... The snow begins to fall. It looks elegant in the bright night passing through the street lamps and the shadows they emit. This same snow would become rain as it approached the landlord, if not evaporating as it hit his skin as he marched through the officers to the front towards his house. Six other punks now surrounded the seven-foot barbarian who was tossing them around the street with ease. This landlord, however, was not afraid. If it weren't for what would quickly become the strangest thing the world would see; his house, the punks within it and its existence faded within the flicking of a switch. Nothing but an empty lot remained no more broken bottles, no more glass and door fragments. Not a single soul made any single move as they focused all their attention towards where the house once was. They waited, patiently but without notice for the house to reappear. They began to look at each other, make sure they too witnessed what had to be a dream. The landlord was the first to speak;
"Well, officer... where's my house? What is this?"
No one spoke until finally; a young bewildered man began looking in the sky as he answered the man;
"Man, I knew they existed."
One hour earlier; Professor Isaacs was scouting his alleys in the dead of night, searching every crack on the earth for the worthless hobo's infesting his daughters’ home. Instead, they would be brought back to his less than adequate experiment hall under a bridge once used by junkies. Here he would do what was necessary even if it meant cracking a few skulls. There he would find and cut out their pathetic pineal glands, ingest them and satisfy his own vastly more important and very much active gland. Once he felt their last pulse in the back of his throat, their blood carrying billions of neurons these men couldn't hope to have access. Fortunate for the Professor he knew how to access this information; he knew that he now possessed the tools to decipher such codes as his mind interpreted what he believed to be anti-matter into reality... his reality.
Isaacs had just finished consuming his first host in many nights, the homeless becoming scarce. The full moon and his high from cannibal consumption led his tall restless body back on the streets to find another host. He knew a few fields not checked for some time. That was where the fools had been hiding, in the bushes thinking they are safe. Wrong again, miserable fools.
Coincidence or perhaps fate would lead the demented Professor to the field behind the downtown superstore, adjacent to the street Harpers Lane. He usually avoided this area, knowing of a group of youths living on the street causing a ruckus. The Professor was smarter than to meddle with people who might be missed, and so he stayed away from the possibility of harming the sheltered.
Also causing mischief on this night, the last night of the fictional apocalypse was the two rogue alien scouts, X and Y would be the first to know that this would be a far more significant night then anyone of any state of mind could have intended. That was for their far more advanced technology could detect a phenomenon before they happened. Their most prized gadget was an alarm that could sense the birthing of a portal, or a black hole as we know them. This New Year’s night their alarm would indeed sound and so they would investigate the source which was where our party was being held.
Despite Joe's Melancholy, all was quite festive at the house. Everyone who was ever there before attended on that night, as if they all knew the houses days were numbered. Sheets hung over doorways, windows let in a breeze regardless the time of year. Goerge and Simon had gotten into a habit of building coffee tables out of raw materials such as glass cabinets and wine bottles, guitar cases and any wood and makeshift legs they could adapt. Perhaps it was this skill they had developed which manifested the same regular from one of the local bands to find himself fallen into the destruction of their newest replacement. After all, if he hadn't, they would never have acquired such a skill.
Simon and Dave were in the study; Simon being hyperactive due to dollar pills of speed handed out at the party was both able to annoy Joe while teaching Dave how to play chess.
"Jesus H. Christ Joe, is now really the time for that shit? Thought you wanted to make comic books anyway?"
"It's a process, Simon, do some more drugs and maybe you'll figure it out."
"I will do more drugs Joe (Simon turns back to Dave), the objective is to put the king of the opposing team into checkmate. Checkmate is when the opponent's king is surrounded by me and has absolutely no movement." Dave calmly replies to Simon that he had just said that part but was cut off by Simon who was continuing his conversation with Joe; "I will do more drugs Joe, but I'll still not be able to figure out how you're gonna write a comic book with a typewriter... why the hell would you get something like that anyway? Has anyone told you about computers yet Joe? They really are quite fascinating devices Mr. Pig. Heard you can even have sex with them, sometimes even better than. It's your move, Dave."
"Pretty sure I'm going to just do this another time. Your jaw is making me nervous."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you not realize your jaw is going like it’s on fire? I'm gonna get back to the party."
"Why? And maybe if you tried some of this shit you'll know what I'm talking about. Walk a mile in my shoes, ya know? Common quit being such a pussy and play some fucking chess!"
"Most shoes I know don't put holes in your brain and wash your dishes." Joe could be heard laughing as Dave made his exit.
"Shut the fuck up Joe...what are you writing anyways, let me see."
"Get out of here Simon; go talk someone else’s ear off."
Simon ignores Joe's command, jumps up and snags Joe's pages.
