by T Hodden
She did not recognise the name of the supermarket. Nor could she place where she was. In a waking dream she shuffled through the aisles, sniffing the air and touching the products on the shelves. Sometimes she looked down at the silver haired bear who walked at her side, wrapped in a colourful beach towel.
“France.” She said quietly. “Somewhere near the middle judging by the mountains.” She picked up a jar of apple dessert and squinted at it, checking the sell by date. “Not too far astray, all things considered.” The bear nodded. “Where were we?” She rubbed the side of her head. “Not too far astray from where? Too where?”
The bear mimed something. A sideways eight.
“No. That is infinity. Not Eternity.” She giggled and punched the air. “Yes! Eternity!” She paused and made sure not to look at the security guards closing around her. She instead looked at the tattoo on her wrist. Bands of dark blue. Some thick, some thin. She watched the shoppers at the bar code scanners, swiping products to check their price or to see if more were in stock. Still dripping brine and seawater on the floor she shuffled over, pushed her way to the front of the queue. She swiped her wrist across the red light.
The screen of the device flashed with a shrill beeping. Then it went black. Around her the lights of the stores flickered and died. The tills stopped working. The fridges and freezers died. The security men looked at their radios and flash lights in confusion.
“It's dead.” The white bear whispered.
“And if we don't get to Eternity, so is everything else.” The woman agreed. She fell to her knees and gave out a scream that was like the sound of glass cracking as she clawed at her head, trying to reach something that blazed with an orange red light at the base of her skull.
Her eyes glowed the colour of hell fire. “I have to get to Eternity.” She said at last. “I have to kill Fisher King. Or everything dies. Everything dies!”
Appendix: Peanut butter pies
1 Precooked deep fill (sweet) Pastry Case.
1 Tin of Caramel
1 Jar smooth Peanut Butter
2 large bars of chocolate
1 Bag of candy coated peanut butter sweets
First of all, if you are unable to obtain the caramel sauce then you will need a responsible adult to make it for you from condensed milk, by piercing the tin (to prevent explosions) and cooking it in a pan of boiling water for several minutes then allowing it to cool. Luckily, it it very easy to buy the ready made stuff these days.
Now, place one of the large (size varies for the size of case) bars of your favourite chocolate in a bowl and melt it by placing the bowl over another pan of boiling water. Be careful not to burn the chocolate. Once melted add the caramel and mix well, then pour into the pastry case. You should cover the bottom half of the case, but leave room for the peanut butter.
While you are waiting for the caramel to cool and set, call dibs on licking the spoon and bowl clean. (Do this before washing up for many obvious reasons).
Then melt the other bar of chocolate and add enough peanut butter to fill the rest of the pastry case. Mix in the candy coated sweets for structural integrity. Then decant into the case and leave to set (again). Once cool, place in fridge to chill. Once again be sure to call dibs on the spoon and bowl.
Serve with whipped cream or cold custard.
Clarumcoma Must Die (again)!
A Fisher And The Bears Adventure
T.E. Hodden
Prologue
'63:
It was a bitter winters morning. Eternity was being beaten by both the sea and the rain, as the storm overwhelmed the drains, crashed dirty brown waves over the sea wall and overwhelmed the drains and gutters. The hillside streets ran like rivers. PC Thirty Six, Jonah Brown, wrapped his oilskin around himself and continued his walk along the highest point of the town. He was a young man, too young to have been in the war, fresh faced and bright eyed. He did not like being a policeman. He was sure he was destined for better things. All he needed was a chance. He knew that much. A chance to shine. A crime worthy of his attentions. Not the grubby little fights between mods and rockers down by Eternity Pier, or the turgid little muggings, robberies or grimy family feuds that were the bread and butter of police work in a small town. He needed a murder, a mystery, a sign that he should be more than a PC.
He was an educated man after all. If the world still worked how it should he would have stepped out of his national service and been given a desk somewhere from which he could command policemen. But now the forces all promoted from within, no longer were majors, good souls, or men with the right school tie handed a police force to run as a talented amateur.
