Ghosts of Punktown
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GHOSTS OF PUNKTOWN
A Collection by
JEFFREY THOMAS
Dark Regions Press 2014
Table of Contents
Introduction: A Taste of Punktown
In His Sights
Relics
A Semblance of Life
Bitter Brains
Disfigured
Imp
The Room
Into My Arms
Life Work
* Another Ghost – Signed Hardcover Exclusive
Ghosts of Punktown
Jeffrey Thomas
Antics and Mechanical Frolic (Cover artwork)
Copyright 2008 by Kris Kuksi
Introduction: A Taste of Punktown Copyright 2014
In His Sights Copyright 2007
Relics Copyright 2014
A Semblance of Life Copyright 2010
Bitter Brains Copyright 2009
Disfigured Copyright 1999
Imp Copyright 2014
The Room Copyright 2010
Into My Arms Copyright 2014
Life Work Copyright 2014
Cover Design by Irina Summer
Editor and Publisher, Chris Morey
Line Editor, Bobbi Morey
Concept and Inception, Joe Morey
Dark Regions Press, LLC
6635 N. Baltimore Ave. STE 241
Portland, OR 97203
United States
DarkRegions.com
Introduction: A Taste of Punktown
1: Why Ghosts?
The theme of this introduction is Food and Spirits. First the Spirits. But why are we discussing ghosts in a collection of stories set in a far future milieu?
A few words about that milieu. Punktown…that city on the planet Oasis, built by colonists from Earth upon a small town belonging to the indigenous people, the Choom. Punktown, famous for its mix of races from other worlds, even other dimensions – and infamous for its high level of crime.
Previously I’ve explored this fantastical metropolis in my collections Punktown, Punktown: Shades of Grey (coauthored by my brother Scott Thomas), Punktown: Third Eye (a shared world anthology, actually) and Voices from Punktown. And then there have been the novels set in Punktown: Health Agent, Blue War, Deadstock, Everybody Scream! and Monstrocity.
Though largely science fictional in setting and in their accouterments, many of my Punktown tales have been flat-out horror stories. And some of those horrors could be considered supernatural in nature. But the ghosts collected here are actually more metaphorical. I didn’t intentionally set out to make so many of my more recent Punktown stories feature a metaphorical ghost, but I do know I was in a particularly haunted state of mind during their writing – a time of much upheaval and personal loss. Whatever their genesis, there is a whole menagerie of unhappy spirits present at this little séance:
The ghost of an enemy soldier, manifested in another man’s flesh (In His Sights). A ghost in the machine (Relics). Ghosts of ancient history, of tradition, of culture (A Semblance of Life, Bitter Brains). A holographic ghost (Imp). A ghost outside time and space (The Room). The haunting ghosts of memory (Into My Arms). A plant ghost (Life Work), and a ghost of one’s former self (Huck, also in Life Work).
Now, a few further words to introduce the stories herein.
In His Sights features Jeremy Stake, the protagonist of my novels Deadstock and Blue War, ten years before the events in those books, and before he became a private detective. I’m proud to relate that in Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine, reviewer James Sallis (author of Drive) said this story was “beautifully written,” its ending “powerful.”
Relics was in part inspired by a large project combining condominiums and a strip mall that I watched go up near my house, while I was in the process of losing my house. The inception and dissolution of things.
A Semblance of Life features one of the race of clone soldiers I created for Deadstock, who fought alongside Jeremy Stake in the Blue War. It is restored here from its much adulterated first appearance.
Bitter Brains is the new name for one of the stories written for the Ministry of Whimsy anthology Last Drink Bird Head, in which every author’s story bore that title and had to utilize that phrase somehow. My story as it appeared in the anthology was by necessity almost two hundred words shorter even than this short tale.
Disfigured has vexed me for some time, as I have repeatedly considered whether or not to include it in a Punktown collection. It wasn’t written as a Punktown story, just as a weird science fiction tale on its own, but I feel I must finally give in and include it here. For one, I like it a lot, but I do think it fits in with the bizarre fads and cultures at work in Punktown.
Imp was written as part of a surprise anthology that was put together as a tribute to Larry Roberts, of Bloodletting Press, by a number of authors whom he has published (the ringleader of this project being David Niall Wilson). Only one copy of the book, First Cuts, was produced (but a beautiful thing it was!), so it’s safe to say this is the story’s first appearance. It is perhaps my most disturbing Punktown story, but one of my favorites as well.
