by Ailes, Derek
“Mark, let me introduce you to the Time-Traveling Elvis,” Derek said sarcastically.
“You will eventually be a number one best-selling horror author surpassing Stephen King.”
“And this is a bad thing?” Derek said, instantly imagining himself surrounded by millions of fans demanding his autograph. Gorgeous women throwing themselves at his feet. Blockbuster movies being made out all of his novels.
“You will go on an Elvis bashing campaign that will destroy my legacy.”
“Sounds like a perfect tradeoff for me. My fame for your fame. Besides, I’m alive and you’re dead.” Derek looked over at Mark. “Can you imagine hundreds of Derek impersonators?”
Mark cringed at the thought.
Elvis took off his sunglasses and stared Derek straight in the eyes. “I can’t allow that to happen.”
“Wait a minute!” Mark said. “If you can travel through time, why can’t you go into the past and stop yourself from getting hooked on painkillers and prevent your own death?”
“It doesn’t work that way. I can’t change the past. Only the future. If I could, Elvis Presley would still be here today making hit song after hit song. Now, Derek, I’m giving you just one chance. Do not smear my name.” He began to sing “Heartbreak Hotel” and then vanished.
Derek and Mark stood there stunned.
“Did we just encounter Elvis from the grave?” Mark asked.
“And he was no zombie. Why would I go on an Elvis smearing campaign?” Derek asked puzzled. “Let’s head on back to Valparaiso. The sky is really dark. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of the severe weather.”
The next morning, as Derek uploaded all the photos he took from the book fair onto his official website, he heard a door close. He looked out his window and saw the newspaper carrier place the Sunday edition into the newspaper box by his front door. He ran for the front door in anticipation of reading the article about them. A light blue humming bird was hovering in front of the door and flew away as Derek opened the front door to retrieve the paper. He grabbed the paper and opened it to the second page where the reporter said the article about them would be. The article was there, but to his horror, instead of a picture of the Ailes Brothers of Terror, there was a photo of the cardboard standup of Elvis who had nothing to do with their article.
“Idiot!” Derek screamed.
He ran toward the back bedroom where Mark was at his computer working on his latest novel.
“What’s the problem?”
“This!” Derek dropped the paper in front him. “Elvis has stolen our thunder!”
“Where are the photos the photographer took of us?”
“Apparently, nothing says the Ailes Brothers of Terror better than Elvis Presley himself!” Derek started to storm out of Mark’s room and stopped. “Elvis will pay for this. I don’t care what his warning was. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do, I am going to destroy his legacy!” He thought for a few seconds about the best way to accomplish the task. “I’ll write the scariest horror novel ever with Elvis as the psychotic killer. Elvis Presley will be the next Freddy Krueger. The next Jason Voorhees. When they make the movie out of it, Kane Hodder will play Elvis!”
As Derek finished talking, the ground in Graceland shook violently. The large gravestone of Elvis cracked in half and fell into the ground below. A skeleton slowly crawled out of the grave. As the skeleton crawled forward, internal organs began to form, followed by muscles, and then skin and hair until Elvis was once again alive. He snapped his fingers and was wearing his favorite blue outfit. He looked over at his mansion and smiled.
“To the one that brought me back from the dead; thank you, thank you very much.” He danced around excitedly. “I think it’s time for Elvis to visit Derek in Valparaiso, Indiana, but first, I have a taste for a peanut butter and banana sandwich. Hell, it’s been decades since the King has had anything to eat.”
Derek, still angry about the newspaper article, wrote a two page blog about how Elvis was overrated and was as good an actor as George W. Bush was as president. He titled the blog post: Hunk of Burning Crap – Derek Ailes Vs Elvis. He posted a picture of Elvis as a zombie which he found searching on Google pictures. Once he finished posting the blog, he began to write his new horror novel: Memphis Damnation.
The next morning, Derek opened the front door to get the newspaper, and the humming bird was back hovering in front of the door. His jaw dropped as he took a closer look at it. The humming bird was wearing a black hair piece and a shiny yellow Elvis costume. It began to sing “Jailhouse Rock”. Derek closed the front door and looked out the window. Across the street, his neighbor was mowing his lawn wearing an Elvis costume. He shook his hips as he pushed the lawn mower. Another one of his neighbors was sitting on the front porch dressed as Elvis drinking a Pepsi. His wife was also dressed as Elvis and they were playing Yahtzee.
Derek pinched himself hoping he was dreaming. He looked over at his clock and it was frozen at 8:16 a.m. He heard a car honk its horn repeatedly. He looked outside and saw a 1955 Pink Cadillac Fleetwood parked in front of his house. The door opened and Elvis climbed out pointing at his house. An older man slowly walking down the street with help from his cane approached the car. Elvis put his hand on his shoulder and the old man transformed into an Elvis impersonator.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” the impersonator said.
“Don’t mention it.”
“Love the Cadillac.”
“Thanks,” Elvis said as the impersonator walked away.
Elvis began to dance his way up to Derek’s front door. “Derek, time for us to have a confab. Come outside and face me like a man.”
Derek locked the deadbolt.
