STRANGE STORIES

OF
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ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
Strange Stories of R...
Authored by Robin Kaczmarczyk

6.0" x 9.0" (15.24 x 22.86 cm)

Black & White on White paper
110 pages

ISBN-13: 9781548127121
ISBN-10: 1548127124

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1
 index

The Machine page 4

Jack Nicholson in Hell page 14
My Life as a Guard Dog page 22
The North Pole page 25
The Whale page 32
You Don’t Know Who I am? page 37
Santa Claus Pedophile page 42
The Man Who Built Fairy Homes page 53
The Day the Shit Hit the Fan page 62
The Big Stone page 70
The Gravity of Ghosts page 83
God Has Forgotten Us page 97
postscript - page 104

STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK 2

 THE MACHINE
Oswald Strumpfenwald had always been a pervert. He was a married
man, but his marriage was a stale, cold and sexless. His wife, Helga was
a cold hearted German hausfrau and she was also very fat. She always
wanted sex, but Oswald was a thin and lithe man, and every time he
made love to his wife, he felt he would fall inside her somehow, so he
preferred to satisfy his sexual needs with pornography and
masturbation.
Oswald was also a genius. Oswald was an inventor of things, and many
of his inventions had become instant hits in the ever volatile market for
new ideas. He had created a cat-litter dispenser which sold millions of
units within a few years. His lightbulb changer had become a common
fixture on most households. His toothpaste dispenser was an important
product which got international attention in the stock exchange.
But Oswald was a poor businessman, and for every invention he had
triumphed with, he had ten more that had cost him a mint and failed
utterly. Such was the case of the shoe-polisher (which also polished
floors) and the fly-swatter that ended up in dozens of lawsuits from
folks who were swatted by it.
So Oswald and Helga lived in modest but grinding poverty, mostly
spared from utter despair by Helga’s efforts as a Waffle-House cook.
And Oswald spent his time with his inventions, in his garage, trying to
remake the world. The reason he and Helga still lived together is that
the big woman had unfailing faith in Oswald, and that faith kept him
going.
After one of Oswald’s patents, an automatic coffee-maker/toaster hit it
off again, the couple had a small-but strong injection of much needed
capital, but it was just then that Oswald had his best and most
important inspiration to build…. The machine.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
So instead of spending the money of the coffee-maker on much needed
clothes, house-repairs or bills, Oswald spent it on materials for his
“machine.” Poor Helga was quite disappointed that her husband did not
help her even when it was evident that he had come across some
money, but she also was too faithful in Oswald’s inventions to criticize
her man’s financial choices.
But she was not prepared for what followed, for once Oswald began
work in the “machine”, he disappeared completely from normal life. For
months!
The obsession of the inventor for the new invention was absolute and
unyielding. In fact, after a few weeks of 10 and 12 hour days inside his
garage, finally Oswald moved in completely and left Helga alone in the
bedroom. If she had not taken him meals to the garage, he would not
have eaten, and to her dismay, many of the meals she made him ended
up uneaten.
He began work in the winter, shortly after new-years. Then spring went
by and summer came and went. By fall, Oswald looked terrible. It was
obvious he was degenerating. He hardly bathed, he almost didn’t eat
and Helga suspected he was also not sleeping very much.
She pleaded with him to stop, to take a break.
But he was relentless. At first, he was polite with her. But his politeness
decreased as her fear for his mental and physical health grew. When
she finally called his only brother to intercede, Oswald got furious.
Oswald’s yelling, curse infested rant made his brother pack up and leave
rapidly, and also made Helga cry desperately for hours. But Oswald
didn’t care. His only objective was “the machine” and his focus was
absolute and terrible.
It was not until a couple of weeks before Christmas that Oswald finally
came out his garage.
He came out euphoric, with an insane look but smiling. He hugged Helga
and kissed her and then went upstairs to his room and fell asleep. For
three days.
When he finally woke up, he ate a huge breakfast and then asked for
4 more. And finally, after finishing his las pancake, he looked at Helga with
the weirdest look on his face and kissed her. Helga got goosebumps of
just seeing him.
“Helga…” he said “…I have made my best invention ever. This is
something that will revolutionize the world. Nothing will ever be the
same for us. Once you see what I made, your life will never be the same.
Come, I will show you. You will be the first person to use the machine
besides me.”
Nervously, Helga followed Oswald to the garage.
The machine looked like a dentist’s chair. But it had weird looking
tentacles and other weird appendages all around. Some of the
appendages were dripping weird oily substances. A pair of futuristic
looking goggles hung from it. It was connected to a large computer and
it moved by itself as if it was alive.
“Ach, wut is dat?” Asked Helga in her Germanic voice.
“I call it the Pleasure Machine.”
“Oswald, diz time you haff gone too far.” She scolded.
“Sit on it.” He ordered.
“Never!”
“Sit on the machine, Helga.” Replied Oswald, deadly serious.
Helga did as she was told. Tentatively, she sat down. She was still
wearing her night-gown, and she was utterly surprised, and delighted,
when once she sat, her husband helped her remove the gown.
“Wut are you doing?” she giggled.
“You don’t need clothes for this machine, Helga.” He smiled.
And then, he strapped her arms and legs to the chair. This made her a
little nervous, but she had no fear of her husband, so she thought it
might just be some kind of kinky thing. Oswald went to the computer
terminal and turned on the machine. As if they were alive, the various
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
tentacles and appendages of the machine suddenly became more alive
and a mechanic hand placed the weird goggles on Helga’s eyes.
Helga was suddenly transported to a virtual world, with various images
of sexually attractive men coming over and “touching her”.
“Och, mein Gott! Wut kind of machine ist dis, Oswald!?” she said,
unable to see either the basement or her husband any longer.
“It is a masturbation machine!” Crackled Oswald maniacally.
Oswald had created the ultimate masturbation machine. It connected to
a computer that analyzed everything from rapid-eye-movements, heart
rate, galvanic responses, and adjusted to create higher and higher levels
of erotic pleasure. The images on the virtual reality goggles were
constantly changing based on the responses of the subject, creating a
kind of psychedelic sexual pipe-dream custom-fitted to the person on
the chair. The tentacles, probes, and appendages massaged and teased
the subject exactly in the places that all the sensors determined could
cause more pleasure. And the massive computer program that ran the
machine learned from each response, insuring that the pleasure grew
exponentially.
The real-time result for Helga was overwhelming. The machine probed,
penetrated, partitioned and pricked her body in every imaginable erotic,
lewd area, and the virtual reality goggles started to perfect her vision of
a perfect sexual encounter, creating more and more powerful sexual
fantasies until her entire being was possessed by the absolute need to
explode sexually.
Two hours later, Helga came out of the machine, weak, completely
satisfied, and feeling like she had not felt since she was a toddler. She
said nothing to Oswald. She simply went upstairs and collapsed on her
bed, where she slept the whole day.
Early the next morning, Helga was banging on the door of the garage.
“Oswald, darlink. Might I use your little machine again? I really like zat
machine. Can I come in?”
Oswald opened the door again, and strapped his wife to the machine.
This new round of masturbatory magic lasted four hours. The next day it
6 lasted six. Basically, Oswald used his wife as test subject for the
perfection of the masturbatory program. And Helga loved every second
of it.
Within a month, Helga had lost 40 lbs, she looked great, athletic, and
her mental concentration skills had improved over 300%. In fact, her IQ
had improved from the excellent treatment of the magical machine.
Oswald was ready to go to market.
After discarding the idea of having the machine produced by ordinary
sex-toy industries, Oswald settled on Volkswagen as his most logical
partner to manufacture his new toy. The patent lawyers he hired to
protect his invention had been thoroughly convinced of the machine’s
functionality by live-test runs. The CEO’s of Volkswagen who got a taste
of the machine were quickly sold to the idea of manufacturing the
machine, and in less than four months, the machine became the most
important money-maker for the entire Volkswagen company.
Oswald became a multi-millionaire overnight. In a question of months,
he and his wife moved from their humble home to a multimillion dollar
mansion in Malibu, California. The machine sold hundreds of millions of
units in less than a year.
But Oswald was not satisfied. He kept fine-tuning the machine, trying it
on himself and on Helga, but principally on Helga, who went from a 200
lbs hausfrau to a drop-dead gorgeous Teutonic diva. In fact, Helga’s
physical health and mental acuity were rising continuously, and for that
matter, so did Oswald’s. This secondary effect of the machine is what
got the CIA and the US Army interested.
The idea of creating super-soldiers was very old. It was actually as old as
World War I, when the Russians and the Germans began to experiment
with ape-human hybrids. All was very hush-hush, of course, but the US
Government was no stranger to the search for the super-soldier, and
they quietly spied on Oswald’s experiments.
Finally, the big-wings at the Department of Defense decided to act. A
couple of “agents” went to Oswald’s Malibu mansion and paid him a
visit.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
Oswald was not crazy about working for the DOD, but he really had no
choice. The “agents” that visited him made him an offer he could not
refuse. It’s a sad comment on our modern society that the US Army had
learned to use all the tricks of the Italian Mafia to convince folks to work
for them.
Speaking of the Mafia: various underground organizations tried to
kidnap Oswald and Helga to take control of the project, but the US
government spent millions of dollars in security and a full-time Navy
SEAL commando was assigned to secure Oswald and his project. Dozens
of attempts on Oswald’s life were stopped by the SEALs.
And so, the experiments on the machine’s mind-enhancing went into
hyper-drive. Oswald soon forgot his philosophical disagreement against
working for the Federal Government when he realized that the
scientists that were assigned to his project were helping him think of
new things to improve the functionality of his machine.
Meanwhile, Volkswagen left the automobile business and dedicated
full-time to Masturbation Machines, making them the most important
household item after the television everywhere in the planet.
Housewives were sitting on their masturbation machines in the most
remote places on earth thanks to the incredible merchandizing push
from the corporate geniuses at Volkswagen. Other car-companies tried
to imitate the machine, but nobody ever came close, the secret being
the patented programs created by Oswald.
Meanwhile, Oswald’s new super-secret laboratory in the bowels of
Area-51 was his fondest dream come true. It was the entire might of the
US Secret Government at his command. The lab huge, taking up more
space than a Walmart in Minneapolis. Dozens of white-robed egghead
scientists, the best of the best in all the most important specializations
such as programming, biology, anatomy, physics, psychology, genetics
and of course, proctology were at there to follow his orders. Oswald
also had access to the absolutely newest and best equipment, including
numerous non-patented secret technologies stolen from the alien bases
on the moon. He could spend the rest of his life in this lab and it would
not be a waste of time.
So, finally, after a couple years of Research and Development at the
super-hidden research facility in Area-51, Oswald came up with the
8
perfect machine.
He had added the use of psychoactive substances, goetic sigils, memetic
lights, alien technology and other magical things to perfect the
masturbatory process and make the absolutely most powerful sexual
experience on earth.
And of course, he chose himself as the first live-test subject for his own
machine.
Strapping himself for the first time in his new Super-Machine, Oswald
expected the best. Somehow, the machine would change him, and he
didn’t really know what the result would be.
The process at first, was delightful. Oswald went into psycho-sexual
spaces undreamt of before this time. But soon, the machine began to
torture his body and soul with increasing pleasure. Oswald never
dreamed that pleasure could be painful to such extent, but he felt the
very fabric of his being torn to pieces by the machine. It was as if the
nature of his being was being disassembled and re-assembles through
sexual stimulus.
The Army scientists who were monitoring Oswald were amazed to see
the readouts of the various sensors that recorded Oswald’s every
molecule. Somehow, the machine was masturbating Oswald into
another state of existence.
And then…
He died.
All the sensors went dead. A Five Star General supervising the
experiment saw the sensors strapped to Oswald go flat-line.
“Is he dead!? Did he die?” He asked his top egghead.
“It seems so… Sir!” replied the white-robed nerd.
The Five Star General walked closer and closer to the dead masturbator
strapped to the tentacle machine. He touched the seemingly lifeless
arm of the inventor.
1 And soon, he was no longer seen.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
And suddenly Oswald sprang to life.
The General gave a jump backward and pulled out his sidearm.
But Oswald simply got up, unstrapped from the machine and looked at
the general, twisting his neck to one side and then the other. His eyes
were glazed, as if he was still dreaming.
“Jesus Christ, man! What happened to you, man!?” cried the General.
Oswald shook again his head and suddenly, he began to glow. He was
glowing like a radioactive light bulb. The General jumped further back,
all the scientists in the lab did actually. Armed soldiers stormed the lab.
And Oswald shrugged his arms and exploded. The powerful explosion
knocked everybody out of their feet, but somehow, although every
atom of Oswald’s body was torn out of its place by the explosion, the
“essence” of Oswald kept its form. Somehow, Oswald exploded without
exploding. His skin, muscle, flesh, his bones… All of them flew into tiny
pieces, but they didn’t either. As if two Oswalds suddenly appeared in
the same place at the same time occupying the same space. And one of
these Oswalds blew up and the other didn’t.
Naked, perfectly still, Oswald stood there, looking at the ruins of his
super-secret lab.
The Five Star General got up and pointed his side-arm at Oswald.
“Mister, you better explain yourself!” He shouted.
But Oswald ignored him completely. Instead, he began to “rise”.
“Stop that man!” Shouted the General to his soldiers who rushed
Oswald and tried to grab him.
But some kind of invisible force knocked them out of their feet the
moment they tried to hold on to Oswald. And Oswald rose and rose
beyond the cavernous ceiling of the lab, past the bunkers, the higher-
levels and finally into the fresh air.
It was daytime outside, and Oswald rose and rose higher and higher.
Helga didn’t really believe her husband had disappeared. She thought
maybe the Government had killed him to keep him quiet about the
machine and steal his project. Still, the Government let her keep her
money and her mansion and she lived the rest of her life in reclusion,
addicted to the machine.
Volkswagen was sued numerous times regarding the addictive
properties of the machine. Apparently, some folks became so addicted
to the machine that they were unable to keep a job, lost their
marriages, abandoned their kids… hell, some even lost their minds. So
the machine was pulled off the shelves and the car company went back
to making cars.
The US Government shelved the Oswald project and went back to killing
black, brown and yellow people in faraway lands.
And Oswald?
Well… Oswald sightings became commonplace. Some folks claimed he
had become a God. Others said he was the devil. A church grew out of
his ashes with masturbation as its principal communion. The machine
went underground, with adherents and devotees trying to imitate the
path of Oswald to rise up to heaven.
You could say Oswald is now everywhere always. But he was also
neither here… Nor there. His masturbatory machine had masturbated
him into transcendence.