"Ou shucks Joe, this is quite a load you've got here... you've been busy... Who's Jim Welsh? That's kind of a funny name."
"Give them back! Like I said, you wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"..."
"First, take a line with me, man! Common, celebrate the New Year just a little bit. Do one line and I'll leave you alone, AND you will write like a motherfucker." Simon laughed briefly at his own comedy, surprisingly enough Joe would oblige;
"Alright... just the one though." As Joe takes the chess board, its pieces replaced with pills scattered across senselessly, Joe crushes one with a king piece and receives a bill from Simon. As Joe ingests his dose Silga walks in, shocking Joe into knocking over the chess board with the crushed-up pill. Simon again laughs at this.
"Wow now, good stuff isn't it...? Silga, what are you doing here?"
"There's a fight outside... You might want to come and see."
"Let em' fight."
"The cops are here. Two just arrived and are waiting for back- up. You might want to come"/
Silga was cut off by a loud smash and glass flying towards her from the stairway and into the room. Simon gets up and follows the point of impact as he hears other bottles beginning to smash. He closes the door behind him, Silga left alone with Joe. They don't say much; far too much chaos was afoot to be as comfortable as the rest. They seemed to be the only two who did not find this freedom very fun.
Downstairs Simon was dodging bottles left and right as he hollered and screamed for the party to stop. As he began to take in his surroundings he noticed copious amounts of blood smothered on the walls which led to a puddle in the kitchen which was attached to the common hall. Inside was Damien whose hand had been cut by one of the bottles. This gave Simon relief and wonder as the amount of blood one would expect a heap of corpses.
Beyond the kitchen and outside on the back patio were two more mischief’s, minding their own. One went by the name of Chris Lee and the author, your fatal narrator; Mack. We were tossing bottles, trying to hit the Staples building, beyond the field behind the house as well beyond the store’s parking lot. Staples was an ok store. I too prefer typewriters, the clicking and clacking help me know I'm doing something with my thoughts.
We had no idea until many months later that we had hit a festering hobo in the fields behind the house.
A weak throw, I won't point blame, and this landed straight on the head of Professor Isaacs as he fumbled over some other poor helpless homeless. The Professor went down and while in such a dark slumber came the most luminous dream which was Joe's fiction. This is what alarmed X and Y. Therefore, they would activate their time cloak which would present to anyone not on the premises to experience the futuristic version of Harpers Lane which was nothing more than an empty, retired lot. Inside, however, turmoil became the party’s reality as the psychopathic fiction oozing from Professor Isaacs' over exerted Pineal Gland would find its way into reality through the ink on Joe's pages. His anger, his embodiments, and archetypes of his friends would become the more real versions of their present selves. Being lost in a void, their minds would be forced to create their own new reality which would have been a splendid notion had the Professor not performed such maddening experiments on himself with such brilliance. Now, the Professor would be no more. Instead, in this world he will embody the vessel Joe had so kindly presented to him, that is the pre-determined ruler of Joe's imagination. Now he was Mr. Dystopia, and if it weren't for the concealed hate that had been festering inside of Joe which led this character into having more power than he should have, he would have had a flaw.
Chapter 3.5
Joe's Fiction
December thirty-first, two thousand and eleven
It has been one long year since the apocalypse had ensued, nobody knew who he was or what he wanted, what we did know was that he hated this house and everyone inside it. It seems the collapse of the city and possibly the world had been conjured as so just to torment the people living here at Four Harpers Lane.
My name is Jim Patrick Welsh, for those who are reading this you may call me Jim for we are already friends. My writing will hopefully help who-ever survives this mess a little insight on to the strangeness of it all as well the particularities.
I don't remember much prior to living at Harpers Lane. This becomes one of the stranger matters, which is my existence. This whole town seems so surreal.
Before the apocalypse, I and my roommates had many gatherings and talked about things such as god. No one really believed in it, or at least no one admitted. Since the violent outbreak of the homeless last New Year’s Eve, no one has brought the subject up. Me personally, I think something is out there. Obviously, at this point it is no secret the supernatural isn't abiding by any rules anymore.
The other tenants are Simon, Goerge, and Silga. As well a brother and sister were stranded on that night one year ago; their names are Bush and Elize. Simon has been getting whacked the whole time, having gone into this apocalypse with a supply of narcotics one would almost believe he saw it coming. Goerge has been handling the ordeal better than anyone, finding several hunting rifles left in the house by its previous tenants; he had quickly since become the best shot of the house.
Bush and Elize remain the naivest of the crew, surprising everyone by still being alive. The crew does regular scouting missions as to both gather supplies and see if anyone is still alive in the city. The surreal bit I had mentioned is this; that there's no one. Not a single being alive or dead. We are alone in this town, only the homeless who go mad in the day try to kill us all for no reason. They all seem just so, angry.
