He stood up and Nora screamed as she looked at him. His flannel shirt was in tatters across the belly and a large portion of Gerald’s stomach was torn away. There was a cavity now and some of his intestines dangled freely, red and dripping. She trembled and wanted to move, but couldn’t. Her bladder let go. Gerald drooled and took a labored step forward. Small bits of meat and wool shone from between his teeth. His face was adorned with a red beard of blood. Still Nora’s legs wouldn’t move.
“G—Gerald, honey . . . I . . . Oh, god.”
She wept openly as what was left of her husband began walking faster towards h
er. His arms came up, fingers curling and reaching. Nora managed a small step back and then her legs would move no further. He quickened his pace and Nora closed her eyes, shaking uncontrollably. She felt his presence, felt the heat coming off his ruined body. She was roughly bent, exposing her collarbone like he had in Moloka’i, and for the smallest moment she felt the teeth touch her skin.
Her screams filled the barn as somewhere overhead a crow flew off into the night.
Fortunes from The Lucky Dragon- The Gemini
by Sara Joy
Published in 8 Bit Pulp Volume two
“Tom. Tom ,wake up!”
Tom opened his eyes and the faces before him swirled around until he focused on the woman who was shaking him.
“Come on, we have to move!”
“Ann?” Tom rubbed the back of his head.
“No,” the woman shook her head, “I'm your sister Lea, don't you remember?”
Tom's head cleared and he nodded quickly. “What happened?”
“Well, something tipped off the mark and he got away before we could finish the exchange.”
“Damn. And the money?”
“Gone, but he did leave this behind,” Lea said as she held up a gold mask.
“Let's get it back to Mrs. Chow. I just hope it's enough.”
The entrance of the Lucky Dragon was busy with patrons coming in and out. There were several tourists and regulars sitting or standing around. A few small children were hanging from the jaws of the gold dragon that adorned the wall. Mr. Young shooed them away and then hurried back to the podium as the bells chimed.
“Ah, Mr. Weatherby, you are late. We almost gave away your reservation,” Mr. Young said.
“Sorry, my sister took forever getting ready,” Tom said.
Lea elbowed him and then followed Mr. Young to table 7.
“Have you been to The Lucky Dragon before?” A new waitress asked as she handed them menus.
“This is table 7, you get even numbers. Go, go, go!” Mrs. Chow took the menus and sent the waitress off to another table.
“Sorry, new girls take so long to train properly,” Mrs. Chow said as she handed out her own menus. “What will you have today?”
“What is the special?” Tom asked.
“Spicy Wonton, is very good. But you look like you can't handle the spice,” Mrs. Chow laughed. “I'll get you a cup of tea and you look over the menus.”
“I'll have my usual,” Lea said.
Mrs. Chow rolled her eyes and walked away. Tom slipped the gold mask into the menu and set it on the corner of the table. Lea set her menu over his and sat back to watch the busy restaurant.
“How many of us come through here on any given day?” Lea asked.
“I'm not sure,” Tom said.
“Here are your drinks. Are you ready to order?” Mrs. Chow asked.
“We'll have the Gold Palace on page three,” Tom said.
“Very good choice,” Mrs. Chow nodded. She set down two tea cups and picked up the menus.
Tom reached for his steaming cup of tea, and Lea lifted her cup with the little umbrella.
“Scotch so early in the day, Ann?” Tom raised his brow.
“You know me, Joe,” Lea said.
“And the little umbrellas?” Tom asked.
Mrs. Chow set two brown bags on the table, “Your order.”
“I didn't know it was to go,” Tom smiled.
“You know we are busy, and we know you are busy too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Chow.” Lea grabbed her umbrella, dropped it in her bag and started towards the door.
Tom opened his bag and looked inside, “What, no cookie?”
“Not until you have finished your meal. Now go, your partner is waiting.”
“I told you, I work alone.” Tom crushed the top of the bag and hurried off through the crowd.
“Not anymore,” Mrs. Chow chuckled to herself.
The bells chimed above the bar door and Mac looked into the mirror.
“Business or pleasure?” Mac asked as he turned to greet the customers.
“He's business, I'm pleasure,” Lea said as she sat down on the seat.
“Usual?” Mac asked.
“Just need to make a call,” Tom said as he headed toward the phone, “By the way, I like the new window. The cab bumper adds a real nice touch.”