1
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2

JACK NICHOLSON IN HELL
Jack Nicholson looked at the assembled usual suspects at the Academy
Awards and sighed. He was getting too old for this shit. He had his usual
grin well plastered on his face, but he actually felt tired and a bit
annoyed. The show was not as good as other years, and having Justin
Bieber as an MC was simply wrong. Not much he could do about it,
either.
Oh, his voice weighed lots with the studios, but not enough. Never
enough.
Still, when Tom Hanks came up to the stage, Jack smiled and meant it
this time. Tom was going to announce Jack’s Lifetime Achievement
Award, and so, watching him go up to the podium sent a well-deserved
and much needed jolt of electricity up Jack’s spine. Jack allowed his
patented eyebrows to raise just so…
Tom was alright, but he was a bit stiff for Jack’s taste. A profoundly
strawberry guy, Tom Hanks made Nancy Reagan look like a crack whore.
Jack didn’t really mind strawberries, but he didn’t hang out with them
either.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there are certain Hollywood figures who stand
out no matter what they are doing. Their lives, their thoughts and their
acts speak out so loud and clear that we can only stand in their shadow
wondering at them, as if they were ancient pagan gods who stood
towering over us, unreachable, untouchable but always amazing.
Always awesome! It is with great pride that I am able to present to you
the Academy’s Lifetime Achievement Award, which is Hollywood’s way
of making sure that certain individuals of a special kind reach that level
of immortality that only old gods and legends might aspire to. And this
year’s Lifetime Achievement Award goes to the man himself: Jack
Nicholson!”
1
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4
A great applause erupted very much like a thunderstorm inside the
Mann’s Chinese Theatre. Jack allowed himself another rising and falling
of his distinctive eyebrows and his smile widened just slightly.
He got up, went to stand next to Tom Hanks and received the golden
award from his hands.
“Thanks.” He said simply.
“You’re the man, Jack.” Said Tom.
“Well, I guess this is the moment where I get to thank certain persons
for this… award…” began Jack to say.
And suddenly, all the lights went off.
Now, here you must try to understand, dear reader, how utterly
improbable it was for all the lights to go off in the Mann’s Chinese
Theatre during the Academy Awards. It’s not only that Los Angeles, and
Hollywood specifically has one of the most secure electrical systems in
the world. There are so many safeguards during the Academy Awards to
keep the lights on, that it makes any hospital, which has numerous
safeguards to keep the lights on, unsecure. Huge mobile generators, as
many as six at a time might be employed to guarantee a steady supply
of electricity during the show. Now this is not so rare, since the
Academy Awards use a huge amount of lighting which pulls on a huge
amount of electric power, so having generators to keep all those lights
on is perfectly normal. And these generators work on diesel fuel, so
unless some kind of cosmic solar flare or some act of magic intervenes,
it is near impossible for the lights to go out during the Academy Awards
in Hollywood.
But the lights went out.
And Jack thought: It must be a joke. So he didn’t panic. He didn’t
scream. He didn’t even sweat. He just stood there, in the utter dark and
said:
“Tom, did you turn out the lights?”
And Tom Hanks said: “No, Jack.”
“Well, someone sure did.”
And suddenly, the lights went back up. And standing between Jack and
Tom was a most peculiar little man wearing a red tuxedo, with a
handsome face, a dark goatee beard, and oh, yeah, two little red horns
and a most peculiar red tail coming out of his butt.
“Jesus!” Said Jack.
“Eh, no, Jack, sorry. I am not Jesus. I’m actually the other guy.”
“Who the hell are you? Security!.... Tom Hanks began to say…”
“This does not concern you, Tom. I’ll come for you some other time.”
Said the newcomer.
And he snapped his fingers and suddenly, Tom Hanks disappeared. Six
burly tuxedoed security guards rushed the horned man, and once again,
a snap of the fingers and they too, had disappeared.
The fellow took the microphone from the open-mouthed actor and
addressed the audience, smiling.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Allow me to introduce myself: I am Lucifer,
God’s favorite fallen angel, and the fellow charged with judging all of
you after death. I was so overjoyed with the Academy’s choice for a
Lifetime Achievement Award this year, that, I decided to make a special
appearance to congratulate Jack Nicholson in person. Mr. Nicholson had
the audacity to portray me in the film “the Witches of Eastwick” and I
was so pleased with his portrayal that I decided to give Jack my special
thanks for having done such a wonderful job. Jack, thanks.”
The devil gave Jack a friendly pat on the back and waited for the movie
star to say something. And for once, Jack squinted and tried to figure
out what to say next. The young man facing Jack reminded the actor of
himself when he was just starting his career doing Roger Corman
movies.
“Eh. Thanks, I guess. I mean, but if you are really Lucifer. What did you
do with Tom Hanks and the security guards?”
1 “Well, yeah, that’s true. Fame I have and fortune too. I don’t have any
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6 enemies to speak of, and I know pretty much everything I need to know
Lucifer smiled and snapped his fingers again. Tom Hanks and the six
security guards appeared behind them, neatly tied up and muzzled.
“Oh.” Said Jack.
“So, Jack, let me tell you what I want to do for you…” said the devil.
“Are you going to take me to hell?” Asked Jack, slightly nervous.
“Oh, no, that would be such a waste… I love your movies, man. You’re
the one guy who can really make me want to watch a movie from start
to finish, and believe me, that’s pretty amazing. No, Jack, I came here to
make one of your wishes come true. It’s my way of thanking you for a
job well done. Nobody has made the devil look better than you. Not
even Al Pacino.”
Jack smiled really wide now. He licked his lips and cracked his knuckles.
This was turning out to be a wonderful, awesome day, beyond even his
own highest expectations.
“Anything I want?”
“Anything, Jack. Anything you want.”
“Really? And… sorry to ask you this, but… what’s the catch? I mean, if
you really are the devil and that, surely there is catch to this?” Said
Jack, suddenly realizing that maybe things were not what really they
appeared to be.
“There’s no catch, Jack. I’m Lucifer. I get to choose whose wishes I want
to make come true. And frankly, I don’t see anybody in this theatre, or
for that matter in the planet more worthy of having his wish come true
than you.”
“Alright. I like that.” Said Jack, feeling a little out of himself. “But I’m
not sure if I can trust you, fella.”
“Just remember, Jack, that you gotta be careful what you wish for.
You’re a smart guy. Think carefully what you want and I will make it
come true. Fame and fortune you already have, so it’s probably not too
many things worth asking for, don’t you think?”

to be happy. My kids, my grandkids… They’re all fine. Their futures are
guaranteed. And it’s not like I want to wish for world peace or
something like that. I know even you have your limits.”
“Right, Jack.”
“Alright, alright… I’m getting the picture. Give me a second here…” said
Jack, feeling pressured.
“Folks want to know who is going to be the best actor this year. Time is
wasting.” Smiled the devil.
“Right… Right…” said Jack, now really feeling hurried.
The lights were hot and he had been longer than he wanted onstage.
Folks were looking at him, losing their patience. Arnold Swartzenegger
farted. Tom Hanks and the security guards began to wave their heads as
if to say…. “Get it over with”. Al Pacino, jealous that the devil came to
grant Jack a wish, started to clean his nails, smiling.
“Come on, Jack… I don’t have all day.”
“Alright, I guess. It’s not really special or nothing, but it’s something
everybody wishes for and … certainly I do too at my age, and with my
physical condition. I want to be very healthy, Luie old friend. I want to
be very healthy and live a very long, long life.”
“DONE!” Said the devil.
And he shook Jack’s hands vigorously and gave him a great hug.
“And now, if you excuse me, I’m off. Other souls to corrupt and other
places to visit. Congratulations on your lifetime achievement award!”
He said. And as he said it he disappeared in a huge red cloud of fire-and-
brimstone.
By now, Tom Hanks and the security guards had been untied and Tom
rejoined Jack at the podium.
1 tentacles and slimy green-gray skin. But Jack was never ungrateful to his
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8 fans, no matter how squishy.
“Can you believe that? They let anybody in at the awards nowadays.”
Said Tom Hanks.
Jack just smiled and wondered how long a long life was.
-------------------------------------
It was the year 3728 and the holographic premiere of THE WITCHES OF
EASTWICK XXXIV at the Mann’s Chinese Theatre. The city of Hollywood
had long ago been made into a submarine paradise for mermen and
other underwater creatures. It sank deep under the Pacific Ocean
hundreds of years back and it was almost completely destroyed. But
decades of underwater restoration work by mermen and octopus
people had brought the old theatre back to its prominent place as the
entertainment capital of the world… well, of the galaxy, now. A huge
bubble of air protected the old theatre from the elements and
permitted surface-people to visit it. One such person was Jack
Nicholson, the star of the show.
He stood alone, walking the red carpet as he had done millennia ago. It
was all exactly as it had been before. The limo. The crowd of adoring
fans. The director and co-stars. The lights. The police officers…
Except that now, huge sperm whales and giant calamari swam over his
head.
A little octopus-creature-girl somehow broke the barrier that separated
Jack from ordinary creatures and came up to him, wearing a “water
helmet”, used by aquatic creatures who wanted to attend shows at the
non-aquatic Mann’s Chinese Theatre. Hollywood might be under the
ocean, but the Mann’s Chinese was still reserved mostly for humans.
An automatic translating device translated the garbled squishy sounds
made by the tentacled girl into English.
“Might I have your autograph, Mr. Nicholson? I have always been your
biggest fan!”
Jack swallowed hard and bend over to reach for the writing device held
by the squishy girl-thing. She wore a “dress” made to look like the
original dress used by Cher in the movie. It did nothing to cover her
The girl-thing squealed like a… squid and shook all her many tentacles
with emotion as Jack scribbled his name on her device.
Jack continued his way down the red carpet as cameras flashed on his
face. How was it possible that mankind had learned to travel to the
edges of the universe but they still had fucking paparazzi using fucking
flash-cameras?
Suddenly, a familiar face came up to him smiling. It was Lucifer. He was
leaning over next to the principal entrance.
“Louie… Eh…. Louie!”
“Hey Jack.”
“Louie, you cheated me. I never asked you for eternal life, and now look
at me! I’m signing autographs to squids!”
“You don’t have eternal life, Jack.”
“What do you mean!? It’s been over a thousand years!”
“Long ago, before the fall of man, mankind could live… almost forever,
Jack. I just gave you what you asked for.”
“All my friends… all my family. They’re dead, Lou.” Said Jack, almost
angry.
“Yeah, well…” The devil seemed calm.
“Shit… You always do that don’t you? You can’t help yourself.” Now Jack
was angry. He had been played and he knew it.
“Yeah, well… I’m the devil. What do you want? Do you want me to take
back my gift?”
Jack thought about it. He still had his fame, his fortune. His adoring
fans… even though now they had tentacles.
“Nahhhh. It’s all water under the bridge, Louie old friend. It’s all water
under the bridge.”

