Teddy Bear Cannibal Massacre

by ed. Tim W. Lieder

  It was suffering the accumulated hurt of hundreds of painful deaths, multiplied by my magic. I almost stopped, then there was only pain, and the endless passing on of pain.

  When awareness returned I found myself eyeball to eyestalk with Angus. He had been nipping my nose with his tiny claw.

  “Aboot time laddie. I dinnae ken what ye did to yon monster. But it worked.”

  The street was even more a wreck; smashed walls and cratered tarmac attested to the Beast’s desperation.

  “’Twas like it went mad laddie. It staggered aboot roaring fit to bring doon the sky, dashing it’s noggin against any hard surface it could find afore it clawed its own eyes out, and thrust its claws into the sockets.”

  Angus hesitated, as if not sure whether to continue, “Ye can be pretty damn vicious laddie.”

  I walked over to the huge corpse; partially covered under a fallen wall. Angus was right. Its head was cracked and bleeding from massive impacts. It had torn out its own eyes and much of its brain… I doubled over and retched.

  After a time I stood and went looking for Kym. She was bruised and battered but well, thank God. When she saw me she cried out in fear and hope. I kissed her, then started to tear feverishly at the rope binding her. How the damn ogre had managed such petite knots with its clumsy claws baffled me.

  “It’s ok, baby. It’s dead,” I said quietly, looking into her eyes. I could see she wanted to believe me.

  “Aye lassie, yon beastie is slain. Yer safe now.” Angus interjected. Kym looked in shock at the crab. Angus winked. An interesting trick for something with no eyelids.

  Kym fainted.

  “Oh aye! Tha’ be right, she stays conscious all through being terrorized by a huge bairn eatin’ ogre with a penchant fer bad poetry and then faints when she lays eyes on yoors truly!”

  We staggered through my door. I carried Kym to the bedroom, and placed her gently on the mattress. I examined her for injuries – remarkably she seemed well, barring some bruises. I guess I’d got there in time, or perhaps the ogre wanted to torture us together. I considered falling into bed alongside her, but I had to talk to Angus.

  “Angus, what the hell was that? How many of those things are there? Is this going to be a regular problem?”

  Angus looked at me seriously from atop a stylish coffee table.

  “Weel, laddie. I havnae been entirely honest wi’ ye. I dinnae think that ogre attacked ye randomly, though they do like tormentin' wizards and magical folk.”

  I snatched Angus up and held him at eye height.

  “Alright you little bugger, talk. Kym nearly died ‘cause of that thing! If you know something I need to hear it.”

  Angus wilted.

  “Ok laddie...Weel, about 600 years ago, I was apprenticed to a great magician named Walter o’ the Dale. He was like ye, laddie, far stronger than he should hae been, and able tae do some strange things, even by wizard’s standards. He didnae learn as fast as ye tho, or improvise like ye. Ye’re very strange that way, laddie.”

  “600 years!?! How?”

  It started to rain outside.

  “Hush, laddie! I’m getting’ tae it.” snapped Angus, “Now one fell day, along came this other magician, a laird o’ the Douglas clan. He’s well known and feared in wizarding circles – we call him Douglas the Black, or just, The Douglas. Don’t get me wrong, the Douglas’ are a fine clan, by and large, but this Douglas was steeped in dankest evil. He was one o’ the order of Harvesters. These Harvesters kill magicians, and otherworld beasties, and bind their souls and power into some sort o’ talisman. Douglas the Black used an amulet, and he murdered a lot o’ powerful wizards, and many fae. He killed my master and took his soul.”

  Angus’ voice started to crescendo, and let me tell you, a crescendo-ing hermit crab is almost an intimidating sight.

  “As I stood in my masters blood that day I swore that I’d nae rest until I had my vengeance! That I’d see Douglas’ black soul sent to hell to suffer forever!”

  Thunder boomed. Naturally.

  “Well, I tain’t rested laddie. I’m still here! Guess that oath had real power.”

  I wet my lips, “Er, is that how you became a crab? Did this Douglas guy transform you?”

  Angus looked slightly exasperated.

  “Well, actually, it’s kind ‘f embarassin’, laddie’. I’d rather nae…”

  ‘Tell me, Angus,’ I growled.

