6 Fantasy Stories

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  I turned to Lady Crenshaw at my side and leaned close, speaking into her ear. "What are they saying? I don't understand a word of it."

  "You wouldn't, would you?" Lady Crenshaw raised one eyebrow and looked at me with a considering gaze. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision, and her expression softened. "Lingua femme, we call it. The language of women. A way for women to communicate no matter where they come from or what the dominant language of their homeland might be."

  I scowled at her, taking it all in. "This lingua femme...you've known of it all along?"

  Her smirk had a trace of playfulness around the edges. "Among other things, darling."

  My mind was working overtime as things started falling into place. I was afraid to ask the next question that occurred to me, afraid to hear the answer from her lips. "Undine." A bitter chill pervaded my body. Cold sweat trickled between my shoulder blades and down my back between the corset and my skin. "Have you been to this place before?"

  Lady Crenshaw giggled. "Now, darling." She hooked her arm around my elbow and led me toward the crowd. "How many times have I told you about asking questions when you already know what the answers will be?"

  *****

  I did not resist as Lady Crenshaw pulled me forward. I was, of course, concerned that Bess would find me out, but a part of me actually hoped that she would. I felt in need of another ally against this army; Bess might be a part of it, but I still held out hope that she would take my side when my true identity was exposed.

  As we drew near to Bess and Mrs. Whitaker-Bunyan, the speaker on the central dais began to sing an eerie, keening song. The strange music that had been playing through the cavern rose in pitch and tempo to match her, and the army of women sang along.

  As the priestess on the dais (for that was what she seemed to me, a priestess invoking an ancient rite) raised up her arms, so did every woman in the cavern except for Lady Crenshaw. The singing grew higher and faster with each passing second.

  "What on Earth are they doing?" I had to shout for Lady Crenshaw to hear me. "Some kind of incantation?"

  Lady Crenshaw didn't answer. As we reached the crowd, she too raised her arms and sang along with the priestess.

  The red light in the cavern pulsated like pumping blood, growing alternately brighter and darker. Above the priestess, the air swirled with thickening pink mist.

  "Undine!" I shook her by the shoulder. "What's happening?" But she ignored me.

  Suddenly, the swirling mist above the priestess compressed, snapping into a solid form. It was a form I knew well, one that had been foremost in my mind since the day I'd caught my wife coming home late from the market.

  It was the same elongated eyeball mounted inside a pyramid-shaped Egyptian symbol as the one that had hung from the silver pendant Bess had tried to conceal. Instead of silver, it looked as if it had been shaped from rippling red plasma, coursing with crackling tongues of energy.

  And as I watched, I saw it blink. A lid of scarlet flame swept down and back up within the triangle.

  It was then I realized, with a sickening lurch, that this eye belonged to something alive. Something that was gazing down at us all from somewhere else.

  Something, I could have sworn, that possessed an intelligence most malevolent.

  Why weren't the women in the least bit alarmed? Was I the only one in this vast underground vault who perceived the potential for danger?

  "Undine!" With increased urgency, I grabbed Lady Crenshaw's arms and shook her hard. "I need you!"

  It was enough to draw her attention and make her stop singing. "Whatever for?"

  Suddenly, a great shrieking cry emanated from the hovering eyeball, so loud and so shrill it set my teeth on edge. Another followed, even louder, even shriller.

  The piercing shrieks sent me reeling in a circle with hands clapped over my ears. "God save us!" I saw my wife turn and frown as I cried out, doubled over in pain. "What's happening?"

  Lady Crenshaw crouched in front of me and took my head in her hands. "Quid pro quo, darling."

  I gazed at her through tear-filled eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You're a very lucky boy, Algie," said Lady Crenshaw. "You get to witness the start of a new era."

  *****

  The fiery eyeball swiveled in its pyramid socket, and the red light in the cavern pulsated faster. The army of women from all corners of the globe danced with increasing abandon, wailing an otherworldly song in twisted counterpoint with the eyeball's ear-splitting shrieks.