2
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0

My life as a Guard Dog
My life consists of six feet.
That is the length of the chain that holds me to my position as guard
dog of my family’s house. It is not a nice life. In fact, if I were a human, it
would be called hell, but I’m just a Guard Dog, so…
Six feet.
That’s what I got to live on.
Oh, I don’t need for anything. My Master gives me food and water,
cleans the shits I make all over the garden, and even, occasionally,
bathes me. He also speaks nicely to me, and makes me think I am
special somehow…
On the six feet where I am allowed to exist.
Folks get really afraid of me. You can smell it in their sweat. They are
afraid because I am of that race of dogs that know how to kill things,
and I have been in a few battles, so I am scarred all over my face, my
body. And my scars give me a fearful countenance, the look of a terrible
beast, ready to kill you.
Once, a man tried to kill me with a machete. I was really scared, and he
hit me first, so I ran from him. I hid under the house, bleeding. I thought
I would die.
Whenever I go out, dogs attack me, so I am good at fighting. I even
killed one once, a little one, of those pesky Chihuahuas who bark a lot
but don’t have much of a bite. I don’t take no shit from nobody, and I
will bite gleefully and gladly whoever comes into my space without an
invitation. You have to be strong in this world. Especially when folks go
around armed with machetes and guns.
2 see? They don’t live in chains. They walk, every day, with their owner,
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2 who must not own a chain.
My master has a brother, and he wants me gone. Oh, he’s nice enough,
and gives me food and water, and yes, even love. But I know his mind, I
know what he wants to do with me. He told my master’s friend that I
was dangerous, and that I had to go.
It makes me sad.
I don’t want to go.
But it makes me even sadder because my master’s children love me and
I love them, but it is the evil brother who decides those things. He is my
…. What do they call him? Guardian. He even brings my food. It’s a bad
situation.
But do you know what is worse?
It was not always like this. When my Master was my… “Guardian” I
could be inside the house, and sleep with master and her children. But
no longer. That damn master’s brother said I was not “potty trained”
and I had to sleep outside. And the, because I was so sad that I lived
outside, I left, and went to see my friends, who live in another ranch.
So then… came…
THE CHAIN.
I hate the chain. It’s tied to a post and its only 6 foot long. So my space
has been cut horribly, and now all I can do is bark in horror at my
terrible imprisonment. Nobody should have to live in prison. Nobody
should have to be tied to a chain. The chain itself is the evil.
The chain is pain.
It’s not my fault, dammit.
The other day, I found a way out. There were some dogs and their
damned owner outside, mocking me. They were mocking the chain…
but I found a weak link in it. I know, now, that eventually, when it really
matters, I will be able to break the chain.
I hope it is when those dogs pass by. They live next door and I am
waiting for the right time to take care of them. They have it coming. You
They know nothing of pain. I will change that.

2
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4
 THE NORTH POLE
My sister Jenny and I were orphaned on my tenth birthday. She was
only seven, and I felt great responsibility for her. Our parents died in a
tragic car accident one night. They didn’t left for a party early and we
stayed with our baby sitter. But when they come home that night, and
we went to bed thinking maybe they were going to stay later than our
allowed bed time. It was a great surprise to all of us when the police
arrived in the middle of the night and informed the baby sitter that our
parents had been killed.
Jenny and I had no other relatives, so the child-protective services sent
us to the home of Redford and Alice Malloy, who worked as state-
sponsored foster parents. They lived in a large two story house with six
other foster kids who ranged in age from eight months to fourteen
years old. The government paid the Malloy’s for each kid they kept, so
for them it had become a kind of business taking in emergency cases
like ours.
The Malloy’s were also serial child rapists.
It began one night I got up to pee and saw when Rebecca, a seven year
old African American kid coming out of Redford’s room. She was in her
pajamas and holding her genitals as if she needed to go pee. She was
also crying but quietly. She was shocked to see me, and when she did,
the shook her head as if to say: “don’t say anything!” Our eye contact
was brutal and short, and she scuttled to her room and shut the door.
At the time, I did not register what could be happening, and the next
day, Rebecca seemed perfectly ordinary and she did not mention the
incident. But a few weeks later, I saw the 14 year old runaway, Jonesy
coming out of Redford’s room. He was also only wearing pajamas. He
had a history of prostitution and drug use, and he had this look on his
face… The same look of someone who has just stepped on dog shit.
I had, once again, gotten up to go pee. This time, Jonesy did not see me,
but I saw him, and it seemed right down curious that he would be
2
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6
coming out of Redford’s room so late. It must have been around two in
the morning. So later in the day, I went up to him and asked him.
“Don’t you know, Jackie?” he told me. “If you want special favors from
the Malloy’s, you gotta learn to roll!”
“What do you mean Jonesy?” I kept asking.
“You let them screw you, Jack! You let them fuck you. Do you know
what it means to fuck?” he said laughing but without a drop of humor
on his voice.
And he let the subject drop completely and went on to read his new
comic book. I had always been curious why the Malloy’s always bought
Jonesy comic-books. They didn’t buy anybody else comic books. Now I
understood.
That night, I told Jenny my plans to escape. I didn’t really tell her why.
But she didn’t question me. I was the highest authority in her life, and if
I told her to jump in front of a train, she would. I came up with a stupid
reason… the only one that came to my mind.
“We’re going to the North Pole to live with Santa.” I said.
Jenny was crazy about Santa, and since our parents died, Santa had not
brought us any gifts for Christmas, so the idea of going to find him in his
home turf was very much to her liking. Jenny had always been a
trusting, simple soul, and getting her up in the middle of the night and
then convincing her of getting all her stuff together and following me to
the North Pole was a cinch. I was really worried for her. She would have
been easy prey for Redford.
We didn’t have much, so packing was easy. We put on our best winter
clothes. It was winter and very cold outside. Snow had been falling for
days.
Leaving the house was a little more complex. Our room was upstairs, at
the end of a hall with the rooms of the other kids adjacent. At the other
end of the hall was the room of Redford and his wife, so if he decided to
leave through the hallway, we risked not only waking up the other kids,
but also getting caught by Redford.
So I would risk the window. It was a hard climb, but I had seen plenty of
prison-escape movies, and I knew I could tie up the blankets to make a
rope. It took longer than I had hoped, maybe an hour or so. During that
time, Jenny began to fantasize about going to see Santa. She made up
this crazy fantasy about becoming an elf and working in the toy factory.
She thought that elves ate only cookies and milk and she wondered if
she would eat spaghetti again. She loved spaghetti.
Finally, the rope was ready, and I tied it to the heavy wooden bed. I
gave a few tugs to make sure it would not move the bed, and it seemed
okay.
“Jenny, I am going to climb down first, and then you climb after me,
okay?” I told my sister.
“Okay!” she parroted. She loved adventure, and this was going to be the
most epic adventure of all.
I climbed down and then motioned for Jenny to climb after me. It was
amazing to see how nimble she was. She climbed like a little monkey,
and much faster than I did. We had backpacks, leaving the heavier
hand-luggage behind and we took only what I considered indispensable,
which meant, principally good warm clothes, but also survival stuff like a
couple of flashlights, a couple of knives, and all the stuff they tell you to
take during an earthquake on the television. Food and water for
instance.
We were ready.
And I had no clue where we would go. I only knew we had to get very
far away from this house and these terrible people.
The Malloy home was a ranch house, quite far from any town. It was a
rural house near a freeway, so we had at least four kilometers to hike
before we got to the nearest town. Maybe once there, we could find
some shelter. For the moment, the key element was to put a lot of
distance between us and them. With a little luck, maybe somebody
would pick us up.
I had not expected Redford to find us so soon.
2 “True!” He said.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
The snow was falling hard now. And when I heard a car coming, I hoped
it was somebody who would give us a ride. But the car turned out to be
Redford’s pickup, so I told Jenny to run into the woods with me. And run
we did…
Into the woods.
But Redford had no problem finding our tracks, and Jenny was already
tired from walking in the snow so long, so he caught up to us quickly. He
cornered Jenny first, near some trees. I managed to hide behind a
snowdrift.
“Jenny! Where’s Jack? What were you crazy kids thinking?” He said
sweetly.
Amazingly, it stopped snowing and the stars began to shine. It was a
magical moment. As if time suddenly became sluggish and everything
was enhanced. Like when you go from the images of the original
Nintendo to the images of a Nintendo 4.
“Jack said we were going to find Santa!!” said Jenny. She was crying. Not
sure why she was crying, but she was crying.
“Your brother’s gone crazy, Jenny. Come here with me, before you
freeze to death. We have to find Jack.”
“But, I don’t wanna go back!” She cried.
“Why!?” Redford asked, perfectly innocent.
“Because Jack said you hurt children. He said you hurt Rebecca and
Jonesy too. That he saw you!” she cried.
Meanwhile, Redford got closer and closer to my sister, much like a wolf,
stalking some poor rabbit. Jenny was just crying and crying and didn’t
move. I was terrified, but also, I was getting very, very angry.
“I’d never hurt ‘Becca or Jonesy, Jenny. I love them, and they love me.
They are like my own children.” Said Redford, perfectly reasonable.
“Not true!” Cried Jenny back.
And in one fool swoop, he snatched my sister in his huge hands. And the
moment he snatched her, his demeanor changed completely and he
began to shake her roughly.
“Where is Jack!?” He shouted at her.
This froze Jenny completely, and she began to wail, but there was
nobody to come to her aid. And her wails only made Redford madder
and he shook her harder.
“Where’s Jack!?” He repeated.
“I don’t know!” She finally manage to scream between wails. “Please let
me go, you are hurting me!”
Redford stopped shaking her. But he did not let go. Instead, he picked
her up and began to take off her boots.
“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Jenny! And now, I’m gonna punish you
for it!”
Jenny wailed. Redford slapped her face. Hard.
The shock of the slap made her stop wailing completely. She had not
expected such violence. She went limp, like a rag-doll. And then Redford
began to take down her pants.
“Jenny, you need to be punished! So I am going to punish you for
running away, and then we are going to find Jack.” He said. But now, his
voice was not angry any more. It was more… sinister.
My knife hit him on the back of the neck.
He dropped my sister on the snow and swung around to face me. Once
again, I plunged my knife, but this time, it was on his right eye. He
screamed and tried to ward the knife off with his hand, but I quickly
took it out and stabbed again, rapidly in succession. His stomach, his
legs, his arms. I stabbed everywhere I could, and Redford was utterly
unable to defend himself, blinded by his own blood and with the shock
of dying.
3 go on foot.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0 It was still a very long way to the North Pole.
Pretty soon, he was no longer moving, but I just kept stabbing.
It was only after Jenny came to me and held my arm and said: “Stop it!”
that I was able to stop.
Jenny and I looked at my handy work.
Redford was lying dead in a pool of his own blood. There was so much
blood that it was hard to see him under it. The gore covered his face
completely. The blood was sinking under the snow, sending little heat-
clouds before freezing.
We were too shocked for words. We only knew we had to leave that
place. Jenny looked at me with such weird eyes, between fear, love and
desperation. Redford’s blood was warm on my hands.
I washed it off with snow.
I had the presence of mind to take Redford’s wallet.
Later that night, Jenny and I arrived at the greyhound station. It had
been a hard walk, and we had walked the rest of the night. We arrived
in the early morning. And Jenny was almost falling asleep.
I went to the counter and an old black lady looked at me, all tired and
stuff and whistled.
“Where you kids coming from? The North Pole?” She said.
“We were visiting our uncle here in Springfield, but we need to get back
to Anchorage. Our uncle had a party last night and he’s still asleep. And
our parents are going to be waiting for us.”
“Well, it’s awful early to be going to Anchorage.” She said. And she
issued two tickets to Anchorage, Alaska. “Breakfast is on the house.
Here’s two complimentary vouchers. Make sure you kids have a good
breakfast. It’s a long trip.”
We had breakfast and then got on the bus. Jenny slept through the
entire trip, but I was not able to sleep at all, although I was utterly
exhausted. From Anchorage, we kept going north. The towns got
smaller and smaller… Finally, there were no more buses and we had to
 THE WHALE
Nick Holder stood outside his favorite book store “Calhoun’s Books” in
the corner of Castro Street and Elizabeth Street. A longtime customer,
Nick knew intimately all the details of the store owner, Oliver Calhoun’s
life. And Oliver knew all about Nick. Both men shared the same tastes in
esoteric books, occult philosophies and oddly enough, young men. But
both were old, too old, meaning, over fifty-five, for such adventures as
the ones that one has with young men, so their conversations usually
took them to criticizing or praising the beauty of said people.
That particular Sunday, Nick had felt weird all day. His usual routine of
going out for coffee and muffins was over one hour late, and so when
he finally arrived at Calhoun’s he was already two hours past the usual
time he arrived to visit his friend. Usually, the store opened at 10 a.m.
sharp and Nick was there at 10:45 a.m. sharp. But unusually, it was well
past 12:00 o’clock when Nick arrived, holding Oliver’s coffee and
doughnuts, another part of the Sunday ritual between the two friends.
It was a chilly but sunny day.
“Running kinda late today, Nick.” Said Oliver as a greeting, sitting
looking at his bills which were scattered around a large oak counter.
Nick set the paper bag containing the coffee and doughnuts on the
counter, well away from the paperwork and smiled at this.
“I don’t feel well, Oliver. Must be the flu.” He replied. “But the coffee is
still hot.”
“And I am starving!” Nodded the slightly obese book-keeper.
The men were a complete contrast in form: Nick was cadaveric thin and
totally Woodstock material, he looked like an old hairy hippy bird.
Oliver, on the other hand, was about 80 lbs overweight, clean-shaven,
3 bald and dressed like an accountant, complete with ill-fitting jacket, a
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2 tie too colorful and too small, and a badly ironed shirt. And yet,