The Room has nothing to do with the movie directed by and starring the multitalented Tommy Wiseau. Rather, it was inspired by the song Candy’s Room, by one of my longtime favorite musical artists, Bruce Springsteen, as part of the anthology Darkness on the Edge: Tales Inspired by the Songs of Bruce Springsteen. As I said in my bio for that book: “What I wanted to get across was this song's approach to love: urgent and immediate, but mixed with promises that it's something that will endure forever. The lines about that love revealing secret worlds -- however dangerous they might prove to be, this being a horror story -- are what ultimately cemented it as my choice. A note: I was happy to sneak in Del Kahn, the protagonist of my "Punktown" novel Everybody Scream!, for whom Bruce Springsteen was partly the inspiration. Frankie Dystopia, on the other hand, is based on Elvis Costello, and he'll have to wait for his own anthology.” While we wait for an Elvis Costello anthology, there is the matter of Nick Cave…
Into My Arms was originally written for a similarly-themed anthology, Up Jumped the Devil: Stories Inspired by the Work of Nick Cave, a project that tragically the publisher canceled due to the “economic climate.” For this would-be anthology I had selected the song Into My Arms to work from, but I also took my inspiration from other songs on the beautiful and haunting CD The Boatman’s Call. Originally, each chapter was titled with a line from one of the songs on this CD, but I thought it prudent to avoid legal issues with its appearance here, and have omitted them. The writing of this story turned out to be a long, difficult process for me, as I addressed some painful issues that were inspired by my own experiences as well.
Life Work, my first Punktown novella, is dedicated to my dear friend Fumiko, who provided the spark for this story by teaching me the distinction between “life work” and “rice work.” Thanks for all your tender, healing vibes, Fumiko! Life Work is also for indie filmmaker Nicolas Huck and author Sabina Marr – two of the coolest friends I’ve met through that alternate reality known as Facebook.
As I mentioned discussing Into My Arms, and the unconscious theme that runs throughout this book, even my most fantastical work often draws upon my own feelings and experiences. But then, all my Punktown stories are based on my experiences -- aren’t they? -- as I’ve now visited there so many times. And one of my favorite things to do in Punktown is…eat. So for those of you who have not traveled to this far city as often as I have, I think it would be a nice idea this time around to share some of my knowledge with you, as a sort of miniature guide – so as to give ourselves a little break from all that darkness and nastiness. Shall we?
* * *
2: Pun
ktown: A Gastronomical Sampler
Naturally, the foodstuffs Punktown offers are as diverse as the beings that cook and consume them. And because so many wildly different types of humanoid and nonhumanoid races inhabit the city, no single tribe would care to sample every available cuisine; indeed, one man’s meat is another man’s poison. For instance, there is a creature rather like a cross between a foot-long black cricket and a spiny sea urchin that I’m told is the greatest delicacy a Dacvibese could find upon his plate – but the gray meat within its spiny shell has been known to make more than one unsuspecting human vomit torrents of blood. As it is authored by a human, this very brief guide is geared mostly toward the human explorer (and please don’t bombard the publisher with letters; no prejudice is intended, I assure you!), so in the listing below of some of my favorite eating establishments about town, we will limit ourselves to those that never made me vomit torrents of blood.
BLUE PANDA serves up that junky interpretation of Chinese food that Chinese feed nonChinese, the kind that tastes good washed down with junky beer like Zub, Nickerson or Clemens Light, while listening to people who have drunk too much of the aforementioned brews humiliate themselves at karaoke. If truly good Asian food is your craving (and they have karaoke on Friday night, too), you should instead venture to Pho Paxton -- see below. (See Purple Wings in Punktown: Shades of Grey.)
BURGERZONE is a guilty pleasure; this chain serves up the best junk burgers in Punktown, not to mention their delectably greasy and salty dilkies. The dilky root is the staple food of the native Choom race -- and like many of the tough-fleshed roots and vegetables that form their diet, the reason for the evolution of their wide, heavy jaws. But along came colonists who daringly cooked these roots, and voila, a wildly popular snack for Earther and Choom alike! As the BurgerZone VT jingle goes, “Let’s go grab a burger, a Fishsand and some fries! An extra-large bag of dilkies and a Choc-o-late Surprise!” (See Purple Wings in Punktown: Shades of Grey.)
CAFÉ QUAY on Morpha Street has an artistic atmosphere that greatly appeals to me, and instead of being limited to one ethnic type, its menu ambitiously encompasses the cuisine of as many races of beings as its kitchen can conjure. In this way, Café Quay is as close to a true representation of Punktown as any restaurant could aspire to be. Hung upon the sensuously velvety brown walls in copper frames are moody, often eerie black and white photographs of discarded baby dolls and derelict factory machines, sometimes in disturbing combinations. Again, this mix of beauty and decay captures the essence of the city, for me. At a touch from one’s fingers, the menu scrolls in glowing white letters across the black tabletop, and one can also in this way check out the play-list of the music piped through the sound system. The music menu is as varied as the food! Try some scrumptious Kodju stir-fry, or how about some glebbi, a huge Kalian lizard; it’s surely not for every palate, but I think it’s interesting in small doses. After dinner, sip a hot mustard drink, an old Choom favorite. Ah, Café Quay – highly recommended. (See Monstrocity.)
EL BASHA is my preferred source for Middle Eastern dining, and I must always order my favorite dish on the menu, falafel. I once sat at the next table over from Triad crime lord Ng Yueh-sheng, who was also a loyal patron of this establishment, mere weeks before a rival gang’s bomb blew him to pieces smaller than the diced tomatoes in a tabouleh salad. But don’t worry, it didn’t happen in El Basha. Get thee there, and enjoy! (See Precious Metal in Punktown.)