But life had not turned out that way for PC Thirty Six. No university, no Public School Tie, no fast track. No hope.
Then it happened. There was a blaze of white light in the middle of the duck pond, turning the water to steam and sending the ducks into the sky. The ball of fire opened to reveal a figure. It was average height, average build, and completely twisted and shrivelled by the fresh burns that covered its body. There was a huge red crystal embedded in the charred torso of the naked figure, or at least a crystal that might have been red before it blackened and charred. The flesh was all pink and livid. It's skull like mouth was open in a rasping, mewing, terrible scream.
“Oroboros.” The figure whispered. As it staggered through the rain steam and smoke billowed from it. It pressed a finger to PC Jonah Brown's chest. It left a slimy finger print on the badge. “November Twenty Third. Nineteen sixty three.” It cackled. “JFK dead. You.” It scowled, then laughed. “You. Oroboros.”
“What?” Jonah asked. The figure was right. It was November Twenty Third. It was nineteen sixty three. Everything else seemed to be mindless ramblings. But suddenly the figure reached up and touched his head and BOOM! A thought exploded into his mind. A memory so sharp and so vivid that Jonah was sure he had lived it himself. He saw... A city. But not any city he knew. A city of tall glass towers and impossible televisions full of colour and life. Of people swiping their fingers over hand held televisions that they held to their ear and spoke into like a telephone. A London that ground to a halt and looked up at a sky that was turning blood red and filling with clouds of fire. A vast shadowy shape, a giant form of bat wings, razor sharp horns and a mouth full of jagged teeth. A form that ready to burn the city, all cities from the face of the Earth.
Hell, or something very like it, had broken open and this primordial horror was claiming the world as his own.
As instantly as it had come the memory was gone. The burned and shrivelled ghoul burst into near manical laughter as he held something up to the light. It was a gem stone, a blood red ruby like the one in his own chest, but as thin and jagged as a dagger. His eyes widened and in a horrible instant Jonah knew what was about to happen. He swatted at the crystal as it slashed downwards, but the stabbing motion swept the hands aside as the crystal blade plunged between Jonah's ribs and lodged fast in his heart. That it did not kill him instantly surprised Jonah, but it did not seem to surprise the ghoul, who dropped to his knees, then laughing softly gave the choke of a death rattle.
Jonah stared at the crystal in his chest. He could feel it sprouting roots that burrowed into him, worming into his muscles, nerves, bones and veins. It pulsed with an orange light. Jonah tried to scream, but the words caught into a throat as he collapsed into the rain sodden grass.
His former life was ending and all his dreams were about to come true.
*
Today:
The woman was scrawny and ageless. She stumbled through the car park in the blazing heat of a dry summer morning. Somewhere behind her were mountains clad in grey rock and olive coloured scrub and grass. The air was dry and sapped what little strength she had left from her body. Yet she still shivered as she walked, barefoot, her plain white vest and underpants clinging to her, dripping seawater behind her. Her skin was as pale as ivory and her hair so blonde it was platinum white. Unnaturally blonde. Her lips wer
e pale, her eyes pink like a rabbits. Her sodden footprints crossed the battered surface of the car park.
She did not recognise the name of the supermarket. Nor could she place where she was. In a waking dream she shuffled through the aisles, sniffing the air and touching the products on the shelves. Sometimes she looked down at the silver haired bear who walked at her side, wrapped in a colourful beach towel.
“France.” She said quietly. “Somewhere near the middle judging by the mountains.” She picked up a jar of apple dessert and squinted at it, checking the sell by date. “Not too far astray, all things considered.” The bear nodded. “Where were we?” She rubbed the side of her head. “Not too far astray from where? To where?”
The bear mimed something. A sideways eight.
“No. That is infinity. Not Eternity.” She giggled and punched the air. “Yes! Eternity!” She paused and made sure not to look at the security guards closing around her. She instead looked at the tattoo on her wrist. Bands of dark blue. Some thick, some thin. She watched the shoppers at the bar code scanners, swiping products to check their price or to see if more were in stock. Still dripping brine and seawater on the floor she shuffled over, pushed her way to the front of the queue. She swiped her wrist across the red light.