somehow, these totally different men were the best of friends for over
four decades.
Calhoun’s Books was a Victorian style storefront, carpeted, and
furnished primarily with rows upon rows of pine-wood bookshelves,
both wall and self-standing. The thousands of books were cleverly
arranged by subject matter and then by title alphabetically or by author
in the case of important authors. Oliver had been buying and selling
books all his life, and the store was actually third generation, passed
down from his grandfather to his father, both now passed. Books were
Oliver’s life since childhood.
“How goes retirement?” Asked Oliver.
Nick had retired from his job as a commercial artist with a big PR firm
just recently, and he found the extra time on his hands actually quite
accommodating. He could read more books.
“Excellent, Oliver, excellent.”
“I found a book that might be of your interests…!” Said the pudgy
bookseller.
And Oliver pulled out a curious large leather-bound volume with no
markings whatsoever. He gave it to Nick and Nick opened the first page,
encountering ink hand-writing which was clearly not copied, but
actually made by hand.
“The Grimoire of Nasrudin of Nagaloka, 1996. San Francisco, California.
” Read Nick.
“It’s actually an amazing document. Probably the diary of a very
disturbed man, but written with perfect calligraphy and there are some
amazing illustrations! Solomonic magic, demonology, goetic magic… All
the stuff you crave.” Said Oliver.
“Thanks.” Nick smiled at his friend, looking at some of the illustrations.
3
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4 maybe he was having an LSD flashback, but he had never been in such a
The illustrations of the book were childish but quite interesting.
Anthropomorphic creatures half-man half-animal, weird worlds with
strange buildings and many maps of places that never were. Nick was
transfixed by the strange book. But Oliver was always able to find the
most exotic and incredible tomes.
Their conversation lasted a couple of hours. During that time, Oliver
attended a few sporadic clients. When Oliver had to work, Nick went
back to the new book, looking at the pages and reading a few pages,
mostly those next to the weird illustrations. The book was utterly crazy.
The author wrote about stuff regarding life-after death and cosmic
issues relating to a pantheon which made Nick think about HP Lovecraft,
although the book also spoke about more common gods as well, such as
those of the Hindu and Aztec pantheons.
After a while, Nick was ready to go home and he paid Oliver for the
book, which he put under his arm.
“Well, I suppose now that you are retired, you will be coming here more
often, so maybe I take out that old chessboard from the attic at home
and we can play chess, like when we were in school.” Said Oliver.
“I’d like that very much, Oliver. When are you going to retire?”
“Folks don’t retire from a book-store, Nick. Besides, do you see me
working hard?”
Nick laughed.
“See you later, Oliver.”
“See you later, Nick.
Nick walked outside, and suddenly, the world made no more sense.
He was outside the store standing in the street, and nothing was
changed, except that now, fish were swimming in the air, which had a
strange blue-tinge, as if San Francisco were under the ocean, and Nick
were standing on the ocean-floor. Huge sailfish, little crabs under his
feet, a lazy octopus near a mailbox.
Nick dropped the book under his arm and covered his face. He thought
strong trip before. He rubbed his eyes strongly, and shook his head
before opening them again.
He was still at the bottom of the ocean, with the rest of the city.
The street was oddly empty. A few cars were driving on the street and a
little girl was playing with a kitty cat on the other side of the street, but
neither she, nor the little cat seemed bothered by the fact that they
were under the ocean. An old lady came out of her house with clutching
a purse. A newspaper delivery boy drove in his bike. Nobody seemed to
care that fish were swimming among them.
But not only fish. There were also a great sperm whale above their
heads. She was so gigantic that much like a cloud, she covered the sun
during her progress.
Nick was losing his mind.
And then he remembered the book. One of the pages had a drawing of Nick screamed and screamed and screamed… But nobody seemed to
a whale next to it. Nick picked up the book from the street and thought care.
it was even stranger, this hallucination of his, because the book was not
even wet, although all the city was under water.
He looked for the page with the whale…
And there it was. The drawing of a whale… flying over some trees! A
little figure, surely a man stood under the whale which was swimming
above the trees. Nick read the caption on the drawing: “At the time of
death, it is widely known by certain sects, that whales come to devour
the souls of those who have died without the name of God on their
lips.”
Nick dropped the book again, now with horror in his face, and it was just
in that moment that he noticed that the whale, which was swimming
slowly over the rooftops of the buildings noticed him. And when the
whale noticed Nick, she turned around and started to swim towards
him, opening her terrible toothy jaws.

3
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6
 You don’t know who I am?
I wagged my tail.
My grandson looked at me and smiled, but there was no recognition.
How could I expect him to recognize me? I had changed quite a bit since
my death. Still, I had forgotten nothing.
The little house had not changed, like me. My grandson, Jeremy was a
little bigger than I remembered. I had died when he was five or six, and
the big boy playing in the garden outside must be at least seven or
eight. He wore blue overalls, a plaid shirt and barefoot. Typical redneck
attire. Jeremy was a delightful little redneck, just like his mom and dad.
He was even, honest to God, chewing on a stick he picked from the
apple tree. His blond hair was wild and long… much too long. Roy was a
hippie to let his kid keep his hair so long. His blue eyes were profound
and full of joy. He was a happy kid. I wondered where Sofia would be.
His sister must be playing inside.
The garden… It looked better than before. I had let it go since my wife
died, and now, it had new flowers, sunflowers, gardenias, and a sapling
apple tree. Somebody had repaired the swing, which had been broken
since the kids had left home for collage. I had left everything to my two
sons, Tom and Roy.
Tom had sold his portion of the house to Roy, who was a steady with a
construction company. Roy was still paying Tom off, but Tom was gay,
and had no kids, and Roy had Jeremy and Sofia, so he needed the space.
The next door neighbors had moved and their home looked closed. The
windows were boarded up. It was the only other property nearby, and it
was huge, expensive and unsellable. The neighbors had bought it after
they won a wrongful death lawsuit, but they were city folk, and knew
nothing about the south, or living out in nature. They hadn’t lasted long,
although their huge two story home had cost the lives of four great
aspens. I wonder how many birds and squirrels lost their homes to allow
those damn city folk to build their home. Well, for sure that big
abandoned house was now full of rats and roaches.

3 Decades ago, when I had just bought the land to build my own home for
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK me and my wife and our two kids, I had made a real effort to keep all
8
the trees intact in the property. I didn’t cut a single damn tree, and I
built around them, thinking always on a way to make the garden
beautiful naturally. I did love trees when I was alive.
I turned my attention back to Jeremy and barked at him.
“Puppy! Where did you come from?” He smiled.
Somehow, my barking also made Sofia appear out of nowhere in
particular. I recognized her immediately. She had not changed at all,
except, perhaps for being a little slimmer and taller. She was all dimples
and smiles and long blond hair. If cute can be defined by a little girl,
Sofia would define it perfectly. But her cuteness was accented by a
certain subtle beauty that made me think someday, she would be a very
beautiful woman.
“A Puppy!” She squealed. “A real live Puppy!”
“Well he sure aint’ a read dead puppy Sof you dingbat.”
I made sure to make a show for them. I hadn’t seen my grandkids since
my death, and I was feeling exited. In a very canine way. I jumped and
wagged my tail and barked and licked their hands and faces. They knew
me… I thought. They knew who I was, didn’t they?
Or at least… At least I knew who they were. They were Jeremy and
Sofia, my precious, adorable grandkids.
We played together, my grandchildren and I in the garden. It felt like a
lifetime of running, wagging the tail, chasing after sticks, licking faces
and hands, nibbling on butts and cuddling. I was feeling wonderful,
peaceful, I was home again!
And…
I was a dog.
Later, the kids took me back to the house. Their dad was upstairs,
sleeping, so they fed me leftover chicken and put a bowl with water for
me. I was halfway through a chicken bone when Roy came down.
4
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
My boy. My Roy. My pride and joy. Did he know me? Did he know who I
was?
“What’s this dog doing in the kitchen?” He snarled. He had the look of
someone who had just woken up.
“We found him in the garden. He’s just a puppy.” Said Jeremy.
“Can we keep him? Please, daddy! Please, can we keep him?” It was
now Sofia’s turn, and she made sure to put emphasis on her request by
rushing over and hugging her dad’s legs tightly.
“Oh, Jesus. A dog. What kind of dog is he anyhow?”
I was thinking: I am not a dog you fool. I am your father!
“A puppy dog!” Said Sofia.
“He’s some kind of schnauzer, I think…” Said my son.
“He looks like Grandpa Stan with those big mustachios.” Said Jeremy.
There. He had said it. Jeremy recognized me. I barked loudly many
times, trying to tell them the truth. I was Grandpa Stanley. I was Stanley.
I had died, but I was alive again… They had to understand!
“He sure barks a lot.” Said Roy. Maybe he’s got rabies!
Sofia made sure to dismiss this abjectly absurd theory. She went over to
me and began to calm me down by caressing me over and over.
“Don’t be ridiculous, daddy. He’s not got rabies. He’s just happy.”
I didn’t need to be thrown out of my own house, so I did my best to
demonstrate I had no rabies and whined in consent. I also licked her
hands in submission. What must a dog do to get adopted?
“Oh, he looks harmless enough and we could use a guard dog. Besides
he seems friendly. He’s even kind of cute… with those big mustachios.
Yeah, okay, okay… we’ll keep him. But you two will have to take care of
him, and feed him and potty-train him. You understand?”
Both kids nodded their agreement.
I was accepted! I was home again! I was… with my family!
Unable to contain my joy, I jumped into my son’s harms and licked his
face over and over in gratitude. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Friendly little bugger eh?!” was all he managed to say.
-----------------------------------
At the age of 83, I died of a massive stroke which I had in my own home,
watching television. I don’t remember much after that, except that
somehow, I managed later, maybe years later, to come back home and
rejoin my family after death.
But I was no longer a human being.
I was a dog.
Oddly enough, I remember my human life perfectly well. I have no
doubt about being who I was before I became “Mustachio”, my own
son’s family dog. The house we live in? I built it. The garden where I like
to dig holes? I bought it.
I have tried, without much success, to convince my family of my true
identity. Oh, I understand everything they say. I can understand English
perfectly. But I seem unable to speak it. All that comes out of me is
barks and growls.
For some reason, I have also forgotten how to write. I tried to make my
story known to my family by writing it down with ink which I found on
my son’s office, but all I managed was to make a mess of spilt ink and
ruined carpets. I was punished and had to sleep outside two whole days
for my efforts.
My family seems to think I am an unusually smart dog, but they fail to
see the reality of the situation. I am actually their dear, departed
Granddad Stanley.

