Fight the MonSter: Find a Cure for MS

by Doug Dandridge

  “But he could be.” Michael sighed and slowly turned his coffee cup absently, his mind racing. “He just needs to remember what it was like.”

  Gabriel leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “He’s been away from the grace too long. I fear the glory would kill him.”

  “He’s just bitter.” Michael pushed his coffee away and stared out the window. “Father chose Man over us and Satan can’t forgive that.”

  “He had a point though.” Gabriel kept his voice low, his eyes averted. “Father should have chosen us first. We were His first creation. We were His long before He ever experimented with these humans.”

  “He gave them free will for a reason.” Michael’s voice took on an edge that caused Gabriel to shrink. “That’s something we were never given.”

  Gabriel finally sat up and glared at Michael. “Truly? Then why are we here now? Defying Father’s order and speaking to him, trying to get him to come home?”

  “That’s for his own good and for the good of all of mankind. Nobody wants what is coming.”

  “But you chose to come here Michael. And I chose to come with you. If that isn’t free will, I don’t know what is.”

  Michael waved him off. “It’s not the same. They can choose to live their lives however they wish. We do not have that luxury.”

  Gabriel crossed his arms and stared at his brother. “Satan chose. Nearly a third of our brothers chose with him. They all chose to go against Father’s order.”

  “And look at what that got them!”

  “Yes, exactly! But they had the ability to choose! Do you not see? With choice comes consequence. You have to be willing to pay the price for your decisions.”

  “And the humans?”

  “They pay the price all the time. Wrong choices ruins lives daily. Sometimes they cause death. Sometimes they cause tragedy. Sometimes…sometimes even Father turns them over to a reprobate mind. They’ll never know His grace.” Gabriel sighed as he reached out and grasped Michael’s arm. “We all have choices, brother.”

  Michael wiped at his cheek and looked at his tear stained hand. “My heart breaks for him.”

  “For who? Father?”

  “No. For Satan. He’ll never know true love again.” He wiped his hand on his coat then pushed out of the booth. “It is time. We should return. Father will be angry if he discovers we were gone.”

  Gabriel laughed as he pulled his overcoat from the hook. “Do you really think that he doesn’t already know?”

  Michael paused and stared up into the clouds. “Then I hope he understands why we did it.”

  “He’s a Father, Michael. Of course he does.” Gabriel pulled the door open and the two stepped out into the chill breeze. The drizzling rain had stopped and the clouds broke as the two stepped away from the diner. As a ray of light shown down through the breaking weather Michael pulled his collar up. “I think He knows where we are.”

  Gabriel looked up and smiled. “Yes. And He knows why.”

  Michael smiled as he patted Gabe’s shoulder. “At least He isn’t angry.” He pulled his brother up close and snapped his fingers. Both men effectively disappeared, having travelled at the speed of thought back home.

  As Marge returned to the table to clear the dishes, she shoved the wad of bills that Lou had left on the table into her apron and began stacking the plates into the metal tub to take back to the kitchen. The bell above the door rang and Lou stepped back into the diner. He glanced rapidly around the narrow eatery and his eyes fell on Marge. “Where did the other guys go? Are they still here?”

  “You just missed them Sweetie. They left just a few minutes ago.” She pointed her finger down the street to the corner in the direction she had seen them walking. “They went that away.”

  Lou turned and practically ran down the sidewalk looking for his brothers. He slowed as he approached the corner and the smell of ozone hit him. He knew it was too late. They had returned home.

  He stopped and stared up into the sky. Clouds had shifted and were closing the small hole that had opened just moments before, the last rays of sunlight evaporating as the rain began to fall once more. Lou stared up into the sky, turning slow circles as he watched the opening seal back up. “I changed my mind!” he screamed. He waited a moment, his hope building that perchance his brothers could hear his cry. He continued to stare upwards, his hope slowly fading. “Do you hear me? I said I changed my mind!”

