by T L Barrett
“Well, all right, Sophia. There isn’t any reason to become uncivil!” Blanche said as she sat down. “I can’t recall anybody saying who these gentlemen were, nor gave a list of their credentials. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. I am honored to have you as my guests. I would also like to invite you into my chambers at the earliest convenience. This old pussy could show your young cocks more explicit pleasure than all of these young tarts combined.”
“That is enough!” Eve said. She pounded the table with her palm. “Who dispensed Ms. Potter’s pills this week?”
That would be me. Oh my druthers, it completely slipped my mind. You see, I have been so close to pushing the neighbor woman to finally slip some poison into the drinks of that emotionally abusive boyfriend of hers, I just plum let everything slide.
Just then a strange claxon went off somewhere in the estate house.
“Furies to flight,” Eve shouted.
“Furies to fight,” the rest of the women shouted.
“Furies to make things right” they shouted in unison, and in a flash they were gone out of the room.
Glen and Barry looked at each other.
“That was pretty cool,” Glen said. Barry raised an eyebrow and nodded.
“We should probably go see what that was all about,” Barry said and rose up, patting his mouth with a napkin.
“Right,” Glen said and grabbed three biscuits and a half of a blueberry pie as he followed his friend to the door.
Chapter Ten
Monster Team-Up
Barry sat in the basement Headquarters of the Furies and marveled at what he saw. In front of him sat a computer monitor, a police scanner and an expensive two way radio hitch up. A series of strings connected everything, tacked in place to the walls and ceilings, running past big bulletin boards covered with maps of St. Louis, profiles of Doctor Moreau and other suspects and news clippings about the Furies recent exploits. These strings were attached to numerous objects, some on dusty shelves, others hanging from the ceiling: skulls, dream catchers, crystal balls and an autographed poster of Tom Selleck.
“What the—” Barry muttered as he stared into the eternal grin of Hawaii’s most famous P. I.
“Barry, can we talk?”
Barry whirled around and scanned the apparently empty basement.
“Barry, ah’m up here,” Arachne spoke into Barry’s mind. Barry looked up and startled at the giant spider on the ceiling looking down at him. Barry tried to recover himself. He understood that he had lost the coin toss for the back of the hearse to Glen when the rest of the Furies took off to investigate the reported disturbances made by animal-men downtown, but why had they left him alone with the giant telepathic spider?
“Barry, Ah’m a telepath. If something happens to the rest of the girls and Glen, I might be the only member capable of finding them again. Also, there’s the fact that they are going down town and most people wouldn’t miss a giant spider, would they?”
“Oh, I guess, there’s that.”
“You’re thinking about a couple of women.”
“I am?” Barry said and shifted in his chair.
“Yes, a brunette and an Asian girl. They have been your mates. Your thoughts have returned to them at least once every few minutes.”
“Hey, what can I say, I am a male.”
“It must be totally frustrating to exist as you do.”
“Well, almost half of the world’s population is with me, and most of us manage it somehow,” Barry said. “I suppose I’ll take it over menstrual cramps.”
“It is a wonder that you can even function at all. Ah am constantly shocked that the females don’t rise up and pen you all in for breeding stock.”
The image of Barry being led by a leash and ordered to mate with random females got him thinking again. His fantasy took on lucid color as he was led into a pen and women leaned down into holstered contraptions to prepare for his “donation”.
Barry moaned and felt a soft touch against his leg.
His eyes cleared and he saw Arachne crouched at his side a fuzzy leg on his trousers.
“Hey,” he shouted and jumped from his seat. “Don’t!”
“Relax, Barry. I only thought you needed to mate so you could clear your head for rational thought again.”
“Mate?” he asked and unconsciously brushed at his pant legs.
“Ah have never had the opportunity to experience sex. Ah am sadly a virgin. If my appearance deters you, I can make you think I look like any number of people.”
Suddenly, Stephanie stood crouched down naked where once was Arachne. Her beautiful young face pouted sensually.
“No, Arachne.”
Stephanie disappeared, and Hillary Clinton crouched in her place wearing a dominatrix outfit.
“Whoa, cut it out!”
“You consider yourself a progressive, don’t you? This could be a great opportunity for me and you, darling.”
“Let’s keep things strictly…professional…from now on, shall we?”
“Ah can pay you handsomely, sweet man.”
“Arachne—”
The two way radio receiver crackled to life.
“Barry, Jesus, Barry, are you there?” Glen’s voice panted from the speaker.
Barry hit the reply button on the console.
“Glen, I’m here, buddy. Where are you?”
“We’re in the Natural History Museum, but don’t come. Get the hell out of Saint Louis, buddy. They’ll be coming after you guys, too. It was a trap,” Glen whispered.
A feminine scream of pain or fury flooded the speakers. Barry almost jumped back.
“Glen, who’s doing this?”
“The tribunal.”
“Glen, Kahn killed the tribunal. They’re dead.”
“No, Barry, they’re The Tribunal. The originals. We are so dead. Oh, man, I gotta go—”
The line went dead.