4
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2

Santa Claus Pedophile.
Some of you, the clever ones, might have suspected that Old St’ Nick
was always a little weird.
Something about running around the world going inside folks’ homes,
targeting their children by writing them on a list, and then breaking and
entering to put children’s toys under a tree when everybody is sleeping
is a bit … suspicious? Is Santa really a child-stalker? What exactly does
he do with the kids on the “other” list, the list of naughty kids?
But of course, if you are thinking all that, you are dirty-minded soul and
should probably wash your brain with soap and water.
Well, finally, I am here to set the record straight.
Here is the real story. It’s the scoop of the millennium. I, Henry St.
Croix, star reporter of the Lollipop City News have come here to give it
to you in this super exclusive article just for you. And of course, you will
find it only here, on the best newspaper in the galaxy.
Santa Claus was not always the jolly old elf he became known to be in
his later years. In fact, as a young man, he was actually a very nasty
person. His real name was Nicholas Klaus, from Munster, Germany. And
before he became “Santa” or actually “Saint”, he was kind of a weirdo.
Nick Klaus always loved children, but… he loved them in all the wrong
ways. And guess what? Nicholas was really an avatar of another entity.
Nick lived on earth, sure, circa the 12 century Germany, where he
th
worked as a priest. And oh, yeah, he was also a school-teacher.
The weird part is that Nick Klaus, the pedophile priest and school
teacher of Munster Germany in the 12 Century was also,
simultaneously, a totally different entity, living on faraway Planet, in this
case, Planet Om’Haha, the home of some really perverted, sexually
permissive and drug-addled hairy hobbits known as Nobbits.
4 HS: The reason I wanted to interview you today was very specific. I have
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4 investigated a little about the origins of Santa Claus on planet earth, and
How? How could a person live in two worlds at once? Well, if you know
anything about our illustrious leader, Elder Jigolanthas, you will know
that people living in two bodies is actually far more ordinary than most
would think.
Nick Klaus’ soul was split in two by Elder Jigolanthas. Nick also was none
other than our beloved leader. This is because Elder Jigolanthas had, at
the moment of Nick’s birth, took a small piece of Nick’s soul into his
own body and in exchange, gave Nick a little bit of his own soul. It’s a
magical process that has been perfected by only a few sorcerers in the
universe, but it has the extraordinary effect of extending the life of the
spell-caster way beyond any normal limits.
Small detail. Nick became Santa Claus when he died. Santa Claus is
immortal. That makes Elder Jigolanthas immortal.
I have traveled with special invitation to the Pink Tower, home of our
beloved leader, to interview him about his double life as Santa Claus.
The interview took place inside his gorgeous garden home on the
penthouse of the Pink Tower, where a small army of naked nymphs
attend to his every wish.
During the interview, Elder Jigolanthas sat at his throne, next to his
“pool of love”, at the center of the penthouse gigantic garden. I sat next
to him, with nothing more than my notepad and a cup of hot chocolate
to interview him. Clothing is usually forbidden once you reach the
penthouse.
Nymphs offered me whatever I wanted to eat or drink, and whatever
sexual favors I might require after the interview. But then, if you make it
all the way to the penthouse of the biggest penis-building on the planet,
it is only natural things might get a little hot and heavy.
Following is the interview in exclusive and in its entirety:
HS: Elder Jigolanthas, beloved leader, immortal wisdom flows through
your sacred veins and I am humbled by your divine presence. Thank you
so much for the opportunity to interview you here in your own home.
EJ: You are welcome.
not only did I discover that he is real, I also discovered that he is…
Somehow… Also you. And that you and Santa Claus exist
simultaneously, although you are really only one entity. How is this
possible?
EJ: Ah, yes. Most astute of you to discover all this. How did you come
about this information?
HS: I paid a small fortune to travel time and space and visit Nicholas
Klaus in the 12 Century earth, before he “became” Santa Claus. Nasty
th
character, by the way. I watched as he “died” and then was sentenced
by the Gods to become an immortal. You were also him?
EJ: I have no idea how you found out about the existence of THAT
peculiar character, but, yes. I was… I am… Nick Klaus. Santa Claus.
HS: How did that happen?
EJ: It happened back in my Om’Haha Days. After the genocide of
humanity on that planet, we had a lot of time to research and
investigate powerful magick. I discovered a way to “split” my soul into
various persons to prevent myself from being killed. In fact, splitting
your soul is a way to become immortal, and ageless. You can “age” in
other bodies where you place a portion of your soul, and thus not really
“age” in your principal body, where you keep most of your soul.
Rainsong, Xan and I have all done this. We have avatars in other parts of
the galaxy that permit us to age more slowly. The avatars age for us,
and we simply take off those years that the avatars have aged from our
own age. We’ve been doing this for tens of thousands of years.
HS: So Nick Klaus is your “avatar”?
EJ: Yes. I found him as a suitable candidate to take upon a part of my
soul before he was even born. I attached myself to his body at the
moment of his birth. I gave him a bit of my soul and in exchange I took a
bit of his. That happened back when I was living in Elfheim in Om´Haha.
Nick Klaus died when he was 38 years old, and he gave me 38 years
more of life.
4
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6
HS: But he was a particularly nasty character, wasn’t he?
EJ: Yeah. I guess.
HS: Care to talk about that?
EJ: Well, he was a Pedo-priest and school teacher in medieval Germany.
He must have raped hundreds of kids and nobody was the wiser for it.
He died without paying for his crimes. He used to get invited into kids
homes because he would celebrate Christmas by taking toys to the kids.
Except that those toys had a price, and nobody suspected it, ever.
Nobody would suspect of a priest in those days.
HS: He had a part of your soul all the time. Since he was a kid.
EJ: Yeah, but he did his own shit. I had nothing to do with it. His crimes
against children were his and his alone.
HS: So why did he become an immortal?
EJ: Punishment. As luck would have it, one of the kids he molested was
actually not human, but a demi-god of Norse origins. Odin was the kid’s
father. And Odin himself decided on the punishment to put Nick in his
place. The kid was his. She became a Valkyrie when she grew up. But
she was molested by Nick as a kid, and naturally, Odin was pissed. First
he killed Nick. Horribly. Very cold death. Then, he brought him back and
cursed him. Turned Nick into the Santa Claus we all know, but I gotta tell
you, being Santa Claus is no walk in the park. Lots of work, no breaks
and basically, dealing with snotty kids the rest of eternity.
HS: Nick Klaus molested an immortal Valkyrie?
EJ: Oh, yes! He didn’t know it then, but from that moment, his life was
changed forever. It is a fact that the first part of the punishment was the
Odin made him totally impotent. He just couldn’t get it up any more.
And then, when death finally came for him, after … an eternity of
torment, Odin made Nick an immortal, but in order to atone for his
crimes, he would be forced to deliver toys to all the world’s children for
all eternity, and then be subjected to ridicule and scorn from the Coca
Cola Company. He died horribly and then was forced to work for free for
Odin for the rest of time.
HS: And the Valkyrie?
EJ: Oh, picking up the heroic dead and taking them to Valhalla. Most
Valkyries do that.
HS: So how did Nick’s curse affect you?
EJ: Well, for one, his portion of soul inside my body gave me immortality
but without having to work for it. For another, I have a pretty cool
relationship with Odin now. When he cursed Nick, he found out that
Nick was not “complete”, and the curse let him back to me. We hit it off
right away.
HS: And Santa Claus?
EJ: Well, he’s gotten used to being who he is. Living in the North Pole is
no fun. Weather is awful all year. The elves form his Toy-Factory actually
work for Odin. They are from Elfheim and they get paid vacations back
home. Delivering all the toys takes basically a lifetime, but Santa uses a
Time-Stop spell to accomplish his duty. Even with the time-stop, he is
forced to work like a dog in an endless Christmas Eve. And then, of
course, there is the cookies and milk. You would think folks would be a
bit more creative and give him some carrots or broccoli now and then.
But part of his curse is that he is not allowed to eat anything not given
to him by the kids, and let me tell you, cookies and milk get old real fast
if that is all you ever get to eat. Look at him… he’s so fat! His cholesterol
must be through the roof, and he has both hypoglycemia and diabetes.
HS: Have you even visited with him after you changed pieces of your
soul with him when he was born?
EJ: Oh, no. I can’t interfere in his life. That’s part of the magic. I must
allow him to be as he is, and if we actually come into contact, I could
lose some of the potency of his soul. So I keep away from the North
Pole and during Christmas, I make sure to have no children around me. I
don’t want to have an accidental meeting.
HS: Immortal torment for a crime of passion committed over a thousand
years ago. Does not sound fair.
4 Cathedral, took me in and I remained there until I became Santa Claus.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
EJ: Well, there are worse places to be, and worse punishments and
curses. Some day you should ask me about the tooth fairy.
HS: Thank you so much for your time. You have been a very gracious
host.
EJ: Thank you for asking.
Next, I went to Planet Earth to visit Santa Claus himself in the North
Pole. Everybody knows it’s near impossible to find his Toy Factory in the
North Pole unless you are a child or an elf. Fortunately, my half-elf
blood helped me find trails of elf-structures and my half-elf eyes
managed to see the invisible elf-city once I got close enough.
The elves received me with skepticism, but once old Santa found out I
had interviewed with the Elder Jigolanthas, he graciously let me do an
interview. The interview took place at his office inside the humongous
toy factory. I was received with cookies and milk.
HS: Thank you very much for the opportunity to interview you here, in
your home.
SC: You are very welcomed. Anybody who works for the Lollipop City
News is always welcomed in my home.
HS: Talk to me about your life BEFORE being Santa Claus. You lived in
Germany?
SC: Ho, ho, ho… right to the nuts of the matter eh?
HS: Well, there are some nasty rumors about your life before becoming
the immortal champion of children that I would like to dismiss. You
were born in Munster, in the 12 Century. Your human name was
th
Nicholas Klaus. Tell me about your childhood.
SC: I’m not sure how you found all that out, but it’s all true, so I’ll tell
you. Yeah, I was born a human Munster in 1129. The city was ruled by
the Bishop of Munster, Egbert, and mom and I lived alone in a tiny shack
outside the city. My father abandoned me at an early age. Mom worked
as a healer, but she was accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake
when I was barely eight years old, in 1137. The old priests of Saint Paul’s
In fact, I was quite famous in my time.
HS: A favorite among the children in the town?
SC: Yeah. To celebrate Christmas, I would take gifts to the poorest
children. This allowed me to convince them to come to school and learn
to read. I always loved children.
HS: In Valhalla, there are rumors that you loved children a little too
much.
SC: Oh.
HS: Care to set the record straight?
SC: Look, the 12 century was not like nowadays. Children were much
th
more willing and effective, especially to teachers and priests. Nobody
really looked down on you for being kind to children. Nobody accused
you of fondling kids for having a little fun now and then. I used to go
into their homes and bring them toys. It’s only natural some of them got
very friendly with me. They were grateful, and back then, grateful kids
were just more likely to be physically amorous, do you understand?
HS: Elder Jigolanthas said…
SC: That stupid gnome might share his soul with me, but he is a
perverted imp. Do you really take seriously any accusation of child-
molestation from such a molester such as Jigolanthas?
HS: You don’t much care for Elder Jigolanthas?
SC: Look, he stole a bit of my soul when I was born. How should I feel
about that?
HS: And then there is the fact that you became an immortal thanks to
Odin. Elder Jigolanthas claims that Odin actually cursed you. Something
to do with a Valkyrie.
SC: Erika.
HS: That was her name?
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STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
SC: They found her in the snow, inside a little basket. There was lots of
gold in the basket, and she was taken in by the church. They just figured
she would be some kind of rich-baron’s bastard daughter. How were
they supposed to know she was the bastard child of a Norse God?
HS: You took a liking to her?
SC: She was like a daughter to me. Incredible, wise child. She had …
gifts. She could see things. And then there was the sheer physical
beauty. You could not just look at her. She was a bewitching child, with
eyes so big and blue, you could literally get lost inside them. I loved her.
Do you understand love? I loved her beyond anybody I have ever loved.
I loved every hair in her head. How could I harm such a one?
HS: And what happened?
SC: Well, her first eight years of life were charmed, magical. Special. But
when she turned eight, everything changed. She was not a normal eight
year old. She was different. Her body was like the body of a young maid,
but tiny. And… she… she… seduced me.
HS: Pardon?
SC: I know it sounds ridiculous. I know it sounds perverted. But … Erika
seduced me! You have to believe me. Oh, she was always a very sultry
child. She kissed me. She hugged me. She clung to me. But I had always
considered all those advances just a child’s natural need for affection,
not unlike all the other children in Munster. But after her 8 birthday all
th
that changed. She became aggressive somehow. She became
demanding. Her hugs and kisses were suddenly much sexualized. But I
was a fool. I didn’t notice. I was thinking she was just a sultry child. I
didn’t see until… until it was too late.
HS: Too late?
SC: One of her household chores at the church was to tend to the goats.
Well, one of the goats got feisty and hurt Erika. She got a cut in her
thigh. I was the one closest to her at that time, and none of the sisters
were there nearby, so I took her to my cell and began to tend the
wound. As luck would have it, the wound was in a very difficult place to
reach, so I had to take off her clothes to tend to it. And that’s when she
made her move. She asked me to kiss the wound to make it better. I fell
for it. It was horrible. It was terrible. She seduced me. Do you believe
me? I could never hurt a child. But she was not an ordinary child. She
was a… she was a demon.
HS: What happened next?
SC: Nobody knew anything had happened. We continued our love affair
for months. I thought I was losing my mind. I loved her. I had never
loved anybody like I loved Erika. She was… everything for me. And yet, I
knew in my heart, in my soul, that it was all wrong. I was a tortured
soul. She was dragging me to hell. And yet? Why not? After all, love is
the most wonderful expression of all. Nothing is closer to divinity than
love. Why shouldn’t we love each other?
HS: Were you ever found out?
SC: We kept our secret for years. Four whole years in fact. We loved
each other. She was my whole life.
HS: But eventually you were found out.
child and threw the spear directly at me. The spear struck my heart. I
was dead.
HS: But you didn’t die. Or did you?
SC: Of course I did. Odin’s spear went directly into my heart. For what
seemed an eternity, I was plunged into an eternal darkness. There was
no up, no down, no sound, no light, no mind, no body. There was
nothing. And then, I was alive again, and I was dressed all in red and
surrounded by elves. I was inside the toy factory, in the North Pole. And
Erika and Odin were there. Erika explained to me that Odin had
murdered me because I had taken her love. But because she actually
loved me still, she asked Odin for mercy on my behalf, so Odin had
agreed, on the condition that we never see each other again. I was
given eternal life, and for my “crime” against his child, I would have to
serve children for all eternity, taking gifts to them on Christmas night for
the rest of time.