  Only Lady Crenshaw and I remained still at the fringe of the frenzy...and Bess, too, who was suddenly quite interested in watching us both.

  "You should be happy for us." Lady Crenshaw smiled. She still held my head in her hands. "We are free at last."

  I felt dizzy. Was it the shrieking, the incense, the pulsating light? "Free of what, exactly?"

  "Think for a moment," said Lady Crenshaw. "If you were truly a woman, what one thing would you most desire to rid yourself of? What one part of your life would make it least worth living?"

  "Corsets?" I was having trouble organizing my thoughts. "High heels?"

  Lady Crenshaw shook her head. "One great burden has darkened the lives of women since the beginning of time, shadowing our every moment of existence." She leaned close and kissed me on the forehead. "The pain of childbirth, of course."

  The shrieking rose in intensity. The red light flashed faster, ever faster, until it created a strobing effect.

  Lady Crenshaw's face flickered like something out of a nightmare. "We have only ever had two options: bear the pain for the good of the human race or forego the pain and stop producing children.

  "But now, we have negotiated a third option." Lady Crenshaw smiled. "We have introduced a third category of 'parent' who will change the equation."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bess lean down to stare at me, her image stuttering in the strobing red light. She cocked her head to one side, and her frown deepened with fascination.

  Lady Crenshaw kept my own head fastened between her hands as she spun out her tale. "Think of them as gods, darling, from elsewhere. A level up and over, if you will." Her eyes widened with feverish enthusiasm. "Becoming as one with us, they will infuse our systems with divine energies. Thus united, we shall possess the power to remove the agony from the childbirth process.

  "We will still feign it for the benefit of your kind, of course." A look of disdain flickered across her face. "Mustn't let the men know our suffering has diminished. Not that keeping you in the dark is much of a challenge, is it?" Her laughter was cruel. "For all your vaunted skill as a wanderer and puzzleventurer, have you ever guessed that the members of the 'fair sex' are the true masters of the world?"

  More of her cruel laughter rained down upon me. As I stared at her, I wondered if she'd been like this the whole time I'd been with her. If she'd always nursed this secret loathing even as the two of us had nurtured our covert romance. Had she ever felt love toward me?

  Perhaps I could still appeal to her sense of reason. "Bonding yourself to these creatures from beyond. What's to stop them from assuming complete control of you?"

  "We have a deal." Lady Crenshaw nodded smugly.

  "What if this foothold is the precursor to a full invasion? What if you're opening the door to the end of the world?"

  Lady Crenshaw's eyes narrowed. "It will be worth it."

  The shrieking of the god-thing and the women continued to grow louder. The strobing of the red light picked up speed. If the deal were about to be consummated, I had a sense my time to thwart it was swiftly expiring.

  I decided to try one last appeal. Pulling my head free of Lady Crenshaw's hands, I grabbed her wrists and locked them in an iron grip. "What about the children, damn you? Have you stopped to think how this will affect them?"

  Lady Crenshaw shrugged. "There may be added...permutations. A darkness, I'm told. A slight shadow on the souls of future generations.

  "But hones
tly, what can it hurt? If anything, it may strengthen our descendants for the challenges of the 20 Century. We can hardly do worse than the 19, can we?"

  I felt a sudden surge of clarity and self-righteous rage. "What you're proposing is unnatural." I shook her by the wrists in the strobing light, giving rein to my indignation and horror. "We must call a halt to this wicked transaction!"

  Just then, a single hand fluttered down like an autumn leaf and landed on my forearm. Shooting a glance in the direction from whence it had come, I saw my wife looking back at me.

  The expression on her face was one I had not seen there before: deep sadness entwined with unyielding firmness like ivy on a wall. The aspect that made the strongest impression, however, was what was missing. Perhaps it was the flickering of the red light distorting her features, concealing what I thought should be there...but I could see no trace of it.

  No trace of affection in her gaze when she looked at me. Had it ever been there at all, in all the days and nights I'd known her? Thinking back, I couldn't be sure.