“I don’t need to see you to know you have a yellow stripe down your back!” After a few minutes of waiting impatiently, Elvis went back to his car and grabbed an acoustic guitar and a lawn chair out of the trunk. He placed the lawn chair on the sidewalk and sat down. “I have an eternity to waste and a lot of songs in my repertoire.” He sang “That’s All Right” and then “Don’t Be Cruel” followed by “Return To Sender”. After singing several more songs, during which a crowd had gathered around him, he looked at the front door. “Hey, I think it’s time to debut my new song “Derek Is A Douchebag.”
He stood up and touched each person on the shoulder turning them into an Elvis impersonator. He sat back down and sang:
There was a coward from Indiana
Who thought he was the king of the world
His writings were one dimensional
No soul would download
A spineless troll he was
As Charlie Sheen would agree
There was no hope for Derek
No fame would he achieve
Such a douchebag
Such a douchebag
The door opened violently and Derek rushed out of the house. “Enough! I can’t take it anymore.”
Elvis looked over at his impersonators and with a smile he ordered them to attack. The mob of impersonators rushed at Derek like a horde of hungry zombies. He ran, trying to outrun them, down the street toward Highway 6. As he was close to the Salvation Army Church on the corner, he tripped crashing to the ground. The mob surrounded him and lifted him up over their shoulders. Like someone crowd surfing at a concert, he was passed from one impersonator to another until he was slammed hard onto the ground in front of Elvis.
Elvis smiled sinisterly as he kneeled down in front of him. “Derek, this is your last chance. Stop your anti-Elvis antics.”
Derek looked at him with hatred in his eyes. “Never!”
“You leave me no choice,” Elvis said and put his right hand on Derek’s right shoulder.
Dr. George Nichopoulos led Mark down the long corridor of the Valparaiso Porter-Starke Mental Hospital.
“Is he all right?” Mark asked.
“He’s making progress. With further treatment, I think we can help him.”
The doctor opened the door to Derek’s r
oom. He was sitting in the corner wearing a straitjacket.
“Your brother is here to see you.”
Derek, talking in a way only an Elvis impersonator or Elvis himself would speak, said. “Hello, the name’s Elvis.”
Twisted Twins
Alina stared at all the antique jewelry that was hanging on the rack in the dusty cluttered booth at the flea market. She was looking for something that would go perfectly with her black leather dress and fishnet stockings she wore every Friday at the local nightclub. There were several earrings, but she already owned so many. She was looking for something cool to go along with her gothic wardrobe. There were several necklaces, but none of them seemed to speak to her.
“Can I help you?” an elderly man who looked like Jerry Garcia asked.
“Just browsing through your jewelry. I haven’t seen anything beckoning me yet.”
“I do have some other necklaces in a box over there. So many antiques and not enough room to display them.” He grabbed a large box and placed three necklaces on the table in front of her. One of them was black with a gargoyle shaped medallion with ruby red eyes.
“How much is this one? It’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
“I can let that one go for ten dollars.”
“I’ll take it,” Alina said excitedly.
She pulled out a ten from her purse and handed it to him. He smiled sinisterly as he took the money from her sending a shiver down her spine.
“Take good care of this one. It will take good care of you.”
“Ok.”
Alina walked away from the booth as fast as she could. She glanced back to make sure he wasn’t following her. After stopping by the food truck outside the flea market to get an elephant ear, she drove home.
She walked into her apartment. Her answering machine was blinking. She pressed the button and listened to her messages.
“Hey, Alina. It’s Lucas. Just wanted to know if you wanted to hookup this weekend. Give me a call.”
“Just because I slept with you once, doesn’t mean I want to do it again. You weren’t that great. Been there done that.”
She walked into her bedroom and placed the necklace beside the other five she owned. She looked in the mirror and admired herself. She had raven black hair that came down to her shoulders and pale white skin. Her black lipstick and eye shadow matched the black outfit she was wearing. She grabbed the whip she had hanging on the wall and held it in both of her hands.
“On your knees, slave!”
She placed the whip back on its hook and walked into the living room and turned on the television. “American Mary”, one of her favorite movies, was on. Katharine Isabelle was so sexy in the movie even she was drooling. After it was over, she took a shower and headed for The Devil’s Due where she was a waitress.
“Alina, looking sexy as ever,” Skulls, the bouncer, said as she entered the bar.
“Love the new tats.”
“Women dig the serpents.”
“Maybe you’ll score with some hot chick tonight.”
“Happily married.” Skulls pointed at the wedding ring he wore as a charm on his necklace. He couldn’t wear it on his finger because he had a habit of punching rowdy customers in the face when he threw them out of the bar.
“Alina, Lucas is here,” Rozalina said in a thick Russian accent and stuck her finger in her mouth in disgust. “How you could have slept with such a troll.”
“Lack of self-respect.”
“More like bad vodka.”
“I don’t drink that much.”
“You slept with him. You drink too much.”
“Ok, I drink too much. Can’t party without alcohol.”
“Girls, I pay you to serve tables, not jibber-jabber,” Mikhail, the bartender, said.
