Believe it or not, Cousin Ernie had himself a genuine high school diploma. Kept it hanging on the wall by his bed, right next to his crucifix. Hell, he had more book smarts than half the county put together. He even took flying lessons. Least that's what people say. His reputation was such that the local kids voted him the Greatest Living American, ahead of Franklin Roosevelt and Joe DiMaggio.
Anyway, Cousin Ernie thought up a venture that went something like this. If the folks at home were losing interest in the Thing in the Jar, it might pay to take it on the road. He even trotted out some facts and figures to support what he kept calling a "hypothesis." The one that finally convinced Cletus was the road attendance of the mighty New York Yankees. This worked, in part, because Cletus, like most Americans who'd lived through the Roaring Twenties, had often daydreamed about meeting the great Babe Ruth.
And that was that, as they like to say. A year of barnstorming gave Cletus plenty of money to hide in his mattress. But all good things must come to an end. The Thing in the Jar came within a whisker of getting shanghaied. That's right. A couple of thugs from Macon, Georgia almost made off with the fabled item that some people ranked right up there with the Holy Grail.
Cletus, of course, wasn't about to let go of his bread and butter without a knock-down, drag-out brawl. A few broken ribs and a black eye seemed a small price to pay to keep his prize possession. But that was it as far as his traveling days were concerned. From there on in he became something of a homebody, a recluse along the lines of the Hollywood starlet Greta Garbo.
He didn't mind the locals taking a peak every now and then. For a small fee, of course. And they didn't mind paying. Most had seen it many times before, going all the way back to their childhood, but they couldn’t resist the nostalgia. Gazing at the Thing in the Jar was a way of seeing into the past and making it new again.
Cletus and Hattie never officially tied the knot. There was no need for a shotgun wedding, though. Try as he might, Cletus couldn't get Hattie with child. Whose fault that was, was split along party lines. The men thought it was her fault and the women thought it was his fault.
But this was Cook County and they got rules there, you know. So Hattie eventually became his common-law wife. Because of her good looks, her culinary talents, and her supposed talents in the bedroom, he was willing to share everything with her, fifty-fifty. Everything, that is, except the Thing in the Jar.
As the years passed their relationship inevitably began to sour. Both Cletus and Hattie developed the seven-year itch. Cletus satisfied his lust by carrying on with Widow Davis. Hattie had her eye on Joshua J. McCallister, but the judge was made of such strong moral fiber that he was able to resist the temptation. In the end, she had to settle for a fling with Cousin Ernie.
Hattie, despite her good looks and her God-given talents, had spent her life going from one emptiness to another. Like most women, she didn't know what she really wanted. She did, however, know what she didn't want. She didn't want to look at the Thing in the Jar for one more day, so she hatched a plan to get rid of it. It weren't no humdinger of a plan like the Transcontinental Railroad. Hell, it probably wasn't even deserving of being called a plan. All she was fixing to do was drive the Model T down the Old Pike Road a ways, find a place to pull over, and dump the contents.
Hattie set out one fine September day to accomplish her mission. She parked next to an open field teeming with daffodils that danced in the morning breeze. The jar lid wouldn't budge so she smashed the container on the ground.
She turned to go but her curiosity suddenly got the better of her. She wanted to gaze at the Thing in the Jar one last time. For the first time in many years, the view wasn't inhibited by the cloudy liquid in the container.
It was a human head. Of that, there was no doubt.
Hattie wanted to get a better look, so she kneeled down and started to remove some of the bits and pieces of broken glass.
That's when the unexpected happened.
The decapitated head's eyes shot open and it sunk its fangs into one of Hattie's outstretched hands.
It's too bad Cousin Ernie wasn't there to witness the scene because one of his favorite subjects to read about in his younger days was vampire lore.
One way to kill a creature of the night is by cutting off its head and stuffing its mouth with garlic. Sometime long ago someone had done the first step but not the second. All these years the vampire survived and now it shared its curse with Hattie.
With her newfound powers, she went on a killing spree that will forever haunt the good folks of Cook County. Chief amongst her victims were Cletus Shepard and Cousin Ernie.
Hattie had something else in mind for Judge Joshua. J. McCallister. Despite his initial protests, he became her lover. They left Alabama and took up residence in New Orleans where they ruled the night as the vampire king and queen.
The End
22 - The Secret Ingredient
For the French, fine cuisine is more than a hobby, it's a national mandate. There is no higher calling than to be a chef. Anton Moreau heard this calling and was determined to open the most famous restaurant in all of Paris.
The Eiffel Tower was completed in 1889. On the day it opened to the public, Anton traveled to the top of the structure and looked out over the City of Lights.
"I will do whatever it takes to conquer this city," he promised himself.
The following spring, Anton began selling sandwiches on the streets using a small push cart. He worked hard, saved his money, and started his climb to prominence. Two years later he opened a little corner bistro.
Anton became an overnight sensation. As the money poured in, he began to design his dream restaurant. He purchased a plot of land on the Seine River, broke ground on Midsummer's Day, and officially opened on the first of December.