The screen of the device flashed with a shrill beeping. Then it went black. Around her the lights of the stores flickered and died. The tills stopped working. The fridges and freezers died. The security men looked at their radios and flash lights in confusion.
“It's dead.” The white bear whispered.
“And if we don't get to Eternity, so is everything else.” The woman agreed. She fell to her knees and gave out a scream that was like the sound of glass cracking as she clawed at her head, trying to reach something that blazed with an orange red light at the base of her skull.
Her eyes glowed the colour of hell fire. “I have to get to Eternity.” She said at last. “I have to kill Fisher King. Or everything dies. Everything dies!”
*
The screen flickered as the video spluttered to life. The image resolved itself into the face of an autumn coloured bear with a striped pattern on her snout, wide friendly eyes and bright coloured anorak. She fiddled with the camera a little, then sat back on her bed and grinned. She was a small bear, standing waist height on an adult human, with a button shaped nose and paws that constantly drummed a nervous beat on any surface that was available.
“Right!” Tiger reported happily. “So. Where to begin. Here in Eternity us bears live in an old hotel in the care of a guy called Fisher. He is a nice guy but he doesn't have much luck. Not good luck anyway. So, his great great great great- something- grandfather was a knight who got in a bit of trouble with somebody from the Other Side. Long and short he got cursed, and all his descendants got cursed and have to look after all the magic weird stuff that pops over here. Like me. Or ghosts. Or things that go bump in the night. For a while we had a ghost called Doreen, but there was some issues with a Demon, and Doreen got killed. Double killed. Which is bad as I think she and Fisher were kind of in love. Proper adult romantic film love. But the thing is, just to hurt his feelings, the demon has made sure Fisher isn't allowed to forget her. Ever. He keeps seeing her in the mirror. We aren't meant to know that. Mrs Sussex works for Fisher keeping the hotel in order and by day most of us bears work on the Pier at the little theatre.” She grinned. “So, er, that is up to date.” She stood, then sat down again. “Mrs Sussex has a dad called Clarumcoma, except that isn't his real name, and we are not meant to know that, as nobody is meant to know who he is. Which we don't, we just know he made up a name.” She sighed. “This is complicated. Maybe I should just film Ginger falling down the stairs again... The demon was the nastiest kind. He wanted to hurt a lot of people and we all stopped him. It was epic. So he wanted to make sure Fish never got to fall in love again. He has made sure Fish can never forget Doreen and it is... Well...”
The screen blipped. Gone was the bedroom with the pastel shades, the dog eared posters of old horror films, the shelves covered in models of motorbikes and mopeds, and Tiger. Lurching up from nowhere was a view from the top of the grand staircase at the heart of the hotel. The landing at the top of the stairs was wide and had doors to bedrooms down one side. Bears stood in the doors of the rooms, they stood in the landing, they stood on the various landings all the way down to the wide mouth of the stairs in the lobby. Between the bedroom doors were framed mirrors each with photos and message notes tucked around the frame. An orange-brown bear the colour of rust dressed in a smart black jumper and sturdy sensible trousers, with a red towel tied over his shoulders like a cape was stood on a chair leaning against the polished brass bannister.
“The Ginger Flame!” Ginger yelled dramatically at the camera. “The Ginger Flame takes the risks you are warned about so you know why they are bad ideas!”
“Yay!” Said many of the bears.
“What?” Tiger asked from behind the camera.
“I... Er... The Ginger Flame does things so you don't have to. All the naughty things boys and girls are warned about so that they can see why they are stupid ideas.” Ginger adjusted his helmet, a bright red American football helmet. He strapped it down. “And I look darned good doing it!”
“So, you are going to do silly stunts that would get a kid hurt, knowing you are bear and wont be hurt as easily, because...Er....” Tiger paused. “You know that if you do this there is a very good chance that kids who watch these videos will copy you?”