“I kinda grew attached to it,” Mac smiled and then slid a shot glass to Lea. She was about to say something when he reached behind her ear and pulled out a little umbrella. Lea laughed as Mac popped it open and dropped it into her glass. Tom watched the exchange as he dialed a number. The phone rang four times and Tom hung up. He looked back toward the bar where Lea was flirting with Mac. She leaned forward and Tom caught a glimpse of the mark on her shoulder. They had worked three cases since he had been thrown together with her. He remembered the first time he saw her walking into the cafe. Tilda Swinton, dripping wet and full of life. She was just like Nelly, but then they knew that. Which was probably why they threw her at him, but they also knew he worked alone.
“Hey Tommy, are you gonna answer that?” Lea shouted across the bar.
Tom snapped his attention to the phone and grabbed the receiver, “Hello?”
“You're late.”
“Sorry, there was traffic,” Tom said.
“That's to be expected,” the gravelly voice replied.
“Where do we make the next drop?” Tom asked.
Lea had gotten up from her seat and was walking towards Tom as he slammed the receiver back onto the cradle of the payphone. It made a soft ringing sound as he turned away.
“We have our next location, and this time we can't screw up.”
“We?” Lea crossed her arms. “I wasn't the one who ended up on the floor last time.”
Tom rolled his eyes and started out to the street. Mac winked at Lea, and she dashed off after Tom. A cab was already pulling up and Tom held the door open. They climbed in and Tom gave the driver directions. The backseat of the cab was so quiet, the cabby looked back a few times to make sure he hadn't lost his fares. They stopped in front of a broad plaza filled with grand fountains and fluttering banners. Tom opened his briefcase and Lea stole a glance. Inside was a security badge, a gun and a brochure for a gallery exhibition.
“You'll need this,” Tom said as he reached into the brief case.
Lea's lips twisted into a smile, until he handed her the brochure. She skimmed the front and frowned as Tom slipped on the badge and stuffed the gun into his right pocket. They exited the cab and drifted apart from one another as they entered the plaza. Tom walked quickly towards one of the buildings, while Lea wandered around, admiring the fountains. Some children ran past her squealing with delight as water splashed from their clothes. A tired looking mother muttered an apology as she tried to gather a few other children who were still playing in one of the water features. Long strings of water jumped in arcs from little holes in the ground. Lea spotted a man in a dark suit moving towards her. She pulled out the brochure and held it up as she walked away from him.
“Look out!”
Lea looked up from her brochure just in time for two streams of water to jump up and collide with her. She quickly stepped out of crossfire.
“Sorry, I tried to warn you,” a young man said, as he hurried to her side. “I guess I was a bit late.”
“It was my fault. I get to reading something and the world disappears.” Lea wiped some water from her face and shook the brochure.
“Ah, The Four Corners,” The young man nodded towards the wet paper in her hand. “Very good exhibit.”
“Is it?” Lea asked, “I was just on my way to see it, but I guess I'll have to wait.”
“Why?” the man tilted his head.
“Well, most galleries won't let you in with a bottle of water. I doubt they would let me, wearing as much as I am.”
“You're perfect,” He smiled and held out his arm. “I'll l
et you in myself.”
“Do you work there?” Lea asked as she took his arm.
“I own it,” he said with a grin.
“You're Tom Wheatherby?”
“In the flesh,” Mr. Weatherby nodded. “And may I ask your name?”
“Lea.”
“Really? That's my sister's name,” Tom Weatherby mused.
“I didn't know that. What a coincidence.” Lea smiled and let him lead the way.
“Mr. Weatherby.”
A security guard nodded as Tom entered the rear of the gallery.
Tom nodded to him and stepped onto the elevator. He lowered his hand from his gun as the doors shut and he removed his badge. He slipped it into the control box and a green light flashed. The elevator started upward, without so much as a jolt. Tom's stomach hit his shoes, and before he could even catch his breath, the elevator stopped and the doors opened up to a private office floor. He stepped off the elevator and looked around. Piles of papers lay about on the desk, and a few unfinished canvases stood on easels. Tom hurried over to the desk and began to search the drawers. When he was certain it was not there, he fumbled with some things on the desk. A small model of a sculpture tipped over and fell across the phone.