“Thaddeus, Drown these Bastards. I don’t give a rat’s ass if I go with them just as long as these mother fuckers die today.” Kate looked like some demon straight out of hell. She was covered in mud from head to toe, the tree limb could have been mistaken for a pitch fork because of the braches that snaked out of one end, and the little girl draped over her other arm looked like some demented rag doll. The Senator watched his wife go down and turned toward Kate his hands flying into arcane symbols of power, and words in a language that made your skin crawl came out of his mouth. Kate looked at him and he fell back the words lost and his hands loose. Thaddeus did not know what to make of that but the two fellows that had been scrambling toward him now were scrambling towards the stairs at the other end of the pit. Kate flowed off the altar that was the only way Thaddeus could describe it afterwards. It was like a dream but a dream that didn’t last long. All along the edge of the river the sand bags were popping open and the contents were spilling into the mud. Thaddeus looked down at his hands and smacked one. “Hey you’re not actually supposed to be able to do that.” He said to them and started to run towards Kate.
Kate advanced and the Senator backed toward the portal. He scrambled to the side as she approached and Thaddeus saw that it was not the Senator that she was focused on but the gate itself. She got to the edge of the portal and placed the child inside. The little girl became insubstantial then disappeared into the colors. Kate turned towards Thaddeus. He saw that her eyes had turned the same swirling colors as the gate. Water was rushing around their ankles and Thaddeus screamed to Kate, “You got to get into the portal to get home. This place is going to be under water any second.” Just at that moment the rail road ties holding back the river’s onslaught burst and the black powerful water of the Mississippi washed over them. Thaddeus remembered Purple. That was what he saw when he thought about that moment later just, Purple. Then he opened his eyes and was on the bank of the river. The excavation was below him covered by the river and all around him was a sea of mud. Here beside him was Kate her eyes now their normal steely blue. She got up and offered Thaddeus her hand. He accepted it and pulled himself out of the mud. They were both covered but alive. Maybe magic had saved them maybe the river washed them up here. None of the Senator’s men nor his wife was to be seen along the river and Thaddeus hoped they had drowned.
“Did you really make all those sandbags pop up like that?” asked Kate.
“I was bluffing but maybe a little of that Dwarven magic really is in me.” Thaddeus blink one eye at her and when he did he saw the most pitiful sight he had ever seen. A little piglet was making its way across the mud. It was going very slowly trying to keep itself as far out of the mud as possible. Kate saw it and ran to it, kneeling down, picking the poor creature out of the muck.
“Oh, it’s adorable,” She cooed, “This is the cutest thing I have ever seen. I think I’ll call him Prig, Yes Prig the Pig.” She smiled down at the pig and up at Thaddeus.
“This place isn’t all bad.”
Sometimes the most civilized places in the world house the most vicious monsters; sometimes these monsters aren’t even human.
Over the Edge © 2011,Gerry Harris
When I’d heard the news that Thomas Alpine, renowned news photographer, had fallen from the 20th floor tramway in New York, I knew They’d gotten him. I’d known Alpine not as a photographer but as a hunter. Unfortunately sometimes a hunter falls prey to the hunted.
As soon as I heard the news I caught the cross-continental Zeppelin out of San Francisco for New York. The two-day voyage was agonizingly slow, but it was safer than taking the train, what with the recent upsurge in train robberies.
We docked at the Coney Island tower. You could hardly tell that less than a decade before it had been at the heart of some of the fiercest fighting ever seen in North America. I took the 10th floor tramway into town. My first stop was the precinct house closest to Alpine’s flat. Unlike some cities, in New York the entrances to the police stations were at ground level. I guess they figured they ought to be closer to where the crime was. I introduced myself to the desk sergeant as Alpine’s friend and colleague, and asked to see the casebook on his death.
The sergeant looked at me like I’d just popped out of nowhere. “We’re not in the habit, Mr. Riley, of letting any old person just peruse our cases,” he said. I fumbled around in my wallet and produced a press card showing I worked for the New York Times (one of many identities I found myself forced to maintain).