“Of course not!” Ginger put his hands on his hips. “You would have to be an absolute idiot to try something like this!” He declared proudly, with excessive bravado in his tone.
“Yes.” Tiger agreed.
“Now,” The Ginger Flame looked at a piece of paper in his paw. “Amy Blackfriar writes in and asks why her mummy does not like her sliding down a bannister backwards.” He hopped onto the bannister straddling it. Before he could say anything else Tiger reached into frame to shove him. Not hard, just enough for him to slip over the incline and into the grip of gravity. He let out a wordless yelp that was stretched and twisted by the Doppler effect as he flew down the polished rail with a whoosh.
They yelp came to a sudden jarring stop as he flew from the end of the bannister and left a bear shaped impression in one of the marble pillars in the lobby. Tiger turned the camera to show her face as she rolled her eyes.
“And that is how stupid you would look, if you slid down a bannister.” Tiger said with a sigh. She shook her head and went to turn off the camera. Over her shoulder was a framed mirror, one of many that decorated the wall. Photos of the bears from many different holidays decorated the frame, and it reflected much of the hall. If you looked hard enough at that part of the screen, if you squinted just right, you might have seen a pale figure in the reflection. Faint and delicate, barely there at all, it was a tall woman with a mane of hair that, had it shone, might have shone in all the colours of autumn.
But nobody noticed the ghost.
Nobody noticed Doreen Grey.
They were too busy watching Ginger as he peeled himself from the pillar. He dusted himself down, turned to give the camera a pair of thumbs up and promptly fell into a sagging heap. His helmet broke apart and the shards of plastic and ceramic fell like rain around him.
The screen flickered and changed once more. First to a few seconds of bears in the garden dancing, then back to the same bed room. Tiger grinned into the camera and sat on her bed hunching forwards as though she was about to tell you a secret.
“So what else do you need to know? Well, obviously there is magic. Real magic. Like faeries and demons and ghosts. Our world, this one, is Here. The Other World is sometimes called There. The thing is, that curse that Fisher has, that all his ancestors have had since the Crusades, means that things from There that end up Here tend to be attracted to Fisher like bees to pollen. Every now and then the Old King Of the Other-Folk will give Fisher jobs. Little things to do. But when he isn
't looking after us he is usually doing an exorcism or something.” She grinned. “What ever else life for us is, it is very rarely quiet or dull.”
From somewhere out of frame there was a loud noise. It sounded very much like a bear falling from great height, letting out a scream of “The Gingerrrrrrrrrr Flaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame!” Or at least until the floor interrupted the scream. It was followed by an 'Urgh!' noise.
“More later.” Tiger said, turning off the camera.
The screen stayed black for just a second. Then the picture resolved itself into a night time shot of the swimming pool. Mrs Sussex was happily asleep on the sun lounger, her back to the vast windows that looked out over the garden. The night beyond the window had a deep red sky and sea of stars that made way for am ominous moon. Around the edge of the pool were the bears. All of them dressed in their pyjamas and all armed with a candle in a safety lantern. They were humming softly, the lights of their lanterns reflected in the cool blue of the water.
One of the bears, Wendy, was wrapped in a hoody far too large for her, holding it together at her chest like a ceremonial robe. She was stood on large foam float, one of the many the bears used as toys in the pool, riding it like a raft to the centre of the water.
“Oh Ancestor Bears, hear our cries, one of our own was taken before her time.” Wendy spoke like others would sing. The pitch and cadence of the humming seemed to change to fit her tone. “She were a ghost, forever young, but her life with us was just begun. Her identity in life was sadly hidden, when her first murder was unwisely bidden. Now her true name is forever disguised, and her peace and happiness has been denied. Ancestor Bears, Ancestor Bears, answer my call, is there anything you can tell us at all?”
There was a moment of silence, then as one all the flames on all the candles turned blood red. Wendy tilted her head back and gave a surprised cry. She did not fall in the water, but her float started to spin and pitch as it moved in the water almost like a jet ski. Splashed, wet and soggy Wendy clung for real life, then all went still. Whoever was holding the camera turned the lights back up.