  “I did that meself. Ye see Walter had this other apprentice – Willy. We had a little rivalry goin’, and one day I decided to turn him into a toad. I stole a spell from my master’s book and cast it on him while he was sleepin’. ‘Cept I got it wrong. The spell got me, and fer some reason I ended up a crab! What kind o’ Scot ends up a hermit crab! Anyway, mebbe my master could hae helped me... After he’d finished laughin’ in any case…But that very mornin’ was when the Douglas killed him. Killed Willy, too. Probably would hae killed me, but I was just a crab. Doin’ crab things. Not worth botherin’ with.”

  I just stared. I opened my mouth. I closed it. I shook my head.

  “Well how does all this tie in with the bloody ogre?”

  “Douglas can’t cram an unlimited number o’ souls into that accursed amulet. He only wants the best. That means he needs tae see how good his targets are. Facin’ a beastie like yon ogre is a nice test. If it’d eaten ye’ then ye’d have been an unworthy victim fer ‘is dastardliness. In addition, ye should be nicely softened up, weakened fer days after such a battle. I’d guess he contacted it and ensured it came after ye’. Probably promised it somethin’ nice, besides torturing ye that is. Since yer still alive he’ll be by sometime soon.”

  ‘Great. Here I was thinking I could maybe rest, and then get yelled at by Kym…Actually, facing a depraved black magician may be preferable.”

  I leaned in close to Angus.

  “One more question, how did you end up with me?’

  “Laddie, of all the wee niggling troubles faced by a hermit crab fightin’ a 600 year long vendetta ‘gainst a demonic magician whose disgustin’ soul belongs in the blackest pits o’ hell, organizing tae end up the only magic crab in a box at yer local science fair was not among the more difficult ones.”

  Fine! He didn’t need to get smart.

  “So how do we off this guy?” I asked.

  A cough sounded from behind us. Angus and I looked at each other like children caught being naughty. We slowly turned around. Kym stood watching us.

  “I heard it all,” She said, “I want in.”

  Somehow, despite shock I managed to squeak, “All?”

  She leveled a loaded finger at me.

  “Be quiet you. First we deal with this evil wizard. Then you and I are having a little…Talk.” I gulped, “Then I’m going to cry. Then have a drink. Probably after that I’ll see a doctor.”

  My, she seemed to have adapted remarkably well to nearly being eaten by a murderous beast.

  It wasn’t long before we could act - I recovered much of my strength in a day. Angus was astonished, but pleased. It meant that we had a small chance of fighting this battle.

  My primary concern was finding him – seemed to me that someone like that wouldn’t be easy to detect by magic. I was wrong. Angus said that he’d be staying at a hotel called ‘The Hermitage’. Every city had one. Kind of like every city had a restaurant called ‘La Bella Vista.’ He asserted that the Douglas, being a wizard, wouldn’t be able to resist the synchronicity of staying at a place so named. Apparently, in his early days, he’d been the laird of a castle by that name in Scotland.

  This also meant that Angus had already cooked up a plan, which needed only a little tinkering with Kym along. Damn thing sounded dodgy as hell to me, but I couldn’t think of a better one, and neither could Kym. So we checked the phone book – and found it. Guess the crab was right.

  Thus, by the next evening, Kym, Angus, and I had arrived at the foyer of a very nice hotel. Shining marble, gold trim (but only enough to be tasteful), and subt
le sculptures abounded. Angus sniffed, said it looked nothing like the brooding lump of stone it was named for.

  Under Angus’ instruction I did a little Jedi mind trick on the manager, and we ascertained that a Douglas was indeed occupying the penthouse. Using my little magic, we were able to score one(1) maid’s outfit, and one(1) silver tray, complete with dome.

  I told you it was a dodgy plan.

  Minute’s later Kym was looking perky in the maid’s outfit. I didn’t want her to do this, but she had insisted. Stamped her foot in fact. On to mine. Ow.

  We took the elevator up to the hall outside the penthouse. Clutching the tray, Kym kissed me lingeringly, took a deep breath, and then sashayed down the hall. I hated to see her leave, but I didn’t mind watching her go (Oh alright. I agree, it was no time for lechery but she’s cute.) I slipped out of sight behind a handy pillar, and held my breath.

  I heard her knock.