  Lou felt the despair of being trapped in the role he was doomed to play as his reality came crashing back in on him. He dropped to his knees on the wet sidewalk and crumpled to his elbows. “Please, Michael…Gabriel…I-I’m sorry.” He turned reddened eyes back to the sky and roared with anguish. “I want to go HOME!”

  A passing truck sent a spray of water from the roadside up onto the sidewalk and soaked the figure on all fours. He didn’t even lift his head as he fell to his side and curled into the fetal position. “I just want to go home…”

  8

  A Little Bite

  By TW Brown

  “…and law enforcement officials remain baffled by this third death in as many days—”

  Tomas switched off the television and tossed the remote on the table cluttered with unread magazines and a smattering of cards and envelopes addressed to OCCUPANT. Well, he thought, time to move again. The question was…where? There were some definite plusses to the over-burgeoning population problems of the modern world.

  Tomas peeked out his curtains to the courtyard below. The shadows of evening were growing larger and would soon fill the interior of this square apartment complex with darkness. The glow from several televisions could be seen in numerous windows as residents of the Emerald Pines Apartments settled in for the night. Empty food wrappers swirled in the eddies of the night breeze along with the last few leaves that had clung stubbornly to the pair of ratty trees in the courtyard; neither of these trees were ever emerald in color, nor were they pines.

  One of the residents emerged from the breezeway and scurried to his darkened apartment. The glare of numerous hundred-watt bulbs blazed from within and then the door shut.

  “These silly people,” Tomas mused as he went to his bedroom and began to dress. “Always so anxious to hurry home from meaningless jobs and camp in front of the glowing idiot box to be told what to fear next. If it isn’t the stranger next door…it’s the newest sniffle or cough. These sheep have no idea what real evil or true sickness are about. Vlad…Genghis …Caligula…those were killers. And the Black Plague…now that was a sickness that thinned the herd.”

  No, Tomas thought as he shoved his feet into his boots, they don’t have any idea how good they have it. He pulled on his gloves, enjoying the smell of the well-oiled leather, stopping at his bathroom on his way out just long enough to grab the bottle of blue-tinted mouthwash and swish around a perfectly measured capful, spitting it into the toilet. Why, the advances in dentistry alone were so epic that many of Tomas’ friends—enemies too for that matter—probably owed their lives to said advances. Things had come a long way from shredded twigs and salt.

  Of course, not all of the technological advances were good. Nowadays, everybody carried one of the numerous so-called “smart” phones. And don’t get him started on the advances in forensics. Getting away with murder was becoming almost impossible.

  Murder. He saw it more akin to cleansing. What he did was practically a public service. People were multiplying so rapidly that poverty and hunger no longer registered on the social consciousness. The only people who even pretended to care were often vapid Hollywood-types, or musicians that wanted to cater to a bunch of hemp-loving wanna-be environmentalists, who would stagger away from a three day outdoor music festival leaving the park looking like a landfill starter kit. That…or politicians.

  One of his favorite hobbies was to go downtown and hide in a shadow where he could watch some poor, grungy sap marinating in his filth while asking for change. Or…worse yet, holding a sign. Today’s beggars were too
lazy to even beg properly, but that was an entirely different issue. Anyways, watching folks walk by and pretend not to see the wretch …absolutely priceless.

  This sort of thinking always made Tomas nostalgic for the “old” days. But, to a vampire, “old” was a rather subjective term. At almost nine hundred years old, he wasn’t the youngest, nor was he the oldest. However, he had been around long enough to have earned a certain amount of respect from his peers.

  That had taken a century or two…that respect. His turning was initially done as a joke. Whoever said that vampires lacked a sense of humor was gravely mistaken. Tomas chuckled at his own mental pun as he stepped outside his apartment. After checking his series of locks exactly five times—these days they called the behavior OCD, back in the old days is was simply being cautious—he went out into the night.

  A short while later, he arrived at his destination: one of the many parks that dotted the Seattle landscape. This one in particular had been in the papers and on television lately: “Man exposes himself” and “Child avoids abduction.”