* * * *
When the hearse pulled into the back parking lot to the museum, a policeman seemingly appeared out of nowhere and approached the driver side. Keeping one hand on his holstered gun he rapped on the windshield.
The dark tinted windshield lowered and a little old woman leaned out.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“Shut up and answer my questions,” the old woman said in a voice that demanded obedience.
“I’ll shut up,” the cop said and scratched at his moustache.
“Where are the beast-men?” the old woman asked.
“There were some men in monster masks. They started harassing people around this block. I haven’t seen anything since I got here.”
“Looks like we’re too late,” the pretty black woman in the passenger seat said forlornly.
“Nah, I can smell something in the air. I feel it like an itch in the crack of my ass,” the old woman said.
“This is probably a decoy. Moreau is on to us,” a deep feminine voice said from the back seat. “In all probability he is hitting a bank as we speak.”
“Are there any banks being held up in the city?” the old woman asked.
“Not that I know of,” the cop said.
“Well, you’re no help, you might as well take that gun and put it into your mouth and kill yourself,” the old woman snarled.
“Okay,” the policeman said and took out his gun.
“Ew, Blanche, don’t do that,” a girl shouted from the back.
“Fine. Don’t kill yourself.”
“Are you sure?” the policeman asked. “I’ve been thinking about doing it for a couple of weeks now. My teenage daughter ran off, my wife hates me and my dog died,” the policeman said, blinking back tears.
“Humpf, you should be a country music singer,” the black woman drawled from the passenger seat.
“Listen, people,” a great gruff voice said from deep within the hearse. “We’re in back of a museum, right?”
“That’s right, honey,” the black w
oman answered.
“Well, this Doctor Moreau might be inside right now. Obviously, he knows he has to step up his game if he’s going to survive with you guys in town. They’ve probably got all kinds of genetic material in there. He might even be working out how to make saber tooth cat people, or dinosaur people.”
“I never thought of that,” the girl in the back said.
“It is a logical assumption,” the deep feminine voice said.
“How did you get to be so clever, Mister Trucksmasher?” the black woman asked.
“Well, I’ve read a lot of comics, I guess,” the voice said. “Can I get out of here, soon. Being back here is kind of freaking me out.”
“Officer, I want you to go around front and makes sure no one interferes when we go into the museum, do you understand?”
“Yes, but when can I kill myself?” the policeman asked.
“Tell him to leave his wife, get his own apartment, join some dating sites on the internet, get a new dog, and um…shave off his moustache,” the girl said from the back.
“What she said,” the old woman snipped.
“Gotcha, loud and clear, ladies,” the cop said, saluted and marched toward the front of the museum.
The Furies and their hairy guest star got out of the hearse, stretched and made their way toward the back of the museum.
* * * *
The first of all tribunals waited for them in the main hall, just in front of a recreation of an allosauraus skeleton.
Three hags with beards and filthy robes muttered to each other over a cauldron frothing with noxious fumes. A huge, scarred monster with long lustrous black hair stood nearby, his mighty arms crossed over an enormous chest. An old man with long moustaches and glowing red eyes played a violin with leisurely grace. The old man stopped as they approached and spoke with a thick Carpathian accent.
“Velcome to the natural history museum. Are you the one’s the papers call: ‘the Furies’?”
“We are, but roster’s full, so we aren’t accepting any new members at this time,” the Shady Lady said from behind a little veil.
“Are you, sir, the creature they call: Glenwood Trucksmasher?” the stately old vampire asked.
“Yeah, that’s me. Who the hell’s asking?”
“By bloody stains on guillotined lace,” an old hag screeched over the cauldron.
“—for crimes against all folkish race,” another cackled.
“—most monstrous justice you will face!” the final witch shrilled out with mad glee.
“Oh, no, not again,” Glen muttered. “Who the hell are these bozos?” he asked the Bride.
“The ancient vampire is Vlad Tepes. The hags are the three witches,” Eve answered.
“What three witches?” Glen asked.
“The three witches, from Macbeth?”
“Where the heck is Macbeth?” Glen whispered.
“Surely you jest!” the Bride said.
“Wife of mine, you have returned to me,” the huge monster shouted. Eve turned and set her yellow eyes on his.
“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. I have no husband,” she said coldly.
“Eve, I have managed to get a pardon for your crimes,” Frankenstein’s monster said. “All you have to do is come over here with me. I’ll take you to South America.”
“What is it with you and South America?” the Bride asked. “Are you infatuated with Hitler’s brain, or what?” The monster looked hurt and then set his jaw.
“This is not the time for childish flirtation. Serious folk business must be addressed. Then we will go and parent the great race, finally, together.”
“Maybe, you should have checked Hitler’s brain for working ovaries, monster, because I will never go anywhere with you,” she stated.
“You refuse your husband’s generous appeal?” Dracula asked.
“This is your one and only warning,” the Crone shouted. “Leave Saint Louis or perish. This city is under the protection of the Furies!”
“The Sappho squad with their pet monkey, we are all a-quiver, I assure you,” Frankenstein’s monster quipped.
Dracula gave the three weird sisters a flick of his clawed hand.