“Thomas and I were working together on a piece dealing with corruption in high places,” I said. “I’d really like to know the circumstances of his death to see if it is related to the story, and whether I should take precautions.”
“Lt. Paterson is the detective who investigated Alpine’s death. Why don’t you go chat with him?” The sergeant nodded in the direction of a desk in the corner of the room.
Patterson turned out to be a congenial fellow. He had very little on the case other than tram passengers had seen Alpine struggling with someone on the 20th floor tramway and a few minutes later a call had come in that someone had fallen. Alpine was found on the street, along with his camera. The latter had broken open and exposed the film, so any chance Alpine had photographed his assailant was moot.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. They don’t photograph.
I thanked the lieutenant and made my way to Alpine’s flat. I’d corresponded with him enough I knew his address by heart. It was on the 14th floor – right in the middle of working-class territory. I let myself in using the lockpick I carry with me. It didn’t look like anyone had been there. Of course, They wouldn’t care as there would never be any evidence of them, and anything else could be chalked up to the ravings of a madman.
One room of the flat had been dedicated to a dark room. Alpine had long ago graduated from plates to film, and he did not skimp on either the medium or his cameras. I spotted a model on a shelf that could take a photograph of someone half a mile away and still allow that person to be identified. The films he used allowed resolutions unthinkable just a few years before.
It didn’t appear there were any undeveloped rolls lying about. Thomas must’ve cleared his backlog before setting out on his last mission. That probably meant he wanted to devote his full attention to whatever he was bringing back. I found what I was looking for in another room. The room contained a chair and a desk with a homemade light table on it. A couple of loupes and grease pencils told me this was where Thomas did his actual creative work. The drawers of the desk contained envelopes of prints, each labeled with a project name. One, however, had no label on it. Alpine always did have a sense of humor. We didn’t know what They called themselves, and we didn’t have a name for Them either.
The photos in the envelope all appeared to be group shots with curious gaps in them. Thomas had circled some of the gaps in grease pencil and made a note off to the side. Most often the note was a single question mark, but some had names: Neil Merriweather, Alice Merriweather, Perceval Merriweather, and Alexandra Merriweather. Thomas had evidently stumbled upon an entire nest of Them.
I slipped the envelope into my satchel. Then I heard the front door open and close. I reached back into my satchel and pulled out my gatling pistol. As quietly as I could I rotated the barrels until I heard the click of a round chambering. The 12-round magazine on top of the weapon made it a bear to aim accurately, but it fired three rounds every time the trigger was pulled, and that more than made up for its lack of accuracy, especially at such close quarters. At least I hoped that would be the case.
I peered around the doorframe. In the main room I could see a woman with her back to me. She was removing her gloves and hat and placing them on a table. As quietly as I could I raised the gun in front of me and tiptoed up behind her.
“Who are you?” I asked quietly. She gave a little gasp and froze.
“I’m April Alpine,” she said without turning to face me. “This is my brother’s flat. What
are you doing here?”
I lowered the pistol. “My name is Riley. I’m an associate of your brothers,” I replied. “Thomas never mentioned a sister.”
“Thomas spoke of you often, Mr. Riley,” April replied, smiling. “As for me, I was in Seattle when I heard the news. I came as quickly as I could.”
“Did your brother mention what he was working on when he died?”
“Only that he’d been hired to provide photographs of a reclusive family, and that he’d be paid handsomely.”
That was a bit odd. Alpine usually handled these investigations privately. Maybe it was a cover story he’d concocted. “Does the name ‘Merriweather’ ring a bell?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean The Merriweathers? They’re one of the richest families in New York. They hardly ever venture below the 30th floor. Is that who he was investigating?”
Investigating? Interesting choice of words. “I may have to do some social climbing. Do you mind if I stay here for a bit? I’ve had a long flight and I could use a little rest.”