  Or had I willed it there, as I'd willed all good things in my life into being? As she and these thousands upon thousands of women had willed a new destiny for their sex?

  Bess gazed at me in my wig and makeup, my dress and corset and bloomers, and squeezed my arm. I would have liked to have seen a smile on her face, but she gave me none of that. Recognition only, and resignation, and resolution.

  And when she spoke, the words were all the more terrible for the absolute lack of regret in her voice.

  "It's already done, my Algernon," said Bess as the shrieking and strobing and dancing reached a frantic crescendo around us. "Your own child in my womb is among the first fruits of this new arrangement."

  *****

  For the first time since he'd started his story, Sir Hogshead raised the bottle of whisky and downed a great swallow. I watched in amazement as he stood there in his smudged makeup and blue dress, guzzling whisky after relating a tale that was disturbing on so many levels.

  Those of us who were gathered around him in the billiard room of the Wanderers' Club remained silent for a long moment. We were weighed down by the gravity of Sir Hogshead's story, the sheer emotion with which he'd invested that terrible final sequence.

  Yet there he stood, looking ridiculous in that dress, those gloves, those boots. The incongruity was appalling.

  Finally, I took it upon myself to break the silence. "How did you escape, Algernon? Was there a struggle?"

  Sir Hogshead sighed and shook his head. He stared at the whisky bottle in his grip, perhaps gazing at his strangely-attired reflection in the glass. "I walked away. They let me go."

  "That hardly seems likely," said Dr. Yarrow.

  "Didn't you punch a few girls, at least?" said Mr. Asteroth-Phipps. "I rather thought that was what you were leading up to."

  "They said no one would believe me." Sir Hogshead drank the last swallow of whisky and set down the bottle on the rail of the billiard table. "They said it wouldn't matter if anyone did believe me, because it's too late."

  Doctor Yarrow sniffed and straightened his tie. "It does seem a bit far-fetched, old chap."

  "I'd think twice before repeating it outside these walls," said Mr. Ravensthorpe. "You're liable to find yourself institutionalized."

  "Scandalized at least," said Mr. Trimble.

  "Or romanticized," said Mr. Asteroth-Phipps. "Propositioned, even."

  "But the women." Sir Hogshead scowled and raised his trembling, black-gloved hands. "They must be stopped. We have to reverse the contamination, or the legacy of our manhoods will be forfeit."

  "Perhaps the Royal Marines' Occult Brigade could look into this." Stepping forward, I placed a hand on his shoulder, extending simple camaraderie in spite of his bizarrely inappropriate costume. "But if what you've told us is true, it might already be too late to combat this threat."

  Sir Hogshead slumped, staring at the floor for a long moment...then suddenly burst back to vigorous life and shoved me away. "I'll never accept that, Captain Thrice! There must be a way to undo the damage! And I'll find it myself!

  "I can infiltrate their ranks again." He grabbed the folds of his bell-like skirt and shook it dramatically. "I can become one of them whenever I choose. I will disguise myself as a woman as many times as it takes to pry their secrets from them and alter my fate as a father and a man!"

  "Bravo!" said Mr. Asteroth-Phipps. "Such a plan cannot possibly have a drawback!"

  Sir Hogshead scooped his blonde wig from the floor and stomped toward the door. "Gentlemen! If you see me on the street in such a guise..." He spread his arms wide to indicate his corseted, petticoated curves. "...do not be alarmed! And do not give me away! For I shall henceforth dedicate myself to a life undercover, ending only at such time as I have undone the corruption visited upon our family lines by those veritable daughters of the devil!"

  "Worry not! I shan't give you away!" said Mr. Asteroth-Phipps. "But what if I come across you at some time, and without realizing it's you in disguise, I unwittingly accost you?"

  Sir Hogshead cast a steely glare around the room at each one of us in turn. The flicker in his eyes when they settled upon me made me wonder if we had gotten the whole story.

  "Let it be on your conscience," said Sir Hogshead. "Be forewarned, each and every one of you! I will never break cover until this atrocity has been reversed and avenged."