At last, Anton had arrived, but the big stage also brought big competition. The prominent food critics were the key to success at this level. Five-star ratings led to wealth and glory. Four-star ratings were acceptable, but to be avoided. Anything below a four-star rating was the kiss of death.
Anton's restaurant got off to a solid start. Most of the ratings were five stars, but a smattering of four-star reviews also appeared in the local papers. Then Anton achieved his masterstroke! He developed a sauce that set Paris abuzz. It was all the rage, the topic of conversation at every table and on every street corner in the cosmopolitan city.
The critics raved and rival chefs' lusted after the special ingredient that made Anton's sauce the envy of the restaurant scene, but Anton guarded his secret well.
His dream was nearly complete. The promise he made to himself that day he looked out across Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower had almost come to fruition. All he needed was the approval of the greatest of all food critics - Lancelot Dupuis - and he would rule this city.
Anton and his entire staff diligently prepared for the arrival of the food messiah who would deliver them to the Promised Land. Finally, one Saturday afternoon, the renowned critic appeared at their door.
He was escorted through the bright, cheerful restaurant by the most attractive hostess and given the best seat in the house where the acoustics were ideal and the view was magnificent. The atmosphere was lively and inviting and the music was delightful. Beguiling aromas and ethereal sights filled his senses as the staff poured lavish attention on his every whim.
But all this was simply a prelude. Critic Lancelot Dupuis was a grim man with a staggering ego. As far as the food world was concerned, he was omnipotent. His word was the first, the last, and the only one of significant consequence and he was not interested in atmosphere or music, he was interested in food.
Anton studied his reflection in a mirror. He readjusted his chef's hat and applied a dab more wax to his handlebar mustache. This was it, the moment of truth. He wandered through the bustling kitchen and pushed through the swinging door that led to the dining area. He took a deep breath and cautiously approached the table.
"Go
od afternoon, Monsieur. Welcome to my restaurant. May I take your order?"
Lancelot Dupuis turned his dark eyes to Anton, silently evaluated the chef, and licked his thin lips before he responded. "I'd like to try a cut of veal with the crème sauce a la Anton that I've heard so much about."
"Oui, Monsieur."
"People everywhere are talking about your special ingredient. I'm rather intrigued," the critic said and the slightest of smiles appeared on his pale face.
Anton tentatively returned the smile before he retreated to the kitchen. He grabbed a razor-sharp meat cleaver and sliced off a tender cut of veal. His nervousness disappeared as he began to prepare the meal, for he truly was a gifted chef. He had the utmost confidence in his abilities and there was, after all, the secret ingredient.
*****
Like most food critics, Lancelot Dupuis never ate an entire meal. He based his evaluation on a single mouthful of food. After he tried the veal with the crème sauce a la Anton, he set his fork aside and began to scribble in his notepad.
Anton watched through the tiny window in the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He tried to read the critic's reaction, but his face was inscrutable.
*****
Anton was crestfallen when he read the paper the following morning. His restaurant had received a four-star review.
"How can that be?" he yelled in a voice that boomed like thunder. "He cannot do this to me! I will conquer Paris and any that stand in my way will be trampled to the ground!"
A crazed look appeared in the chef's eyes, one that would strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest of men.
*****
The following night Lancelot Dupuis visited a restaurant not far from the Notre Dame Cathedral. He hummed softly to himself as he walked home under a starlit sky. As the famous food critic passed a dark alley, a powerful arm latched around his neck and dragged him into the shadows. Unable to breathe, he lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he found himself in a basement lit by a single kerosene lamp. Anton eyed him angrily.
"You disdainful, bombastic fool. Did you think I would let you ruin all my hard work? Did you think I would tolerate such an insult?"
"Are you mad?" the critic stammered.
"You wanted to know my secret ingredient," Anton asked as he raised a meat cleaver in the air. "I chop up all the food critics who give me four-star reviews and make a sauce out of their remains."
Lancelot Dupuis was too terrified to respond, but the look of abject horror that appeared on his face spoke volumes.
Anton brought the meat cleaver down, again and again, splattering blood everywhere.
The End
23 - The Stranger
Shannon knocked and then let herself into her friend Jody's condo where she was immediately greeted by half a dozen cats. Jody worked at an animal shelter and brought home as many strays as she could afford.
"Ready to go out on the town?" Shannon asked.
"As soon as I grab my purse," Jody replied.
Shannon looked in a mirror in the hallway and tucked a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear.
"Did your power go out earlier?" she asked.
"Yeah," Jody said. "I had to towel dry my hair rather than using the blow dryer."
"It still looks nice."
"Thanks," Jody said with a smile. "Let's go hit the bars and see if we can find some cute guys."
"I've been looking forward to this weekend forever, especially tomorrow's Halloween parade," Shannon declared.
"Alright my babies, the TV in the living room is on to keep you company," Jody said as she took a moment to say goodbye to her cats. "Mommy will be back later."
The two girls left the condo, hailed a cab, and headed out to their favorite club. They didn't notice the man in a trench coat who tailed them on his motorcycle.
They received plenty of attention that night, as is usually the case when two lovely ladies go out dancing. Jody was having the time of her life. So was Shannon until she noticed a strange guy in a trench coat who was watching her friend. For a second she thought he had red eyes, but she decided it was just the lights on the dance floor.