“No. no. I’m sure my brother would’ve been more than happy for you to stay here,” she said with a hint of a smile. “That is, if you don’t mind sharing the flat with me while you’re here.”
“Perish the thought,” I said, grinning.
I called over to the Zeppelin port and had them pneumatic my trunk to the local cargo terminal. A boy from the local teamsters’ union house delivered it to the door. I lugged the trunk into a back room, stood it up and popped open the clasps. Folks in my line of work have to be able to blend in wherever we might find ourselves. Fortunately for us, They like to cluster in the upper strata of society so our costume choices are relatively limited. I pulled out the suit and hung it over the doorframe. Then came the beaver-skin hat, gloves and cane. The ensemble had cost me a fortune, but was guaranteed not to draw attention above the 20th floor. The cane had also cost me a pretty penny, but one must not skimp when one’s life could hang in the balance.
I had chosen the work room as mine. I laid out a small pallet of blankets and a pillow next to the desk and locked and chained the door before I turned out the light. During the night I heard someone try the door, but she couldn’t get in. Otherwise I slept like the dead.
The next morning I attended to the necessaries, bathed and shaved and put on the suit I’d taken out the night before. As an added touch I spritzed myself with a $50-an-ounce cologne. Every little detail helps. As I grabbed my hat, gloves and cane, April stepped out of her room arrayed in one of the most expensive gowns I’d ever laid eyes upon. A bonnet perched upon her head and her gloved hands grasped a Chinese paper parasol.
“I assumed from our conversation last night we’d be heading up town this morning,” she said. “From your getup, I assumed correctly.”
This was an interesting turn of events. However I couldn’t think of a reason she shouldn’t accompany me. “Shall we then, my dear?” I asked.
“Aren’t you going to take your hand cannon?” She asked, arching a brow. “After all, my brother was killed up there.”
“I have no place to hide it,” I answered. It was the truth. The damned thing was a foot long and weighed more than seven pounds. It wasn’t the type of weapon one could simply hide in one’s waistband.
Then let us hope we won’t need it, she said, putting the parasol onto her shoulder like a soldier on parade.
We took the lift to the 20th floor. As the cage climbed I looked my companion over. “Do you have ‘the sight’?” I asked her.
“’The sight’? What’s that?” she asked looking at me sideways.
“Do you ever see things that shouldn’t be there?” I asked. “Have you ever seen, well, monsters?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Riley.”
‘The sight’ typically ran in families. My father had it and I and my brother had it. Hell, most of the loose organization of hunters had it. The rest relied on such things as photographic evidence. Thomas Alpine had it. Still, it wasn’t uncommon for some siblings to inherit it and others not.
“Never mind. It’s not important,” I said, my grip on my cane tightening.
At the 20th floor we caught the tram for midtown, where the buildings towered above their surroundings. There were no trams above the 20th floor, nor did there need to be. The folks above the 20th floor could afford their rooftop gardens, plazas and personal flitter pads. From the 25th floor up, the buildings were a tangle of penthouses, exclusive clubs, private parks (including, according to rumor, at least one game park), flying walkways, flitter pads, and five-star restaurants. It was into this warren of opulence my companion and I were headed.
We stepped off at the midtown station and caught a lift for a 30th floor plaza. A number of high-end shops fronted on the plaza. I hoped to pick up the trail there. As soon as the cage doors opened I knew we had struck gold. They were everywhere. There were, of course, people there too, but it seemed the plaza was crawling with Them. Alpine hadn’t uncovered a nest, he’d uncovered a hive. I was in way above my head here.
How to describe Them? Imagine a black ant nearly six feet tall, man-shaped, with manipulative hands, and four limbs. Their shiny outer shells weren’t chitin, but an incredibly tough skin. Their skeletons were enough like a human’s to pass muster on first glance. I had no idea of how they appeared to others. Somehow they disguised themselves enough to pass as humans. However, for reasons unknown they could not be photographed.