  Climbing onto one of the swings, Tomas began to casually pump his legs. His eyes could see perfectly in the evening gloom. At the moment, he was sharing the park with a family of squirrels, two dogs—whose owners had obviously ignored Bob Barker’s pleas—and a wino passed out under a cluster of bushes near the concrete building that housed the men’s and women’s restrooms.

  This was certainly an inexact science, but over the years, he had learned that man was nothing if not a creature of habit. And with all the wonderful gains in technology to “free up time,” they actually seemed to have gotten worse, not better. It always amused Tomas when little hiccups in things like electricity, cable/satellite, or—heaven forbid—their precious cell phones occurred. Mankind skewed towards frantic when their routines got a little hitch in them. It threw their patterns off…and they hated that.

  Movement from the opposite side of the park snapped Tomas from his musings. The soft glow of a living being drew his focus and shifted him into instant predator mode. The thought of ‘what could be’ if he’d guessed correctly made his fangs extend into their feeding position.

  Why don’tcha have a seat, Tomas heard the voice in his head. He was willing to bet that if he were to host one of those Catch a Predator television shows, those sick bastards would shape up in a hurry.

  He continued to swing, trying to be sure that his face stayed shrouded by his hoody. He glanced down to see which one he was wearing and smiled at the image of the robot that could change into a truck splayed in bright colors.

  The person took his time getting closer. He was making sure that there were no witnesses. Excellent, Tomas thought, it’s always nice when the sheep do the work for you. Just as he’d hoped, this sick pervert was preparing to take his sickness to another level. There was probably a windowless van parked nearby.

  The sheep was close enough to smell the heady mixture of anticipatory sweat with just a mixture of fear. Even in his excitement, this twisted freak had that little nugget in his brain that was afraid of getting caught. If he only knew—

  “You okay, son?”

  Dinnertime.

  “M-m-m-my mom went out with her new boyfriend again and didn’t even make my dinner first.” Tomas thanked the fact that his voice had always maintained its high, tinny pitch.

  “That’s terrible,” the man’s voice almost seemed to tremble with excitement. “Well, how about I take you to get a burger or something?”

  “I’m not s’posed to go with strangers.” Best not to sound too anxious, he didn’t want to spook the sheep.

  “That’s pretty smart,” the man’s voice oozed with false praise. “My name is Bill. What’s yours?”

  “Tomas.”

  “Well now, Tomas,” Bill—if that was really his name—said, “now we aren’t strangers. So, how ‘bout that burger?”

  “I guess.” Tomas dragged his feet in the sand below to bring his swing to a stop. He could smell the excitement and added adrenaline dump into the man’s system. “Will you take me home after?”

  “You bet, sport,” the man-who-might-be-named-Bill assured. He reached down to Tomas for his hand.

  Tomas flipped his hood back and fixed the would-be predator with his gaze. The man’s eyes went wide with shock.

  “You’re a little person!” was all the man managed to say before Tomas’ hypnotic gaze froze him.

  “Kneel,” Tomas commanded. With a flash, his fangs sank into the man’s jugular.

  And that was another thing, Tomas thought as he fed, this whole politically-correct garbage, he’d been a midget for centuries. What in the hell was this society’s infatuation with labels?

  9

  A Long Night

  By Jodi Bricker

  The night is my life. I'm a thief- a damn good one. I take what I want in the dark from the fools who never see me and never know I was there, and I laugh at their misfortune. I have studied in the shadows, in the deepest black corners of this age-old stone city, and I have learned well. I know the stars, and the phases of the moon; and I know which nights are blessed by the dark goddess who turns her pale smile on the thief and the assassin. I glory in my work, teaching the wealthy shites of the city how it feels to lose.