A handsome accountant asked Shannon back to his place, so she told her friend she was leaving.
*****
Shannon called Jody several times the next day, but there was no answer. By late afternoon she decided to swing by the condo.
She knocked, let herself in as usual, and called her friend's name but there was no response. The cats seemed a little more riled up than normal. "Jody? Are you here?" she asked again, but there was still no reply.
The TV was still on in the living room, so there was a good chance her friend hadn't been back since they'd left the night before.
The cats meowed incessantly until she fed them. She was wondering what to do next when a news report on the TV caught her attention.
"As of now, eight girls are missing. Numerous eyewitnesses saw a man in a trench coat following the ladies before they disappeared. One person even claimed that the man had red eyes and was carrying an odd, cylindrical weapon, but don't read too much into the eyes because colored contacts are all the rage for today's Halloween parade. In other news, there's still no explanation for the strange energy pulse that hit the city yesterday..."
Shannon turned the television off and tried unsuccessfully to calm herself down. Had Jody been kidnapped by that strange man in the trench coat? Did he really have red eyes? She picked up the phone to call the police. Before she started to dial the number there was a loud crash in the kitchen that spooked her so much that she ran out of the condo.
She hailed a cab and by the time they pulled away from the curb she was laughing at herself. It was probably just one of Jody's cats knocking a pan on the floor. Her heartbeat returned to normal until she happened to glance out the back window and saw the man in the trench coat trailing them on a motorcycle.
"Can you go any faster?" Shannon asked the cabbie but he shook his head. "The streets are jammed from the Halloween parade."
Shannon fidgeted nervously for the next several minutes before she made a rash decision. "Let me out here," she said as she handed some money to the driver and hopped out of the car. She saw the man on the motorcycle and noticed that his eyes really were red. Of that, there was no doubt. She also took note of the odd, cylindrical weapon he possessed.
He accelerated towards her but she fled into the parade and managed to disappear amongst the crowd.
The next hour was a living hell for Shannon. She felt like she was in a cheesy, teenage slasher movie. The sights and sounds of the Halloween parade created scary scene after scary scene with distorted, nightmarish qualities. Every time she thought she'd lost the man in the trench coat, he would suddenly reappear.
The parade would be ending soon and she still had no idea what to do. Then she caught sight of a policeman. She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she approached him, but her heart stopped when she noticed his red eyes.
Abject fear was etched on her face. Shannon let out a scream that was swallowed up by the noise of the crowd. She turned to flee but found herself face to face with the man in the trench coat. He grabbed her by the arm. She barely managed to break free and ran down a nearby alley.
The sounds of the parade slowly faded but she could still hear the two men chasing after her as she raced blindly through one dark street after another. As she turned a corner, she ran into two more men with red eyes.
Shannon was too tired to run, too tired to fight, too tired to even call for help. She collapsed on the ground and started to cry. Soon all four men were standing over her. The man in the trench coat pushed a button on his cylindrical weapon and a needle appeared at the end.
"Hold her still," he ordered the others as he kneeled down beside her.
"Stay away from me!" Shannon cried as her last reserves of adrenaline kicked in. "What did you do to my friend Jody, you sick bastards?"
"Your friend is doing fine. She's re
covering from her shot," the man in the trench coat said.
"What are talking about?" she demanded.
"My name is Lennox and these are my assistants Bartok, Telfair, and Yuri. We're doctors."
"You don't look like any doctors I've ever seen!"
"Let's just say we're out of your network. We're members of the Galactic Alliance and our ship suffered a major radiation leak yesterday," he explained. "That's what caused the power outage. Fortunately, only a handful of the residents of your town were harmed, and they're easily cured with a simple shot if it's administered soon enough."
"I don't believe you," Shannon flatly stated.
"I'm sorry, but there's no time to argue," Lennox said as he plunged the needle into her arm.
Shannon felt a burning sensation as the medicine entered her bloodstream. Moments later, she began to lose consciousness.
"Don't worry. We'll take care of you," Lennox said. "And in a few days you'll have forgotten all about us."
The End
24 - Inferno
Part 1 - Haunted
New York City
1962
Mountains of flesh, rivers of blood. Unseen hands stacked the bodies higher and higher. The hungry fire devoured the vacant remains that once contained wants and needs.
Smoldering hair, burning skin. Unseen faces laughed louder and louder. The greedy flames consumed the empty vessels that once held hopes and dreams.
Enzo Geller's eyes shot open. The nightmare still crawled around inside his head. It would take a few minutes for the tremors to pass. It would take longer for the smell of scorched tissue to fade from his mind.
Enzo fumbled for his wire-rim glasses and checked the time. Four in the morning. He tried the mental exercises and the breathing techniques his psychiatrist recommended, but they offered little solace.
He crawled out of bed, knowing from experience there would be no more sleep on this night. Fifteen minutes later, he sat down at his desk with a cup of black coffee. There was no kitsch in his apartment, just a few paintings and some basic furniture. Despite his wealth, Enzo Geller led a simple existence.
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