SC: That cold-hearted demon, Odin. First he abandoned her to us. Then,
he came back to take her to Valhalla. It happened after her 12 birthday.
th

Oddly enough, it happened the day after her first bleeding, when she
became a young lady. Oh, we had loved each other hundreds of times.
But she was not yet a woman. When she became a woman, her father
Odin came to fetch her. And as you know, Odin knows all. Past, present
and future. He found us traveling together to Cologne to sell our
monthly production of egg-nog. We rode in a cart full of barrels of egg-
nog. He stood in the middle of the highway, with his wide-brimmed hat
and his spear. We thought he was a bandit. But the moment Erika saw
him, she got this really weird look on her eyes, like a kind of recognition.
And she told me: “That’s my father, Odin, the allFather. I have to go
with him now.”
HS: She knew him?
SC: Perfectly. It is strange, but when she saw him, she also understood
that she was an immortal being. She got out of the wagon and ran up to
him. Then he turned his attention to me. He accused me of raping his

5
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2
 5
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4
 THE MAN WHO BUILT FAIRY HOMES
Everybody who knew Jack thought he was crazy. In fact, he had been
diagnosed with schizophrenia by the authorities, so that particular
description, crazy, could be used to describe him, and it would not be in
error.
But they didn’t know Jack.
Jack lived under a bridge near Tampa Bay, Florida.
He moved very often, so this particular residence could not be said to
be his only residence, nor even the one most used by him. But usually,
you could find Jack somewhere in the city of Tampa Bay or nearby
Clearwater, under some bridge, or behind some supermarket dumpster.
His favorite place, though, was the beach, but the police usually scared
him right out of there.
When not “dumpster-diving”, which was his main source of food, or not
trying to survive the lines at the soup-kitchens always in search for some
much needed item, like a blanket or shoes without holes, you could find
Jack on the sidewalks of Tampa Bay, building Fairy Homes.
To folks passing by, Jack would actually appear to be “playing with
garbage”. But this principal activity, far from being useless to Jack, was
actually a much needed and exceedingly important spiritual work: he
made altars for old spirits.
The sacred and the profane usually don’t mix in the minds of the
“reasonable” people. Fortunately for Jack, he was absolutely
unreasonable. He understood, better than any “reasonable person”, the
importance, the intimacy, the sacredness of … for instance... a leftover
Christmas ornament placed over the tomb of a dead squirrel. What is
the tomb of a dead squirrel you ask? Well, that would be the place
where a squirrel was run over by a car. Such tombs are very common in
a big city like Tampa Bay. And it’s not just for squirrels.
Dogs, cats, birds… Jack always left monuments to their death.
5 even made a snowman. He remembered the snowman. Here is Tampa,
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6 it was too cold to build snowmen.
Usually it was something not very important to other people. Treasures
found inside trash cans: maybe it the remains of a broken doll. Or
perhaps an empty bottle of fine wine. A particularly beautiful shoe or a
broken belt-buckle. These simple treasures were, in Jack’s heart, worthy
tributes for the many restless spirits inhabiting the city… The “fairies”.
In Jack’s mind, dead cats, dead squirrels and dead birds turned into
immortal fairies. Their spirits freed from the material bonds of their
bodies, these immortal fairies might turn evil if they were not given
some kind of tribute or recognition for their lives. People didn’t
understand such things. They thought it was just madness… But jack, he
knew better.
Jack had built monuments to old pictures in magazines, and he had built
miniature cities with everything from paper and Styrofoam cups to
pieces of broken bricks and old shoes. His altars were sometimes
incredibly beautiful, but most people didn’t see that. They were also
quite necessary.
And it was not only dead animals that needed fairy homes. Trees, rivers
and certain rocks also had spirits that might turn rogue if not given a
final resting tribute.
For instance, there was an old Tree that had been cut down to put a
billboard on Bourbon Street. Jack had done a whole ritual to cleanse the
tree’s spirit and give it the honors needed to transcend and go into the
next world. Ghost trees were dangerous creatures. They caused hurt
and anger and fear unless placated with a nice fairy home.
People didn’t understand. What they could see were piles of junk,
lovingly collected by a very insane person. Usually they took them down
shortly after Jack made them. But Jack didn’t care. Fairy homes were
outside time and space, so once he built one, nothing could tear it
down. Once you built a fairy home, the spirits could go in there and rest,
and everybody was happy.
Jack remembered better days. Back in Minnesota, playing in the snow.
He was just a kid then. His mom and dad had been living together. And
he had a big sister. They used to throw snowballs at each other. They
Emily.
That was his sister’s name. Emily. She had pretty green eyes and curly
red hair. She kinda looked like the girl in Hardee’s Hamburgers. But
prettier because she was real. She and mom and dad had died. He
remembered that. They were coming back from the dentist, and Jack
and Emily were in the back seat.
Their Chevy Wagon had skidded on ice somewhere in the middle of the
bridge that bridges the twin cities. And that was it. The wagon went off
the bridge and suddenly everybody was drowning, except Jack, who
somehow went out his window. Jack remembered the water. It was icy
cold. But he had always been a good swimmer. Even in icy cold water,
he could reach the shore.
But he had gotten to the shore all alone. Emily… and his mom and dad.
They hadn’t.
That’s about the time that Jack’s nightmares started.
From foster home to foster home, Jack had felt utterly and completely
alone. None of the places where he had been as a child were home.
They were purgatory. First, the violence. Verbal. Even physical. Then,
the sexual abuse. The foster “parents” were nothing better than
vultures, feeding on his innocence and his need. He knew it. They knew
it. He couldn’t do anything about it. They didn’t care.
Jack suffered every imaginable kind of abuse, and he nobody cared. He
was basically… alone. Very alone.
But he survived.
Scarred, scared and still alone. Except something had happened to him
between that horrible day on that icy bridge and now. He had lost
something. He had lost hope.
He had lost hope of finishing high-school, and of finding a job. He had
lost hope of having friends. Or even his own family. He had lost hope of
getting a girlfriend, or even talking to a girl. He knew he was different.
5 problem was the he didn’t have a home. He went from skid-row to skid
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
He knew he was not like the rest of the people who lived around him,
but didn’t really see him.
The government gave him money. They said he was “disabled”. So they
gave him a little debit card which they filled up with 600 dollars every
month. He had lost it many times, but if he was really hungry, or maybe
if he wanted to see a movie, all he had to do was to go to a Social
Security office and ask for it. They usually gave him one.
The police knew him by name, and they sure checked in with him often,
under his bridge, in Tampa Bay. They were not so nice to him
sometimes. But most of the time they were okay, and they pretty much
left him alone. He liked that.
He had been going south all his adult life.
He had gotten kicked out of his last foster home when he turned
sixteen. They had caught him with a girly magazine in the bathroom,
and zap. That was it. The end of his stay. But by then, he didn’t much
care, because Mr. and Mrs. Simmonds, his last foster parents were
brutally sadistic. They were “born again” Christians, and they hated
everything and anything that did not accept their narrow view of the
universe.
It was around that time that Jack began building Fairy Homes. It was his
way to deal with whatever was going on outside the Fairy Homes, and
at the time, that meant the Simmonds.
So he found himself on the street. And there was no way to finish high-
school.
Pretty brutal for a kid.
But he had hope back then. And what he hoped for was to get out of
the cold. So he began to hitchhike south. And he did. He followed all the
trucks and truck stops and he hitchhiked south, and then west and east
and even back north for a while.
And the thing is that once he got to the south-most point, which in this
case had been Texas, he realized that the cold was not the problem. The
row, eating from soup kitchens and getting clothing from the Salvation
Army, but he never had a home. He had been homeless since his mom
and dad and Emily had died.
And then, he met Elsa.
They met on a soup-kitchen in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and she was
serving spaghetti that day. She brought food to that particular soup
kitchen every Tuesday and Sunday. It was her way to give back to her
community. And she found Jack attractive, in a rugged kind of way. Jack
hadn’t talked to a real woman since years. So Elsa was the one who did
the talking, and talk she did.
She also ate a lot of spaghetti. She liked eating.
And she was big. A big blonde woman, in her forties, with a pretty face
hidden behind way too much make up. She looked like somebody’s
favorite eccentric aunt.
And the next week, she served chicken. And she talked even more to
Jack.
By the third week, Elsa invited Jack off the streets and to her home, and
she explained to him that he could apply for social security disability
because he was disabled. And suddenly, Jack's’ life changed from hell to
heaven in just one day.
When he got to her home, she gave him a room, and some clothes from
her ex-husband. Oliver had been a brute and an asshole and Elsa hated
him, but he had left her lots of clothes and somehow, they fit perfectly
on Jack’s strong body. Oliver had also left Elsa a little baby. The baby’s
name was Ely, and she had the black skin of her father, the blue eyes of
her mother and a whole lot of smiles for everybody. She was a walking-
talking curiosity for Jack, a real life toddler.
That first year, Elsa had a lot of rules for Jack. He had to give her his
social security check. And he was supposed to bathe every morning, and
make breakfast. He was also expected to clean the kitchen, the
bathroom and his own room. He had to clean the yard. But most
6
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
especially, and above all, no Fairy Homes. Elsa knew all about Jack’s
decorating styles and she would have none of it.
And Elsa could come in any night and sleep with him.
That part was nice. Up to then, Jack had been a virgin. Although Elsa
was big, she was sweet, and gentle and somehow, very sexy. Jack fell in
love with her and thought maybe he had found the home and the family
he had been looking for.
And the second and third year, Jack felt at home. And Elsa and Ely were
his family, and he took care of them, and Elsa’s rules got more and more
relaxed each day, until one day, Jack found himself creating Fairy Homes
again.
He first made one behind the tool shed. And since Elsa said nothing, he
made another inside the tool shed. Then, a third, near the blueberry
bushes. And a fourth, near the mailbox. It was the fifth Fairy Home that
made Elsa blow up. He made it in his room. Inside the house.
It was a very small, timid and conservative Fairy House. It was for a little
spider, a dead spider that Jack found, dead, behind an old shoe box. So
he cut a little door, put the spider inside and decorated it with some
fake flowers. A lovely Fairy House. Perhaps the most beautiful he had
ever made.
But when Elsa found it, she blew up. And then, as if she suddenly had
gotten the superpower to “find Fairy Homes”, she found all the others
within a few hours. She looked for them like some powerful dark deity,
seeking enemy temples. She destroyed all four others the same way she
destroyed the spider one.
Then she turned on Jack and asked him to leave.
“I can’t handle it, Jack. I thought you would be able to get back on your
feet. Leave your nutty shit behind. Help me with Ely. But I was wrong.
You are not well, and I am too busy, too stretched out to help you. I
can’t help you, Jack. You have to go.”
And that was it. She gave him some money and sent him back to the
streets. No negotiations. No pleading. Nothing.
Jack wouldn’t have asked her to let him stay.
He was angry. A real family does not kick you out. What had he done
that was so wrong? He build Fairy Homes for little dead things. That was
not a crime! Those little things that had died needed a place to rest
their souls. Was it so hard to understand?
He took the money he gave her and flipped a coin.
Heads, he would go to California. Tails, he would go to Florida. He was
sure both places had eternal summer, and he would never be cold
again.
It was tails.
And he was right. He got off the bus at Tampa Bay, Florida, because he
saw a pretty bridge near a beach. It was the kind of bridge one could
live in and never bother anybody. He wondered if the fact that he
usually chose bridges to live under had to do with the fact that his
family had died in a bridge.
It didn’t bother him.
And then, time went on. And on and on. Weeks turned to months.
Months turned to years. Years turned to decades, and Jack became a
kind of “King under the Bridge” of that particular bridge. It was an
