Blood Ties: A Junkyard Druid Urban Fantasy Short Story Collection (Junkyard Druid Novellas Book 4)

by M. D. Massey

  Derp thought that was an odd thing for a bus driver to say. He wanted to stay on the bus and call the whole thing off—really, he did. But he feared that bailing now would mean being hunted mercilessly by Skinny J and the rest of the goblin clan. He took a deep breath, balling up the top of his puke bag so it wouldn’t splash and spill. Mom’s spaghetti was a lot less tasty coming up than it was going down.

  “Naw, mister, this is really our stop. I mean, this is where we have to go. That’s, um, my uncle down there waiting for us.”

  Skinny J waved at the bus driver. Derp hoped his dark-gray skin and claws would look like gloves in the darkness. The bus driver looked at Skinny J and Kenny, then at Derp, and shrugged.

  “Your call. See ya around, kid.” He watched as Derp stepped off the bus, and to the boy it felt like walking the plank.

  “What took you so long, man?” Kenny looked at his phone. “We’re already late!”

  Skinny J smiled at the boy. “Chill, young playa! I appreciate you is all eager and shit, but we gots all night to rain havoc on this mothafucka.” The goblin turned to Derp, flashing wicked yellow teeth as his smile broadened. “Now, there be my little ninja—whaddup whaddup whaddup, killa?”

  “Hey, Skinny J. Good to see you too.” Derp tried to smile, but his stomach was still in knots. Then he realized he was still carrying his barf bag, so he tossed it in a nearby trash can. “Is everything ready?”

  Skinny J nodded. “I pro-cured us all that shit you assed for, plus a tonna weed and drink. This gonna be lit, yo—muthafuckin’ lit! Now, let’s hustle on down to the venue and shit, so you homies can make it rain muthfuckin’ chedda.”

  The goblin walked off into the woods nearby, which Derp noted were about as dark and foreboding as any he’d ever seen. Derp looked at his friend, and his friend looked back.

  “You ready?” Kenny asked.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s just get this over with,” Derp replied.

  Kenny pulled out a pocket flashlight and lit the way into the forest. By the time they entered the woods, Skinny J was a vague, rapidly retreating shadow in the distance, so the boys hurried to catch up. Every so often, Derp could’ve sworn Jay’s shadow grew, painting a much larger image of the goblin on the trees ahead. The goblin’s shadow morphed occasionally as well, and if Derp hadn’t known any better, he’d have said Skinny J’s dreads looked an awful lot like a jester’s cap in the dark.

  The boy kept his wild imagination to himself, not wanting to insult the goblin or freak his friend out. Soon, Skinny J had led them to their destination—a large rocky outcropping, almost like a low cliff, that jutted up over a depression in the landscape. The goblin pressed on the rough limestone surface, and a section slid back with a low grinding noise. He turned and swept an arm at the entrance, standing aside so the boys could enter.

  “Y’all first and shit, since you be the ringmasters tonight,” he said with a wink. “But watch y’all’s step yo, that first one be a doozy.”

  Kenny walked up to the entrance first, hanging on the side as he shone his flashlight into the dark. “It’s like a funhouse chute—cool!” Kenny jumped in like a kid hitting the water slide at Schlitterbahn. “Wheeeeeee!”

  His friend’s shout of glee trailed off into the darkness below, just as Derp’s stomach sank to his knees. He turned to look at the goblin. “Skinny J, what happens if the goblins lose?”

  “Shee-it, killa! Ain’t gonna be no loss for the goblin clan ta’night. Not wit’ my lil’ ninjas takin’ care a’ bidness.” He slapped Derp on the shoulder, hard enough to sting. “Get on wit’ yo’ bad self—we ’bout ta’ make history, Heavy D!”

  Derp was about to apologize in advance in case he messed things up. But before he could speak the ground beneath his feet gave way, causing him to lose his footing. With a clumsy wave of his arms and a yelp, he tumbled into the tunnel below.