“With the death-head’s scythe,
Brew the storms of strife,
And take from them,
All light and life.”
Lightning shot up from the cauldron, hit the ceiling spread and descended in great arcs. Bolts struck the Crone, Shady Lady and the Bride. All three fell back into the shadow, smoking. Harpy took off with a battle screech toward the tribunal.
Glen grabbed a glass display stand and lifted it with a grunt. When he swung around he saw Frankenstein’s Monster barreling down at him. He hefted the stand and threw it with all his might. The stand shattered around the oncoming monster. Glen did not wait to see its effect, but turned and darted back through the displays.
Glenwood Trucksmasher had read enough comic books about these guys to know that they wielded strength that would put him to shame. He couldn’t let the big guy get his hands on him if he wanted to survive.
He depressed the speaker button on the walkie-talkie.
“Come on out, Grendel,” Frankenstein’s monster called. “I just want to shake your hand.”
* * * *
Glen dropped the walkie-talkie, hoping that his warning would be enough to keep Barry sensibly away from the natural history museum. It probably wouldn’t be, Glen realized, but he couldn’t worry about that now. Someone just screamed. Had it been the sweet, young Harpy?
“I can smell you, beast,” Frankenstein’s monster called in a sing song voice. Glen reached over and grabbed a marble bust from a pedestal. He looked over his shoulder and could see a forest of stuffed bears and some manikins made up to represent early hominids. He backed up and prepared himself.
Frankenstein’s monster crept forward with amazing grace for all his height and build. His leering, yellow-eyed visage turned this way and that as he looked for Glen. Glen held his breath. He realized he would have one chance.
“Ironically, beast, it was your people who provided me with the desire to continue my existence after my unfortunate final encounter with my creator in the polar wastes. They were drawn by my intended funeral pyre. I realized at that moment that I was giving my life, giving this beautiful earth over, to what? Savages. Your people represented the most base essence of mankind. I, on the other hand, was a drastic improvement. After that, I had no more thoughts of ending my own existence. Yes, I have your kind to thank for my renewed and continuing vitality. Afterward, of course, I gained much warmth from their hides and nourishment from their meat.”
Glen bit down on his teeth hard. The creature was goading him, trying to make him reveal himself early. He wouldn’t fall for it.
At that moment, the creature stepped seemingly from nowhere and turned his head. His yellow eyes fell on Glen’s face. His wicked and malevolent face wrinkled in a grin.
A marble bust, matching the one in Glen’s upraised hand, crashed down upon the creature’s head. The creature stumbled forward and fell to his hands and knees.
The Bride of Frankenstein stood over her fellow creation. She spat on his back.
“You are an abomination,” the woman said.
The monster moved so quickly, Glen didn’t register what was happening until after it was over. The monster shot backward from his hands, wrapped his legs around that of his intended mate and spun up into the air driving the Bride off her feet and head first into an enormous glass case.
The monster was on his feet and spinning to meet Glen.
“Here!” Glen shouted and tossed the marble bust underhand to the creature. Surprised, the creature caught the bust in front of his chest with both hands. Glen followed the bust, driving his giant right fist into the creature’s face.
The bust fell on the creature’s foot. Glen grabbed the creature’s tunic with his left hand and brought the beast into another swing from his right. Shards of perfectly
white teeth flew into the air. The third swing made a crunching sound. Glen thought he might have broken the creature’s nose.
“Maybe that will improve your ugly mug!” Glen said, as he grabbed the shocked monster and pulled him close.
He brought his mighty brow down upon the skull of the monster. There was a resounding crack, and the monster slumped to the floor.
“Fuck!” Glen screamed and grabbed at his throbbing head. “Eve, are you okay?”
“I am still functional. Kill him quickly before he recovers!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Glen said and reached down to snap the creature’s neck.
“Hold!” came Dracula’s imposing voice. Glen turned. Eve, bloody from falling into the case, lifted her gaze, as well.
Dracula was at the end of the aisle. He held the Harpy in his grasp. Still alive, she breathed though parted lips, her face pale and dazed.
“Unless, of course you vould like to go one for one. Then, by all means, you may kill the boorish freak.” Glen straightened and put his hands to his side.
“I thought not,” Dracula smiled. A long tongue probed out of his mouth and licked at the harpy’s blood on his chin.
“Tastes like chicken,” he said with ghastly humor.
“I’ll kill you again, you bastard,” Eve promised.
“I think not. Sisters,” he motioned with his hand.
From somewhere in the museum, Glen could hear the Weird Sisters chanting as in some ancient tongue.
Great tendrils of muslin snaked their way through the air and encircled both Glen and Eve. In seconds they were bound in unbreakable bonds. Glen struggled and fell over as the muslin pulled tight.
“As soon as my colleague has regained consciousness, ve vill hold the tribunal and pass judgment. Don’t vorry, it’s just a formality, of course, but one must respect tradition! Ve vill not make you vait for death, too long, I assure you.”
* * * *
Barry found the right band for contacting Morticia.
“Morticia, if you can hear me, you need to be already on your way back to pick up Arachne and me!” Barry shouted into the mike. “Please?”