  With that, he whirled and darted off down the hallway. I heard the front door open and close, and then he disappeared into the night as if he'd never been with us at all.

  Leaving us with one final question.

  "Who's going to break these balls?" Mr. Asteroth-Phipps gestured at the unbroken rack of billiard balls on the red felt table. "I was hoping Sir Hogshead would do the honors, but I rather suspect he may have already done his share for one night."

  *****

  Fear of Rain

  By

  Robert T. Jeschonek

  Mr. Flood bangs his fork on the side of his plate, and thunder rumbles outside the restaurant. He winks one watery, sky blue eye at me and peels back his smooth, white lips in a dirty joke smile.

  “Won’t be long now,” he says, his voice a gravelly tenor. “Not long till my retirement party.”

  If you didn’t know better, to look at him, you’d think he was just another little old man hobbling around downtown Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Just another Central Park bench sitting, Social Security check cashing, prescription picking up, stumbling on the curbs, taking too long to cross Main Street old timer. You’d never know the kind of power that boils inside him.

  Maybe you’d see him bang his fork on the plate a second time, and you’d hear the thunder, louder than before, but you wouldn’t connect the two. You wouldn’t realize that he’d made it happen. You wouldn’t know what he was about to do next.

  But I know. I know all about what’s coming.

  It’s the Big Night. He’s wearing his lucky suit for the occasion--a powder blue leisure suit from the ‘70’s with white piping around the collar, lapels, and pockets.

  He’s the closest thing I have to a father, and I’m part of this, too. Tonight’s his retirement party and my graduation party wrapped up in one...though the people of Johnstown will call it something different altogether.

  The ones who survive, anyway.

  “I just hope I’m ready,” I say, picking at the gray, gravy-drowned meat loaf on my own cracked plate. Mr. Flood has wolfed down his turkey dinner like a teenage football star and chased it with a double slice of graham cracker pie, but I’m way too nervous tonight to be hungry.

  “You’re more ready than I was in ’36, Dee,” says Mr. Flood, wagging his chicken hawk head on a neck so wishbone scrawny it looks like it ought to snap in two any second now. “I wasn’t nearly as good a student as you, and look how that turned out! Seventeen feet of water!”

  I shrug and sigh and twist my curly, black hair around my index finger. I know my whole eighteen years o
f life have been leading up to this night, but now that it’s here, I kind of wish that it wasn’t. “Stressed out” doesn’t begin to cover the way I feel.

  You’d be stressed out, too, if you were about to help destroy a city.

  “Now drink up,” says Mr. Flood, refilling my water glass from the pitcher that he had the waitress leave at the table. The ice chips tinkle as he pushes the sweating glass toward me. “It’s almost time.”

  Him and his water drinking, I think, but then I do what I’ve done all my life, which is what he tells me. I already have to pee like crazy, but I still gulp down half the glass.

  I can’t even think about slipping off to the ladies’ room. A full bladder is part of the magic, Mr. Flood always says. Filling yourself with water till you’re ready to explode.

  And then you do the same thing to the sky.

  Mr. Flood refills my glass to the brim, and I roll my eyes, but I have another big drink. He just lifts the whole pitcher to his lips then, and it’s maybe half full, and he chugs it.

  Except for a little bit left in the bottom, which he swishes around a few times and then slowly pours out on the table.

  The water trickles from the rim of the sideways turned pitcher and patters on the sticky, dull wood of the tabletop.

  And at the same moment, the same exact moment, I hear it start to rain outside.

  “One two, buckle my shoe,” says Mr. Flood. “Three four, let it pour.”

  And that’s how it starts. No one will ever know except me and Mr. Flood, but that’s exactly how the whole thing starts.

  The fourth Johnstown Flood.

  “Check, please,” he says to the ragged waitress.

  *****

  Outside, I pop an umbrella, because it’s really coming down, but Mr. Flood takes it away from me.

  “Now who ever heard of a Flood using an umbrella?” he says disgustedly, and then he holds out my umbrella to a passing woman. “Here you go, Miss.”