  19

  The chute spat the boys out in a smaller cavern than the one Derp had met Skinny J in a few nights prior. Tunnels branched off in all directions from the small antechamber, but it didn’t take much guesswork to figure out which led to the concert. There was already a steady thump-thump-thumping of a bass line coming from the largest tunnel, and the electronic beat of house music pumping in the background. Every so often, they’d hear a crowd cheer in a chorus of human-sounding voices mixed with various roars, growls, and snarls.

  Oh yeah, that’s definitely the way to the stage, Derp thought.

  “Where’s Skinny J?” Kenny asked.

  “I dunno—he was right behind me, I thought.” Derp looked at the chute they’d just come out of and shrugged. “I guess we’d better get this show on the road, huh?”

  Kenny pursed his lips. “No turning back now. Shit, dude. This is a lot scarier than I thought it’d be.”

  “Underwear inside out?” Derp asked.

  Kenny nodded. “Three layers’ worth.”

  Derp held up four fingers. “I had to wear my stretchy pants.”

  The boys broke out in nervous laughter, shouting “Nacho Libre!” in unison as they bumped fists. Derp sighed and headed down the tunnel.

  Moments later, the boys emerged into a scene from a Salvator Rosa painting on crack. They were in a huge cavern, easily the length and width of a few football fields and half again as tall. It was lit up by flashing lights just like any night club scene or rave, except these lights floated around of their own accord, flaring and changing colors in time with the music. There was a huge stage set up to one side, along with a DJ booth where a tall, pale, willowy figure in white jeans, a white hoodie, white high tops, and dark sunglasses with white frames stood spinning records as she dropped a seriously sick beat. The entire backside of the stage was a wall of speakers two stories high, and the sound coming from them reverberated through Derp’s body, rattling his bones and tickling his throat.

  But that wasn’t the craziest part. The craziest thing about the scene were the people and things on the dance floor.

  There were creatures and figures of all shapes and sizes—small, big, skinny, tall, and everything in-between. There were little faeries who looked like Tinkerbell flying around, except they had really sharp teeth and were eating chunks of raw flesh from their bloody little hands. There were dwarves, goblins, little rat-faced creatures Derp was certain were kobolds, trolls, an ogre, and even a gargoyle perched on a ledge high overhead, watching the entire proceedings. Derp saw a few humans in the crowd as well. At least, he thought they were humans until one hissed at him, flashing long white incisors that glowed in the magic neon blacklight.

  Before they had time to go into a full-on freak-out, someone grabbed them by the arms and started hustling them to the stage. “Now, now, me lads, it wouldn’t do for ye ta’ get eaten by a vampire before the night has even gotten started. The last thing we need is fer Luther ta’ hafta kill one o’ his coven just because you two tempted the poor bloodsucker beyond all hope o’ self-control.”

  Derp looked over at the person who’d latched onto his arm. “Click! Man, am I glad to see you.”

  “I kin imagine, as you two boys looked like a pair o’ deer in headlights. But, no time fer gawkin’! Ye have a show ta’ run, and it’s time ta’ be getting it started.” The youthful magician walked them to a set of steps that led up to the stage. He released their arms, then gently nudged them toward the stairs. “Go on, now—the microphone’s right there at center stage. Introduce yerselves, then announce that the show’s aboot ta’ begin. The acts’ll take it from there. Go on, laddies! Fame, fortune, and a one hell of a fracas await!”

  Derp swallowed a rising tide of bile, then took that first intimidating step. After that, it was as if something else took over, like his feet were on autopilot. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the mic with Kenny beside him.

  The music came to a grinding halt, then all eyes in the room were upon them.

  “Is this thing on?” Kenny tapped the mic, causing it to squelch. Derp gave him a loo
k that could curdle milk. “Geez, I was just checking! It’s your show, dude. Have at it,” he said as he pulled the microphone from the stand and handed it to his friend.

  The microphone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his hand, but somehow Derp managed to bring it to his lips. “Um… hi. I’m Derp, and this is my best friend Kenny.”

  Someone in back shouted, “In da house—whoop, whoop!” emboldening Derp a bit. He was pretty sure it was Skinny J.