PHO PAXTON, in the neighborhood dubbed Willow Tree – after a great shaggy tree of that type dominating a traffic island in the vicinity – offers the best Vietnamese cuisine that I have encountered in the city. More importantly, my wife Hong considers it to be Punktown’s best Vietnamese restaurant as well, and since she herself is Vietnamese, her opinion carries weight with me. It’s a smallish place, located at street level in a somewhat worn brick building in the old Choom style, but don’t let the looks fool you; the fare is colorful, vibrant, delicious. One must, of course, try the house specialty: pho bo, or beef noodle soup (pho pronounced roughly as “fur”). It is the quintessential Vietnamese dish. Another favorite of mine is banh xeo, a kind of stuffed crepe. I am also extremely fond of banh mi, the Vietnamese equivalent of a submarine sandwich, but this is fast food and I suggest you head over to the Dalat Sandwich Stop on nearby Meter Street for that treat. But even more heavenly to me than Vietnamese food is Vietnamese coffee (ca phe). It is served in a glass topped by a little metal filter cup, and your saliva will drop in synch with the teasingly slow drip of those savory dark beads. Want it cold? Have ice put in the glass. Hot or cold, I like it best with a thick layer of sweetened condensed milk at the bottom. My wife knows I could subsist on her kisses and ca phe alone, and thus accommodates me in abundance, but when we were first married she was also constantly plying me with tom and ruou. As this is Oasis, not the old Earth that spawned these recipes, sometimes adjustments have to be made. Tom are shrimp, yet in Punktown the Vietnamese often use in their dishes a local breed of crustacean like a very large prawn but with eight weirdly human-shaped feet. Ruou, or specifically ruou can, is rice wine. When shrimp and wine were all but oozing out of my ears, my new bride finally admitted to me that these items were good for ong xa’s (husband’s) “baby.” And whatever is good for ong xa’s “baby” is in turn good for ba xa’s (wife’s) “baby” as well, obviously. But Oasis’ human-footed shrimp can impart properties even beyond the aphrodisiacal. A cousin to the breed used by Vietnamese cooks is used by drug peddlers as the main ingredient in the hallucinogenic nicknamed “kaleidoscopes.” Because these breeds are such close cousins, a local restaurant that shall remain nameless once made a grave mix-up that caused their patrons to imagine such things as the “shrimp” running off the tables on eight little sneaker-clad feet, and the meat on their plates lifting its head and making barking sounds (yes, back on Earth man’s best friend is known to appear in the Vietnamese diet – one must eat what is at hand – but in this city I’ve only seen dog sold as a comestible in the neighborhood of Luzon, and however adventurous my palate may be, dog is something I avoid like I avoid gray-fleshed cricket urchins). In any case, fines were slapped, the restaurant remained in business, and the customers returned to their senses – some of them possibly hoping, in vain, for a second helping.
QUIDD’S MARKET in the upscale neighborhood of Beaumonde Square is not a restaurant, but more of a mall of food. It is a titanic cornucopia, contained within an extensive brick structure in the pre-colonial Choom style, with a majestic central rotunda. Quidd’s is thronged with people, and thronged with food stalls and edible offerings that put even the diverse menu of Café Quay to shame. Indeed, I don’t think there’s another spot in town that in one place offers such a wide collection of foodstuffs. It is a museum of victuals! I have never gone there without wondering at some point what the hell I was looking at – and if I was particularly brave that day, what the hell I was eating. But no matter how many types of food I gorge myself on there, I always follow it up with a cup of ice cream. And don’t even get me started on the assortment of ice cream! (See Deadstock and Health Agent.)
J. J. REDHOOK’S CRAB CABIN serves another sort of local crustacean, this being a large white critter more like a silverfish despite its popular name of “white-crab.” Mr. Redhook’s stilt-legged “cabin” extends partway over the old cooling basin of a discontinued plastic company, and in the waters of said basin Mr. Redhook not only breeds the white-crabs, but a kind of weed that when cooked up resembles noodles (but it has nothing on the rice noodles use in pho, believe me). A nice little place, but the coffee is nothing to write home about, either. Once, when driving my wheeled vehicle along the highway a short distance from this establishment, I ran over something crunchy and stopped to have a look. The white-crabs might not have human feet, but I found that they do occasionally escape from their artificial pond to do a bit of exploration. (See The Palace of Nothingness in Punktown.)
ZEBO’S SAUCER is located within the grounds o
f the annual Paxton Fair, though in recent years its owner – a small, huge-eyed being named Zebo – is known to move this mobile diner down to the warmer climes of the Outback Colony during the winter. Rumors are that the saucer-shaped diner is in fact the spacecraft it appears to be. Indeed, framed upon its walls are blurry photographs Zebo claims were taken of his craft (later appearing in books and magazines) as long ago as the 20th Century, when he was supposedly part of an interstellar exploration team. The menu consists of comfort foods – but comfort foods of a fair variety of planets, from Earthly burgers to the bland porridges favored by Zebo’s race. I like the place a lot, and Zebo is a great guy, but I often get the uneasy feeling that he’s...observing me, even jotting notes in the pad he uses to take orders...as if maybe he hasn’t stopped doing his research on the human race, after all, this diner business merely a facade. But a tasty facade it is. (See Everybody Scream!.)