I looked at my companion. She seemed completely unfazed. All she saw were high-society people. This situation was bigger than I had expected. I was going to need to call in every hunter I knew, and even then we’d probably be outnumbered considerably. I bent down and whispered in April’s ear, “We need to get out of here, now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Riley. We’re in no danger here,” she said, her voice louder than usual. A number of Them stopped and looked in my direction, their antennas twitching.
I began backing toward the cage. The nearest of Them began advancing toward me. Others in the crowd were turning toward me now. I hit the summons button on the cage. April addressed the nearest of Them, “he’s not armed, he can’t hurt you.”
The creature surged forward, followed by a number of his fellows. Some of the humans in the crowd turned to see what the fracas was, but then quickly went back to their own business.
My back hit the cage door. I raised the end of my club, pointing it toward the lead creature, and twisted the hand-knob. The creature dropped in its tracks as the .44-40 slug tore through its chest. The others hesitated, and several looked at April. At that point the cage door slid open and I stepped backward, waving the end of the cane back and forth to keep the other creatures at bay. The cage doors slid shut and I began dropping toward the 20th floor. At the 20th I grabbed the tram back to Thomas’s flat. I didn’t have much time. Reaching the flat I tossed my clothes into the steamer trunk and pulled out a set of coveralls and a tam. It took me a few minutes to change my outfits. I threw the satchel with my gun over my shoulder and dragged my steamer trunk behind me. I was just reaching the lift to the 10th floor tram when I heard a rush of feet coming down the stairs. The lift doors opened and I slid in just before April and a number of Them rounded the corner. I’m not certain they saw me.
I hopped aboard the 10th floor tram and made my way to Grand Central Station where I caught a train for Boston. In Boston I hopped aboard a Zeppelin for L.A. None of Them were aboard.
Once back home I picked up a two-day-old copy of the New York Times. There was a short piece on a young lady found dead at the foot of a downtown building. She matched April’s description. I’ve spent the last three days reaching out to my contacts among the Hunters. I’m trying to build enough of a force to go back to New York and wipe out the nest before it grows.
So far, everyone I’ve contacted says they’re in. We should be ready to go any day now.
Cross your fingers and wish us well.
Spirits are often j
ust the thing to enliven a night out.
The Mysterious Disappearance of James
© 2011, John Raposa
Dr. Conroy Eddington was just sitting down for his morning toast and tea when the bell rang at his front door. Slightly annoyed at being interrupted he strode to the door and rather brusquely asked, “What is it”. A messenger boy stood outside the door with a letter in hand his eyes wide from the manner of the good doctor. He said “Sorry govn’r; a Sir James Young asked me to deliver this right away.” Conroy’s mood softened and asked the boy to step into the foyer, He went and got his purse took out two copper cents and tipped the boy telling him to put the letter on the small table. “Thank you govn’r, I’ll be running along”, said the boy as he fled out the door.
Conroy stood there for a moment and contemplated leaving the letter till after his breakfast, but he picked it up. There was a red wax seal with the Young crest ensuring the letter would not be tampered with. That’s odd he thought to himself, James was never this formal. In fact James was rather eccentric. Only a few weeks prior the doctor had been over to James’s manor and James was in the process of stringing copper cables from tree to tree in the garden behind his house. Dr. Eddington asked “what in God’s name are you working on now” but James only smiled and said. “You will see.”
Conroy opened the letter and read “Conroy, please be at my house at 8pm sharp tonight. I have made a truly wonderful discovery.” Conroy turned the letter over but that’s all it said. He was truly puzzled to think that those cryptic words were worthy of a seal but he had learned not to be too amazed at what James considered important after all he was rather eccentric. Why just a month ago he had been experimenting with Spark gaps and Leyden Jars. The Watsons across the street had complained to the local constabulary forcing him to cease experimenting at 1 am. The light flashes and loud reports were causing the lady of the house to have fainting spells.
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