  “Room service! I have your dinner!” she sang huskily. I frowned, she was overdoing it. Of course he hadn’t ordered dinner, but she could improvise. We hoped.

  The door opened, and I heard a low conversation, and a flirtatious giggle. Oh for crying out loud, it was like a bad TV show.

  I heard the door close. Silence ruled. I risked a glance around the pillar, and found the corridor empty. She was in.

  Anxiously I popped some bubble gum and started chewing furiously. I advanced implacably up the corridor, trying to feel like some sort of conquering hero.

  With bubble gum.

  I stopped outside the door. I could hear discussion and a giggle. A moment later I heard Kym cry out.

  Time to move!

  I punched the air, magnifying the force of the gesture, and focussing it onto the door. I could have used the key, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as dramatic. The portal shattered with a crack and fell inwards, revealing a beautifully furnished room. Standing in the center of the room was a large wooden table, elegantly carved out of some sort of fine ebony. A tall, well-muscled man of indeterminate age stood holding Kym’s hand in what was obviously an uncomfortable (for her) grip. His head snapped around, his eyes falling upon me.

  His gaze was like a concussive bomb. Ageless horror pumped directly into my soul. Not pain, but wrongness, filth, rot, and dead things bloating. That and hatred. I nearly vomited. I nearly lost my gum.

  Through my nausea I noticed the layers of magical wards. Kinetic forces, electricity, heat, others I couldn’t identify… He was nearly invulnerable to magical or physical attack. But only nearly.

  Kym screamed and jerked away. I tried to pull myself together and cast my spell, but Douglas’ hands snaked out. He was fast. He made a lifting and gripping motion with one hand, and a chopping motion with another. I felt magic weaving together.

  An incredible force had clenched around my throat and hauled me into the air as something chopped down between my magic and I. Suddenly a strange sense of empowerment that I’d been feeling for weeks, and hadn’t even noticed, was gone.

  Douglas watched me with inscrutable hollow eyes; his sallow features blank. I felt like I was being regarded by some sort of hell-born alien insect. A moment passed. I hung in the air quietly choking. His head tilted to the side and he opened his mouth to say something…

  Then he jerked his head back and hissed in pain as Kym sprayed pepper spray into his eyes. He doubled over, and his magic fell away. I struck.

  I blew a large, ripe, cherry flavored bubble. You heard me right. I channeled that growth concept at a target under the silver dish.

  Douglas stood suddenly, already shrugging off the spray’s effects and backhanded Kym. She stumbled away, thankfully he hadn’t used any magic on her. We could only have moments before he did. He pointed one finger at her, and another at me. Something very unpleasant was about to happen.

  I completed my spell. A loud clattering sound rang out at as the silver dome impacted on the roof, and then a very large claw settled around the evil sorcerers chest.

  “I hope yer mother can sew,” said a rhino sized Angus, as he lifted his old foe into the air, “’Cause this’ll need stitches.”

  And he brought Douglas’s head crashing down onto his shell. Closest thing a hermit crab can manage to a Glasgow kiss I guess.

  There was a loud crack, and Douglas’ head rebounded. He was momentarily dazed, but that was about it. His wards were too strong for him to hurt much.

  “Get the freakin’ amulet!!!” I screamed.

  Angus’s other claw ripped away Douglas’ shirt. Shining on his chest, like a malevolent dark pearl, was the evil talisman.

  The magician started to cast something. Desperately I hit him with what I hoped was a functional version of the magic severing spell. It (metaphorically speaking) rang off his sorcerous shield, but the impact slowed his casting…

  Angus’ claw tore away the amulet. He flung it to me, then got blasted aside and shrunk back to normal as Douglas hammered him with lethal sorcery. The evil wizard swung to me with a snarl on his face, hand reaching out…

  I caught the amulet, revolted at its icy touch, but filled with immense power. I could hear the clamoring spirit voices within screaming for vengeance; their rage filling me.

  Something tugged viciously at my heart. I felt it’s beat stutter. Darkness flickered at the edges of my vision. Desperately grabbing the first random concept, I cast a spell.

  Douglas the Black reared back. My amulet fuelled spell cut through his defenses like a cat through hot butter. He staggered a couple of steps, his alien, echoing eyes widening as his flesh started to run.