“Mikhail, you are a pridurok,” Rozalina said angrily.
“Call me that again and I’ll beat your ass!” Mikhail threatened.
“With those tiny hands of yours? I’m so scared.”
“Hire Russian women. What was I thinking? Could’ve hired American women. They have more respect.”
“Mikhail, they won’t do the things you have us do. If you get my drift.”
“Touché.”
“I guess I can’t avoid Lucas,” Alina said.
“If he gives you any trouble, Skulls can beat some respect into him,” Mikhail suggested.
“I can handle him ─ as little as there is of him to handle.”
“Ouch,” Mikhail said, laughing at the insult.
Alina tied her hair into a bun and sluggishly walked over to Lucas. She wanted to be as unattractive as she possibly could.
“Alina, it’s been a while,” Lucas said.
He wore a black leather jacket with the Sons of Anarchy emblem on the back. He was a biker wannabe. He was no tough guy. He was as harmless as a little kitten.
“Yes, it has. Why do you frequent a place like this? Applebee’s is more your style.”
“I come for the wonderful service.”
“From Russians? We are all rude here. You, American boy, are just fooling yourself.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Lucas, stop.” She stopped using her accent to signify she was being serious. “You are a nice guy. I’m not the get to know me type of girl. I sleep around and that’s how I like it. I never sleep with the same guy twice. You understand?”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
“Good,” she said with her Russian accent. “I’ll get you some vodka to make you feel better.”
After her shift had finally ended, she purchased a bottle of Vodka from the bar and headed home. She walked into her apartment and quickly shed all of her clothes. She stood in front of her bedroom mirror, completely nude, admiring her body.
“I see why men like me so much.” She took a swig from her vodka and stared at her new necklace. “Might as well try you on.”
She put it on and admired how it looked against her pale skin. The gargoyle’s ruby red eyes glowed brightly. She felt like she was spinning in place and then she passed out.
“Wakey wakey sleepy head,” she heard a female voice that sounded like her’s say.
She slowly opened her eyes and looked straight at herself. She wasn’t looking into her mirror, but she was looking at a spitting image of herself.
“Who are you?” she asked, still feeling very groggy.
“It’s me; it’s you ─ however you want to describe yourself or myself.”
“Huh?”
“I’m your twin.”
“I don’t have a twin?”
“You do now.”
“I don’t understand.”
Alina tried to shake off the headache she was feeling.
“Take a sip of your vodka.”
Her twin handed her the bottle.
“Is this some sort of Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”
Alina lifted the necklace toward her face and stared at it.
“I’m not here to kill you or take your place. You’re the one who put on the necklace.”
“I just bought this at the flea market.”
“I guess Mr. Grateful Dead should had warned you about its magical powers.”
“He said…”
“Take good care of this one. It will take good care of you,” they said in unison.
“He didn’t say anything about it cloning me, Alina.”
“No, you’re Alina. I think I’ll call myself Athena.”
“Athena?”
“Yes, as you can tell, I’m a goddess. Guys will fall at my feet like they do for you. Put some clothes on. Let’s go out and have some fun.”
“Fun?”
“More like let’s go out and get into some trouble ─ twin style.”
Alina stared at her in disbelief. She wasn’t sure how to react. Was this girl really a clone of her or was she something more evil pretending to be her twin? She’d seen many horror movies in her lifetime and she became skeptical about what was going o
n here.
Athena, sensing her skepticism, grabbed her arm. “To your laptop. We’ll look up the necklace online.” She dragged her into the small dining room where her laptop was sitting on a small table. She did a search for the gargoyle necklace. On the Cursed Relics website, there was a small article about it. “The necklace has the ability to create a complete clone of those who wears it.”
Alina read the article over Athena’s shoulder.
“Says nothing bad about the clone.” Athena smiled at her. “Now let’s go have some fun.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Party! Get wasted! Pick up some men! The usual stuff!” She danced around the kitchen.
“Not too much fun. We have to… I mean I have to work tonight.”
“Do you think Mikhail would hire me?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell anybody I know about you.”
“Why? None of them really know anything about our family in Russia. They don’t really know if you have a twin sister or not. You’ve never told them anything about your personal life outside the different guys we’ve, I mean you’ve, slept with.”
“Ok, I’ll introduce you. He’ll probably get a kick out of having two of us working there. Twin Russian gothic chicks will probably bring in some more clientele.”
“Some guys have twin fantasies.”
“Athena, maybe we should set some boundaries.”
“No, Alina. We aren’t at that part of our relationship yet.”
“Athena!”
“I’m kidding. I know you have a better sense of humor than that since we share the same sense of humor.”
“We better get going.”
“Maybe you should put some clothes on first.”
Athena pointed toward her naked body.
“That would have been awkward,” Alina said and walked into her bedroom.
They walked into Death Metal Hell, the nightclub down the street from The Devil’s Due. The music was loud and the place was filled almost to capacity with metal heads. The place smelled like marijuana. Within seconds, they were hit on by several guys as they squeezed through the crowd toward the bar.
“Two vodkas,” Alina said to the bald, muscular bartender with tattoos all over his neck and forehead.