  I learned long ago that life is about what you can take. The privileged chuffs in the high town take whatever they want from whoever they can. In the trade district, the boot-licking merchants cozy to their betters, groveling for a whiff of favor, all while they take coin and labor from the beggarly men who drudge in the streets. The poor take what they can get digging through the trash that seems to migrate to the worst parts of town. A hungry girl growing up on those streets... everybody takes.

  I learned to take for myself as well. I started stealing by taking apples and meat pies from the street vendors to eat. Now I take from the opulent homes on the hill, where there is much greater reward to be had. I have taken a life for myself where starvation is merely a memory that drives me forward, not the constant stalker it still is for those less fortunate.

  I don't go so far as to share what I've earned on my nightly ventures with the other denizens of the poorer quarters. I'm not that noble, and I don't remember much sharing when I was desperate. However; I do ensure that every beggar has a heavier jingle in their cup as I pass. It's truly a habit of self preservation, learned from within their ranks. A consistent contribution is a reminder of goodwill. The beggars see, hear, and know everything that happens in the city and for the right price, they'll tell you. Also for the right price, they'll forget they ever saw you.

  So I'm comfortable. I have fences across the region who pay well for the gaudy items I appropriate, and I've amassed a good bit of gold. I'm as safe as a dagger on my belt and a niche in a forgotten corner of the catacombs can make me. In spite of this relative luxury, I have grown bored with the glittering manors of the self-important nobility. The easy plunder is not as satisfying as it once was. I find myself seeking out a risk, a test.

  Tonight is a very special night; a challenge that I've been looking forward to for a long time. The sanctuary of the Order of Cruor is an ancient stronghold built of black stone and iron. Dusty legends and furtive whispers in the ale houses tell of an impenetrable room within, locked and magicked to safeguard the treasures inside. It is said by some to be an enormous ruby, mined in a forgotten age in the mountains of Cordamund and hidden away by long-dead monks. Others, notably those worse for drink, claim it is a golden amulet that gives the wearer the power of flight, and it was held to be blasphemous to the gods by the original High Priest. The list of treasures goes on and on, each more fabulous than the last. The tale I believe, the one told me by the aged hags who truly know the crumbling bones of the city, is that the locked room holds the secret to eternal life....

  This is a prize worth winning. I can imagine living forever; breathing in all the nights to come. I imagine kings and queens a century from now speaking of me in quavering, awe-struck tones
while they clutch uselessly at their treasures. I want to be the immortal mistress of the night, and the eternal queen of thieves. The mythic "impenetrable room," is an added enticement; the challenge I crave.

  I have made the room my quest. I have sought out the myth keepers, drunken braggarts, and distant sages to learn all that is known about this fabled wealth and the measures that protect it. I even relieved a fat lordling on the street of his accompanying fatter purse solely because I was short the gold to buy a tale of the sanctuary from a slightly unscrupulous scribe. I am ready, darkness has fallen, and tonight is the night.

  A visceral tingle passes through my body as I hover in the darkness in sight of my target. Shadows cast by moss-dripping trees enfold me in their cool comfort. I lick my lips in anticipation, and instinctively dust the itch from my fingers. The stone walls and iron gates are impressive defenses, but the small rounded windows high up in the walls are simple to access for an agile thief. There are two guards in heavy armor who walk the walls; members of the elite warrior sect. The solid footfalls make them easy to track. I measure the rhythm of their circuits, and I know the moment when I must make my climb.

  I toss my thin cord and catch the stone sill with the hook. Quickly and silently, I climb the black stone to reach the darkened window. Sliding inside, I crouch to the left of the open window and pull the cord behind me. The darkness in the room is lessened by the light of the night sky, and as my eyes adjust, I see I am in a store-room. I creep to the door and listen. I hear the guard pass on the wall high above and a low conversation further in the keep. I slowly open the door enough to see the hall beyond, glowing dimly with flickering candlelight from sconces in the walls. I slip through the door and into the hall, keeping to the wall and moving in a crouch. The secret room is supposed to be deep in the cells beneath the castle, so I know I must find my way down.