  “Anyway, we put this thing together for you guys—and goblins, and fae, and dwarves, pixies, sprites, spriggans, trolls, witches, vampires, ’thropes, ogres, brownies, red caps, clurichauns, leprechauns, cu sith, cat sith, fuaths, glaistigs, gnomes, gremlins, hags, harpies, kelpies, kobolds, merrows, púcas, selkies, sluagh, sprites, and yōkai, as I hear we have a few visiting from overseas. Did I forget anyone?”

  A grumbling roar echoed from the ledge high above the crowd, and Kenny pointed out above the audience.

  “Oh yes, and gargoyles!” Derp shouted. “Sorry for that!”

  The gargoyle chuffed, then took a pose and went completely still.

  “Anyway, we want to thank you for coming tonight. We also want to thank our hosts, the Axe Murder Juggalo Posse, who you all know as the goblin clan.”

  A few boos came up from the crowd, but those present mostly remained respectful. Mostly.

  “Well, I could stand up here and jabber all night, especially after all the Red Bulls I had earlier, but I know you all came for the Battle of the Bands. Is that right?” Derp raised his hand to his ear, and the crowd cheered a little. “What? I can’t hear you? C’mon, everybody—raise the roof!”

  He thrust the mic out toward the crowd, and this time they erupted in the wildest ruckus Derp had ever heard.

  “That’s more like it! On with the show!”

  Kenny and Derp exited stage left, heading for the sound box because that’s where Click was standing. They flanked the magician, smiling like Pippin and Merry having a pint at the Green Dragon Inn.

  Click clapped a hand on each of their shoulders. “Well done, lads—well done!” The magician rubbed his palms together, hunching his shoulders like an evil mastermind preparing to take over the world. “Now, let’s see what this evening has in store for us, shall we?”

  20

  The rest of the night went by in a blur. In later days, the boys would be able to recall an overall impression of the proceedings, but much of it would remain hidden within a foggy haze that defied clear recollection. However, Derp did remember each act that hit the stage, and how they performed against one another.

  The trolls came first, doing a weird sort of spoken word thing in trollish. Huge bass drums backed the two speakers, with an accompaniment of a few dozen troll warriors chanting and stomping—all of it done sans amplifiers or microphones. At first, Derp thought they’d get booed off the stage, but the whole act was as hypnotizing as it was logistically impressive. When they finished their act, the house erupted in shouts and applause.

  The pixies did a cover of “Linger” by the Cranberries. It was haunting, but unoriginal. They were met by lukewarm applause as they departed the stage. The gnomes took the mic next, dressed in black t-shirts and ripped up jeans. They did a long song in the style of German death metal, bobbing their heads and swirling their beards to the beat the entire time. When they were done, there was a ton of whistling and shouting. Apparently, they had a following among the crowd.

  Next up were the red caps, all dressed in white shirts, black dinner jackets, and red fedoras. They came with a full brass band, along with a pianist and human female backup singers who Derp suspected were strippers. The red caps did a Frank Sinatra mash-up, and they did it surprisingly well, ending with the last few bars of “My Way.” Rocko sang lead, and Sal’s dad rocked a trombone on stage. They ended their set to strong, respectful applause.

  Next came the kobolds, who came on stage with teased hair wigs, shirts that had been razored up until they were almost falling apart, and leather pants that were so tight they must’ve been stitched on. The little rat-faced creatures began with a scorching version of Van Halen’s “Eruption,” then they broke into “Poundcake,” “Right Now,” and finished their set with “Dreams.” They were good, but they didn’t bring the house down.

  Finally, it was time for the goblins to finish up the contest. Derp had been sure Skinny J would perform, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, two goblins took center stage, both dressed in full Juggalo regalia—including white and black clown make-up that matched what their musical idols typically wore. The pair got booed and catcalled at first, causing Derp to look over at Click to ensure the magician was on the case. Click winked at the boy as he silently counted down… three… two… one.

  Then, the beat dropped.

  It had been apparent that the other acts had used magic to enhance their sound, volume, and delivery. That was to be expected, considering that every band’s members were comprised of supernatural creatures. However, none of the previous acts could hold a candle to the mystical energies that currently shored up the pair of goblin rappers on stage.