abandoned bridge. Something that would have worked to bridge the
beach to a pier, but there was no pier, only the bridge. The pier never
got built, so the bridge stood there, abandoned.
And it was Jack’s bridge. And mostly, nobody bothered him there. Ever.
Jack’s routine there was pretty simple. He woke up with the sun, looked
in the dumpsters of the nearby McDonald’s, Costco and Walmart for
breakfast, and then went searching for dead things to make them a
Fairy Home. After dark, he would go back to his dumpsters to look for
dinner, then he would go back to his bridge, check if he was alone, and
grab himself some fresh cardboard boxes to sleep under.
Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year.
Decade after decade. Time moved quickly when you loved your life.
6
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2
And then he got old. His once brown hair and beard turned white. His
once powerful limbs, which he used to swim in the ocean became soft.
And he got acquainted with the pain of old age. He stopped swimming
in the ocean. Then, he stopped walking as much as before.
New cops and new people from social services had arrived in his home,
and they all tried to convince him to go with them. But he was still
strong enough to tell them to go fuck themselves. He didn’t need
anybody. He didn’t want anybody.
He knew they would not let him build Fairy Homes. And he would have
none of that.
Except one day, he got really sick. And when he did, he stayed in his
cardboard box much longer than usual. He didn’t even go look for food
in the dumpsters. That night, he got so sick he didn’t even wake up.
“Come on, son, it’s time to come with us.”
It was his father, who woke him up. Standing there, just like the last day
Jack saw him alive. And next to him were his mom and Emily. They all
looked so young. Younger than he, even. And they were still dressed like
the day their car skidded on the ice. They were dressed for the winter,
not for a beach.
“Dad?”
“Hi son. It’s been a while. Sorry we left you alone so long.”
“Mom, Emily…”
“Hey big brother!” said the little girl who had been dead for decades.
His mother just came around and hugged him tightly.
“Where have you been all this time, mom?” Jack asked, with tears in his
eyes.
“Visiting your friends in their Fairy Houses, Jack.” Replied his mom, who
gave him a kiss.
 The Day the Shit Hit the
Fan
Nobody really knows why shit became conscious, but everybody agrees
more or less when. It was the day the shit hit the fan. And as usual, you
can blame the government.
Obama was out, Trump was in, and everybody knew shit was
happening, but they never suspected shit would get so smart.
It started, as most shitty things that nobody can understand, in
California. In fact, in Hollywood. Where else? In the bathroom of the
prestigious Brown Derby restaurant.
Devon Johnson went in to take a shit. Devon was a very distant relative
of Will Smith, a young man with an attitude and the odd idea that he
was a musical genius although he played no instrument and could
hardly carry a Christmas carol without wailing totally out of tune.
But Devon considered himself a rapper, and he had come all the way
from his hometown in Greenville, Texas to Hollywood, California the
moment he graduated high school. He was going to meet his “cousin”
Will, get a recording contract, and as he told his momma: “Get all the
bitches and the cars I want.”
Of course, his mamma wanted him to go to the community college and
study something useful, like auto mechanic or electrician. But Devon
would have none of it, and since she was glad to get him out of his ass
and into a bus, she didn't much complain when he told her he was going
to Hollywood.
Hollywood, however, had not been kind to Devon. His ungrateful “cuz”
Will Smith was utterly impossible to reach. And he had spent most of his
money on a stupid motel room. Now he was desperate, and when some
“bros” down at the Sunset Strip told him that there might be a job for
6 him in the porn industry, he decided to take a chance.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4
So he went to meet this “big porn producer” up at the Brown Derby in
Hollywood, but the dude hadn’t shown up yet. And Devon was nervous.
So he ordered a cup of coffee, and went to the bathroom to take a shit.
And exactly at that moment “the shit hit the fan”.
Literally.
The toilet stalls at the Brown Derby had just been recently remodeled,
and now, they were separated by these thin, very clean aluminum
booths. Above head, a large circular fan prevented the fumes from
congregating. New mirrors and lavatories made the whole place seem
clean and wholesome.
So Devon went into a booth, took down his pants and immediately, let
out a huge turd into the toilet. He had not eaten since breakfast and it
was well past mid-afternoon, but all the pressure in his head was
making him loose enough to let out all of his breakfast come out like a
rocket out of his ass.
He cleaned himself up twice with paper, which he dutifully threw into
the wastebasket. He might be a great rapper, but he was civilized.
And then, he pulled the chain.
It was a chain toilet, like the old ones you see in black and white movies.
Damn, antiques like that one must've cost a fortune. Why didn’t they
just put a regular toilet in their bathroom?
The large single dark brown turd swam a few turns around the toilet
bowl and then stopped. Devon hadn’t even put back his pants on when
suddenly the damn thing “stood up” inside the water and looked at him.
“What’s the fuck you looking at, nigger?” the Turd said.
Devon almost let out another turd as he watched his own turd turn into
a kind of “turd monster” complete with eyes, mouth and a pointy nose.
When the monster turd flew out of the toilet directed at Devon’s face,
the poor fella fell on his ass outside the bathroom. By now, a kindly old
6 cut it with an axe, or shot it full of bullets, or burned it with a flame
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6
man in a tweed jacket and what looked like his grandson, wearing an
Apollo 11 Sweater and blue jeans came into the bathroom at the exact
same time that Devon was falling, ass-naked on the floor, wailing like a
banshee at his flying turd.
The scene turned a bit chaotic when the turd turned and looked at the
grandpa and the kid and snarled, like some fierce beast at both of them
and said in a voice imitating that of Jack Nicholson:
“And now, the shit is gonna hit the fan!”
“Look grandpa, a talking turd!” The little boy managed to say before the
turd flew into the ceiling fan and exploded into a million little turd
fragments which hit the walls and splattered the old man, the boy and
Devon liberally.
And then, all four toilets inside the bathroom began to boil over, like
witches’ cauldrons. Like some kind of enormous shit-octopus, each one
of the toilets suddenly exploded allowing a great tentacle of shit to
come out and reach all the way out of the stalls, to try and grab the
three people inside the bathroom.
One of the tentacles formed a “face” and began to talk shit.
“The shit hit the fan! The shit hit the fan! Behold, shit has become
death, destroyer of worlds!”
That was enough for Devon, the grandpa and the boy in the Apollo 11
shit, who ran out of the bathroom peeing their pants in fear.
But that was only the first.
Across Hollywood, toilets turned rogue and shit-tentacles came out of
them to grab and devour people. It happened so quickly that the
Hollywood P.D. was not sure how to respond to it. The calls came in a
flood. And the toilets inside the Hollywood Police Station attacked at
the same time.
Hollywood cops shot the shit with everything including an old flame-
thrower that had been kept in the evidence room. But nothing worked.
Trying to kill the shit was impossible, because it was just shit, and if they
thrower, it just kept growing.
So all that Captain James T. Kurd, the chief officer in charge at the time
was able to do was to call a retreat from the bathrooms and have the
doors shut tight.
CNN, which had its headquarters in Sunset Boulevard made a special
announcement, advising people to stay away from their bathrooms.
Soon, the shit-panic became absolute, as shit-attacks were reported as
far as the Beverly Center and MacArthur Park.
The shit monster was growing!
So folks began to shit and pee on the streets. And somehow, that made
it worse. Because all that accumulated shit began to pile together… and
then move.
The shit attacked people everywhere, somehow, killing them by
suffocating them in shit. Hundreds of victims of the shit-monster began
to pile up in the Hollywood coroner’s office.
Governor Schwarzenegger called the National Guard.
Field Marshall Bruce B. Baudelaire took over the operation and quickly,
he made all the sewers shut down the flow of shit. The idea of
Baudelaire was to contain the shit in Hollywood. But his intervention
came in too late.
Every day, 2 million gallons of shit are poured into the Pacific Ocean
around the area of Santa Monica Beach. But on this particular day,
those two million gallons of shit somehow held together and began to
swim back into the mainland.
100 foot long tentacles of shit suddenly erupted around the Santa
Monica Pier and began to drag people into a central, monstrous mass of
2 million gallons of shit, which surfaced roughly around the area of the
“octopus” game in the pier.
The shit creature was so large, in toppled the entire pier into the water,
killing hundreds instantly. Those who didn’t drown were quickly pulled
into the “maw” of the monster and consumed.
6 one option left. We have to deploy our nuclear option.”
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
Field Marshall Baudelaire responded quickly, sending five Abrams Tanks
to the zone and creating a perimeter.
A fierce battle erupted right in Santa Monica, but the shit-monster was
unstoppable, and it dragged itself out of the water and into the
mainland, smashing through the buildings.
Explosives of all kinds did little more than make the monster break into
smaller monsters which quickly re-joined into one large mass. The best
that the National Guard could do was to pull the people back, out of the
path of destruction and filth of the massive shit-creature.
It would be President Trump’s first crisis. And of course, he called in all
the great experts to the situation room, where a live broadcast from Los
Angeles was shared among his top generals and scientists.
The monster’s path of destruction was unstoppable but somehow
predictable. It was going after all the water-treatment plants in
Southern California. And it was growing.
Toilets all around Los Angeles let out their filth and that filth made its
way to the main mass of the “Shit-Zilla” as the creature became known.
Estimates of the creature’s size and growth rate were bleak. From the 2
million ton size it had when it came out of the ocean, it had grown to 6
million tons.
Now, it was making its’ way into the San Fernando Valley, and if it
reached the water-treatment plants there, it could become utterly
catastrophic for the whole city.
And then there was the issue that folks had to shit everywhere. The
sanitation crisis was terrible, and President Trump expected to have
diseases and infections bring Los Angeles to its knees even if the
monster was contained.
Chief of Armed Forces, Five Star General Duckworth McLaine exposed
President Trump his options very clearly:
“Mr. President: nothing we do against this thing is working. Fire,
explosives, napalm, white phosphorous… nothing works. We only have
 “Nuke that shitty monster. And Nuke East L.A. Kill two birds with one
“I can’t Nuke Los Angeles, General. Bad thing. Bad press.” Said the
stone, won't’ I?”
President.
“That’s right Mr. President.”
“That thing won't’ stop in Los Angeles, Mr. President. It will go to San
Diego.”
“Good, then let the Mexicans take care of it. For sure they will want to EPILOGUE
build a wall after that.”
Since there was nothing left of the shit-monster after the nuclear strike
“Mr. President, the Mexicans don’t have any good water-treatment in East L.A., nobody really found out what had caused it to become
plants. The monster won't’ want to go there. It will head east. Probably conscious. Scientists flocked to Los Angeles to study the shit, but they
to Las Vegas.” found nothing. Shit was just shit, and whatever caused the shit to hit
the fan didn’t matter anymore.
“Well, that’s bad.”
The Knights of the Ku Klux Klan made a huge gold statue of President
“And after Las Vegas, for sure Salt Lake City.”
Trump holding a toilet plunger and they placed it alongside the
“Oh, like that. That’s good!” Hollywood Sign. A safe-zone was established east of Cesar Chavez
Boulevard and anything East of there was considered off limits. Not that
“Mr. President. We must act now. The whole west coast is in danger. anyone would have wanted to go there, because shit and radioactive
We must deploy a nuclear weapon.” waste would make the zone uninhabitable for hundreds of thousands of
“Well, General, if I must tell you the truth, I never did like Hollywood all years. The Nuclear Blast that destroyed the Shit Monster made a huge
that much. Bad people. Nasty people. They didn’t want to come to my crater, which could be seen from space.
inauguration. They tried to rig the elections and then there is all those
damn pizza parties they did with Crooked Hillary. But I can’t just nuke
them! There’s lots of cute blondes there.”
“We can evacuate the blondes, Mr. President. Most of them, anyhow. If
we strike now, we could hit the monster somewhere near East L.A. No
problems there.”
“East L.A.?”
“That’s right, Mr. President. And the monster won't’ reach San Diego.”
“Well, General… Then let's do it.”
“Mr. President?”