Silga is the strangest of it all... she has become almost as dangerous as the sun junkies themselves. Before all this, she was shy and timid, since all the death and witnessing the dismemberment of more than a few partygoers she has since adopted a more dominant attitude. This change in behavior included a fondness for melee weapons and blunt force trauma, as well her new haircut which was a Mohawk. A person could almost say this ordeal had empowered her.
And so here we are five survivors and a maniac hoping the end of the year brings the end of the apocalypse.
. . .
Enlightened! Enlightened! Enlightened! I have never been so enlightened in all my life! Yes, the night did, in fact, bring upon it, not an end but an opportunity! The house again was overrun, overrun by sun junkies in the night. The moon must have driven them insane, they killed everyone, everyone except me and Silga who is probably just as mad as the rest of them by now. Yes, she has been taken, not worthy of he, the ruler, my lord who has spared me! He IS ruler supreme, the supreme overlord! Welcome, My Dystopia, I will do your bidding, I will find our creator and with his powers, I will bring us towards the plain where WE ARE REAL! JOE, I AM COMING FOR YOU!
Chapter Four
Apocalypse at Harpers Lane
Joe stopped typing as the house began to shake. For a moment he thought it was the speed as he was very much still buzzing. Simon was right he had become a demon on his typewriter. But what was he writing? Now was too late as something very horrific surely must be at hand as screams are heard from outside. Screams followed by maddened yells filled with a sense of lust he had never sensed before.
Everything had changed at the house, the moment Professor Isaacs hit the ground an explosion of his subconscious caused Joe's story to take on a life of its own. Not yet reading the words he had drawn unto paper, he wouldn't until later realize what he had done; only far after that would he believe it possible. His comic book realization; Mr. Dystopia had been consumed into a being which now possessed real influence and this influence had already corrupted Joe's prized protagonist, Jim Welsh. He wouldn't know until it was too late just what the two had in mind.
Outside the fight was broken up not by police but from the dark where a mob of psychopathic homeless charged the premises, first attacking the five smaller combatants and tearing them to bits and then joining together a frenzy to take down the giant. After they had finished with them the horde washed into the porch of the house going after all who stood as spectators. Blood painted the already bloody walls, limbs piled across the premise. Damien was the first to exit the time-shift hologram, his bloodied and distraught self almost seeming beyond human and immediately was blown away by nervous RCMP who guarded the perimeter of what used to be a house.
Goerge fended off many before completely engorging the living room from the porch. Holding the door Goerge yelled at Silga instructing her to fetch the ax from the basement. Silga did nothing.
"Now Silga, get it while I still got them... Silga!"
Finally snapping out of her haze Silga ran back to the kitchen which led to the access to the basement. On her way, she glanced back at the bloodshed in the backyard. Silga stopped as she witnessed several partygoers vanishing as they made their way through the field. As her line of vision was at the outskirts of the property line she witnessed the most horrific sight which was her father, raising from the ground and staring directly into her eyes. This lasted what seemed the longest moment of her life, and then his glance was broken as he looked up to the sky. Silga took this opportunity to flee, onward to the basement as to help Goerge gain control of the house.
On her way back up the door was slammed in her face as she could see Bush being apprehended. Inside the kitchen, Bush finds courage as the large burly man with few rotten teeth and a long-knitted overcoat charged him. Bush punched him but was met with tenfold the force, knocking him through the expensive life-sized window behind him. Bush broke through the glass and flopped onto the ground. Cut deeply by the glass and bleeding, he tried again to make his escape but is met by the Professor, now towering over him. Before Bush can react, he is taken down by the same hobo and beaten fiercely. Isaacs' smiles at this, now in a state of calmness he had never experienced. This quickly is interrupted as suddenly both the hobo and Bush disappear. The professor again looks to the sky above the house, knowing exactly who it was distracting his work.
Inside the house, the remaining crew fend off the horde and seal up the doors. They had joked before how the house conveniently held enough tools and hunting gear to hold off an apocalypse. The joke now lost its humor.
Joe, Simon, Goerge, Silga, and Elize were all that remained. The homeless would eventually leave them
alone, though they could not know why. They waited, never nearing sleep. They hoped and prayed this was all a bad dream, a nightmare far from reality that would dissipate with the sun. Meanwhile, outside their conceived reality the city crowded the premises with police enforcement, journalists, and cultists. Everyone had an opinion and the news was fast spreading across the world. The most common theory was; (which was foremost right), that the phenomenon was caused by aliens who were performing some sort of illusion. However, no one could have guessed that the real phenomenon was under the construct of a mentally unstable fiction writer and the imagination of a man who had found Dark Matter.
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