  “I’m meltiiiiinnnnggg!” he gurgled as he dissolved into a faint amber colored liquid. A smoky scent filled the air. He subsided into a puddle on the impeccable marble floor.

  Angus, remarkably unhurt given he’d been engulfed in an inferno a moment ago, wandered over to the puddle. Kym and I just stared at it. We both looked at Angus.

  ‘I think you distilled him.’ stated the crab.

  A few days later, Kym and I were standing atop a lovely wooded hill, in the fading light of a summer’s day. I hugged her to me, then ceremoniously up-ended the bottle of Black Douglas onto the grassy soil.

  Ahem.

  Under the pressure of screaming spirits, confronted by a guy named Douglas the Black…Well, I’d just had to improvise. It made sense!

  Sort of.

  Anyway, Angus stated we couldn’t be sure someone that powerful would stay dead unless we delivered him to a place of true power owned and watched by his most hated enemies.

  So we sponged him up, stuck him in a bottle, and here we were – standing on a fairy mound. Kym could now see creatures from the otherworld. Angus say’s that’s fairly normal – her eyes have been forcefully opened, so to speak.

  Oh. There was one outstanding bit of business. Destroying that amulet. It was an artifact of power and that would not be easy. It could wait a few days.

  As the last drop ran out of the bottle, I gazed up at the brilliantly colored sky, and enjoyed the warm breeze on my face. Seems I’d have a chance to understand my magic better. Both Angus and Kym were fine. She hadn’t even had that Talk with me. Maybe she’d forgotten. I can always hope.

  “The pixies are playing!” she said, “The pixies are playing!”

  I turned and looked where she was pointing. They certainly were. We stood and watched them for a time, as the warm evening closed in.

  Head Drippers by Robert Steussi

  I, Phillip Selfridge, M.A., Master of Arts-Journalism, Northwestern University, 1986, do hereby affirm that all events described herein are true. In January, 2002, I committed myself to Emerson-Palmer Psychiatric Hospital near Palm Springs, California, not because I was emotionally disturbed, but rather to test a proposition that had long troubled me. Could a sane person, committed to a mental hospital, prove himself sane afterwards and be released? Little did I know that my research would uncover.

  Posing as Phil Selfridge, a community college professor suffering f
rom vague symptoms of emotional distress, including excessive sweating and dry mouth, I made the necessary arrangements and drove myself up into the Lost River Mountains to Emerson. The upscale private hospital, operated under the aegis of Savitas United, nestled in a lush, irrigated stretch of grass along the meandering Sausalito River, its gleaming blue glass and aluminum architecture redolent of a plush resort or a health spa for wealthy matrons. The only discordant note came from a warning regarding the hidden, electrified fence that circled the perimeter, and a military-looking security guard.

  After a brief wait I was ushered into Dr. Melrose Parker's suite by Nurse Anna Bohachick, a massive, wellscrubbed woman with a cheerful face and muscular legs. Dr. Parker rose at once from behind his huge, walnut desk and shook my hand, as he gestured towards an expensive black-leather armchair.

  "And now what can we do for you, Phillip?" Dr.

  Parker said in a reassuringly deep baritone. He radiated an aura of solidity from his bald crown to his hairy-knuckled fingers.

  "I have been troubled by voices," I said. "The tension has interfered with my work, and I think a period of brief respite would be in my best interest. My friends suggested Emerson."

  "Certainly. Stress reaction, eh? I understand; intervals of depression can be devastating." Dr. Parker smiled benignly and gave me an encouraging look as we discussed my background and symptoms. After an hour, Dr. Parker steepled his fingers and said: "Phillip, I don't think there's anything here that we can't treat with medication, but I agree that a brief hiatus from your work duties might be in order. You'll find Emerson a total stress free environment—no telephones, no fax machines, no computers--just basic human communication. While you're settling in, we can run a battery of tests to ascertain what we're dealing with. Now if you're in agreement, there's paper work and insurance forms for you to fill out. I'll just turn you back over to Nurse B., and she'll lead you through the paper work. I sincerely hope you'll enjoy your stay."

  After a firm handshake, Nurse Bohachik ushered me out of the office and issued me a pair of soft blue pajamas; I officially became a patient at Emerson Psychiatric assigned to a private bedroom on Ward 2B South.