  Each thump of the bass line was like a lion roaring deep inside Derp’s chest. Every line they uttered, every hook they dropped, every loop, every bar and break—all of it worked together to weave a spell made up of rhymes and beats and ancient magic.

  In short, the Axe Murder Juggalo Posse brought the house down.

  Derp couldn’t remember much after that, but he did remember he and Kenny being carried around the cavern on the shoulders of a crowd of painted up goblins. He also vaguely recalled a bout of crowd surfing, and for once feeling like he wasn’t the only person in the room who didn’t fit in.

  The next morning, Derp woke up in his bed, wondering if it had all been a dream. Then, he felt something around his neck, a chain or necklace of some sort. He pulled it off and looked at it—a small, gold effigy hanging from a thick gold rope chain. It featured the likeness of a dreadlocked man, running with a hatchet in his hand.

  The boy laid his head back down on his pillow and stared at the necklace as it slowly swung round and round beneath his hand.

  Kenny and Derp never saw Skinny J again. However, they were invited back to the goblin caves as honored guests. Sure enough, the tribe’s shamans were more than happy to share a few simple magic spells with the boys, much to their delight. The two agreed they’d keep what they learned to themselves, rather than risk the wrath of their goodie two-shoes druid friend.

  A few days later, Colin showed up at Derp’s house. He’d been looking for Derp all week under the pretense that the were-spider had taken him, and was royally pissed to learn that Kenny had known of Derp’s whereabouts nearly the entire time. After a sound scolding, the boys were even more reluctant to fill Colin in on all the details of their adventure. They settled for telling him that the goblins had made them priests of a sort, and that they had participated in a small amount of chanting and rituals at the goblins’ behest.

  The druid didn’t think that was a good idea—at all. The request had seemed pretty harmless to the boys, so Derp and Kenny didn’t pay much attention to the additional chastisement. They’d proven their worth—if not to Colin, at least to themselves. And they’d learned some magic as well. In their shared opinion, they’d earned a major victory. That was all that mattered.

  Yet something tugged at the back of Derp’s mind every time he thought about his interactions with Skinny J. None of the goblin clan members seemed to know who the strange goblin was, nor would they acknowledge he’d even existed. Derp chalked it up to the fact that the goblins had difficulties understanding human language. In the end, he decided that some things were better left unexplained.

  But every so often, he’d wake up and see a shadow on his bedroom wall—the vague outline of a person in a three-pointed jester’s cap. One blink of his eyes and it’d be gone, but the boy knew—Skinny J was still there, “a shade on his shadow.”

  Did that frigh
ten him?

  Not this ninja, Derp thought to himself.

  Juggalo for life, Dark Jester unto death, a voice inside his head replied. Stay fresh, lil killa.

  Going Under

  In which Hemi dies and is transported to the Maori underworld.

  21

  So what’s it like, dying?

  Kind of hard to explain, really. One moment you’re in your body, and the next you’re not. To tell the truth, it’s not the dying that’s the hard part… it’s the stuff that comes before that really sucks.

  Take, for example, falling off a great big cliff. First, you take a tumble, and then you fall for a little while, then maybe you bounce off a ledge or a rock. A few things break, the shock of it all overwhelms you, and then you’re falling again. Then you bounce off another ledge. A few more things break—let’s say your ribs—and now you’re finding it hard to breathe.

  About this time, you start to think, Well, maybe if I could catch on to one of these cliffs I’m bouncing off of, I might end all this torture. Because by now, on top of the broken ribs, you probably have a leg or an arm that’s been snapped in several places, flopping around with a mind of its own. Bones are grinding together, mashing tissue and crushing nerves, and you’ve really no way to stop it.

  Logically, stopping your descent seems like a really good idea about now. That’s why you reach out with an arm to try to grab something on the way down. And that’s also how you lose most of the fingers on your left hand.

  This is about the time you’ve hit terminal velocity. It’s also roughly the time when you realize you’re about to die. At this point, you start praying—not that you will be saved, mind you, but that you won’t bounce off anything else on your way down.