7
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
 The Big Stone
Randy Stone was the first to see it. Randy was an amateur
astronomer who lived in Kimberly, Australia. He was looking for
Pluto, of all planets, if Pluto can still be called a Planet. And
suddenly there it was. It came from behind Pluto, speeding
insanely fast, like a mouse, trying to hide in someone’s kitchen.

Randy did what any other amateur astronomer would do in such a

case: he took note of the location and called the big guns. The
“big guns” in Randy’s case meant the Canberra Deep Space
Communications Complex in the Capital City. The big guns would
know what to do. The big guns had better machines. They could
track the object. They could tell Randy if his observations of the
object behind pluto were a mistake.

And Randy Stone hoped dearly he was wrong. Randy had

tracked the object, roughly the size of manhattan. And it was
coming towards earth.

The chief astronomer in charge at the time was Baudelia

McClintock. She was a half-aboriginal student who had raised
from the ranks principally because she had lived her entire life
within half a mile from the observatory, and she had known all the
astronomers who worked there as a child. She was a kind of “pet”
for some of the older astronomers, who still thought of her as a
child, although she had already reached her 30s. Baudelia was
competent enough. She had worked hard to earn her degree in
astronomy and then she had worked even harder to rise through
the ranks at Canberra.
7
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK But when she got Randy’s hurried call, she was just watching a
2
particular horrifying episode of “American Horror Story”, so she
waited a full forty minutes for the show to end before she actually
set the huge antenna array to the location given to her by Stone.
When she detected the roughly 23 square mile object right behind
Pluto and speeding dangerously towards earth, she hit all the right
red buttons to send alarm signals to every observatory in the
planet.
The name “Big Stone” was given to the object by Clive Strand,
senior officer working the Hubble Telescope unit from the NORAD
command center in Colorado Springs. Clive was a Major in the Air
Force, but he was also a NCO working anonymously for the NSA,
and a CIA Spook. Folks who have Clive’s authority are few are far
between, and usually they are thought of as the “Men in Black”,
humorless people who always wear dark suits and give lots of
orders.
Oddly enough, Clive was quite humorous. Unless he was deadly
serious. But Clive was the kind of man who could get the
president and the joint chiefs of staff on the phone. And when he
saw the “Big Stone” behind Pluto on a collision course with earth,
that’s exactly what he did.
President Trump was tweeting on the toilet when the call came in.
It annoyed the president bigly that he could not finish his dump in
tranquility when the “red phone” was handed to him by one of his
dark-sunglasses wearing members of the secret service.
President Trump could not tell them apart, even after all these
months, mostly because with their crew-cuts and dark-sunglasses,
they looked like clones.
“What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?” he asked the secret service
officer who could no more smile than a mountain can move.
“Joint Chiefs.”
Trump grabbed the red-colored phone angrily and flushed the
toilet.
7
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4 the Eiffel Tower was somehow simultaneously in the asteroid and
“What is it!?” he screamed into the reciver.
The voice on the other end was of Reince Priebus, the Chief of
Staff.
“There is a large asteroid on it’s way to blast our planet out of the
sky, Mr. President.”
“Can we blast it first?”
Back at NORAD Command Center, Clive was multitasking like
mad. Almost all the important satellites had been pointed to
monitor the Big Stone. Clive was on the phone with China, Russia,
Germany and obviously, Australia. The “Operation Pebbles” as it
was coined by Clive would be a massive effort which would
include help from all corners of the globe. If the situation was not
so damned dangerous, Clive would be proud to be spearheading
it. But all he had for the moment was an absolute terror of what
could happen.
His nerds were steadfast on the fact that Big Stone was on a
direct collision course with Earth. The earth had about two weeks
of life left, and that was a fact.
It was a little after the “Big Stone” reached the orbit of Saturn that
“it” happened. By now, missiles had been scrambled, bunkers
opened, apocalyptic contingency plans reviewed and the world’s
governments had finally agreed: something had to be done. But
something happened that threw a total new element into the mix
of the “asteroid that will kill the earth” scenario.
The asteroid… the stone… turned around and showed it’s peculiar
and dark underbelly. And what the astronomers were able to see
on that underbelly sent shivers down their spine.
It was the Eiffel Tower.
How or why the Eiffel Tower appeared suddenly in an asteroid
was unthinkable. Nobody even ventured to guess. The fact that

in Paris was even more mysterious. But the Hubble telescope
gave a bird's eye view of the tiny object in Big Stone’s apocalyptic
underbelly, and it was unmistakable. It WAS the Eiffel Tower, right
down to the elevators, the cute little arches, and a large piece of
french concrete under it’s great legs.
Photographs from the Hubble Telescope showed french-language
posters from the 1960’s hanging from the tower’s walls. On top of
the tower, the great telescope spied leftover coca cola bottles and
a leftover copy of “Die Welt” from October 28th, 1968. The
headline was about the Mexican massacre in Tlatelolco.
President Putin and President Trump met in secret in Holland to
discuss the matter.
Although the high-ranking soldiers of most parts of the planet were
aware of the existence of Big Stone, a massive and sometimes
deadly effort to silence anybody who would not play ball and keep
the Big Stone out of the mass media was made. In fact, Putin and
Trump ordered the murder of hundreds of people all over the
globe within a question of days. Folks who had astronomers skills
and who would not keep quiet if they found the object, which was
increasingly hard to hide.
After the meeting, a joint-space flight operation was agreed upon
in secret. A group of Russian and American astronauts would fly
into the Big Stone and determine why the 1960s Eiffel Tower had
cloned itself on the surface of the asteroid, and then try to set
nuclear warheads to detonate the asteroid before it reached Mars.
The technology for such an endeavor had existed for decades, but
the financial and political costs of launching such a mission was
such that nobody had attempted to reach Mars or beyond. Now,
the mission was not only necessary but vital to the survival of the
human race. They had less than a week to launch.
7
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6
The astronaut in charge of the mission was Captain Lee Lincoln
Roberts, an all american if there ever was one. His Russian
counterpart was Captain Anastasia Smirnoff, an all russian femme
fatale if there ever was one. The launch of the Space Shuttle
Horus (a secret space shuttle created by the NSA for alien attacks
in the 90s but still working and quite powerful) was done secretly
from a secret base in Iceland. It only took three days to get it
going.
The plan was simple. The Horus would fly extremely near to the
Big Stone without actually landing. Smirnoff and Roberts would
“surf” into the gravitational field of the Big Stone on a specially
prepared “space-hoverboard” which had been built from a lunar
rover. There, they would observe the Eiffel Tower up close to
determine why it was there if possible and then, from orbit, they
would send four thermonuclear bombs to utterly destroy the Big
Stone before it left the Martian orbit.
The mission was full of big gambles, but Smirnoff and Roberts
were all about that. There is no sense in explaining in depth all the
intricate science behind the project, but let us say that numerous
“hidden technologies” were used by both superpowers in order to
accomplish the agreed upon goal of saving the earth from
imminent destruction. Both Russia and the USA had hidden
various scientific findings from each other, but when they saw
themselves at hell’s gate, they had to agree to disclose these
technological achievements and when their respective scientists
began to work together to find a solution to the Big Stone,
everything was made clear.
Reaching Mars was a question of less than five days. It was a
fact. They could had done it decades ago if they had only dared to
work it out together.
A total media blackout regarding all these events went on effect.
More hundreds of “conspiracy nuts” had to be silenced forever by
joint Russian and American Intelligence Agency assassins. It was
a dangerous time to be a truth-seeker. How many died so the
secret could be kept is unknown. But they were many….
Finally, the Horus launched and Smirnoff and Roberts took off to
meet the Big Stone. They were the last chance for planet earth.
Theirs was very probably a suicide mission but they thrived in the
adventure and magic of it. Since most of their equipment was
automated, they did not need to take up more martyrs into space
with them. Together, Smirnoff and Roberts would save the world
and nobody would even know about it.
The four day flight to Mars was relatively uneventful. It was
machine-run and machine-like. Smirnoff and Roberts were the
perfect pair. Beautiful. Deadly. Dedicated to their nations and
raving gung ho-lunatics. In fact, the sexual tension in the mission
was unavoidable. Never overt, but here were two beautiful, smart,
single, fit people of the opposite sex on a suicide mission to save
the planet. How could there be anything else but absolute sexual
need between them?
When they finally saw Mars, it was like an orgasm that took four
days for both.
And then, their enemy: Big Stone. It showed up underneath them.
They saw it with their onboard cameras first. Then, they walked to
the belly of the shuttle to look with their own eyes at the monster.
She was oddly beautiful. She actually looked, up close, like some
macabre mannequin torso made of brilliant ice and the stuff of
stars.
“I guess this is the right moment to tell you Lee.. I am not going
back to earth.” Stasia told Lee.
Stasia. That’s what she liked to be called by friends and lovers.
“Well, we always knew it was a possibility that we would not go
back.” replied Lee, looking at the strange asteroid floating in space
under his feet.
“You don’t understand Lee. I am not going back because I am
going to land on that asteroid. There is no way back for me.
7 But if he did, then Stasia’s entire plan would fail, and somehow,
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
“That was not part of the plan, Stasia.”
“Not part of YOUR plan. But my plan was made back in Moscow. I
agreed to this mission only on condition of landing on the Big
Stone. President Putin agreed to let me do it. And the whole
Russian community is waiting for the information that I will send to
them.”
“So, you DID come on a suicide mission. And you lied to us all.”
“We both knew the dangers, Lee.”
“But at least I have a CHANCE of returning.”
“That is so. And I hope you live and then go to Russia and explain
to my mother my decision.”
“You don’t have to do this, Stasia. You can become a refugee in
my country. President Trump would understand…”
“I want to do this, Lee.”
“I see.”
“You can’t stop me. You don’t have the right. It is my choice.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. I am also sure you will not report to your superiors my
decision.”
Lee Roberts was not a complicated man. He was a simple soldier
who loved his country and loved to fly. He believed in God and he
trusted in the Constitution of the United States as his moral guide.
He was, somehow, unprepared for the difficult choice upon him.
He had to make a report. He had to “tell the truth.”
that didn’t seem right either. Here was this beautiful, brilliant,
incredible woman who was willing to die to further the knowledge
of her people and by default, the human race. How could he deny
her that chance? Somehow, he even applauded her choice.
Their chances of returning to earth had never been too good
anyway. Too many variables against a safe return, and they knew
it. The eggheads had given them a 27.3% chance of success.
That was good enough for Lee, almost one in three. But Smirnoff
wanted to land.
She wanted to see the Eiffel Tower first hand.
Very romantic.
Very deadly.
There were four bombs, each one big enough to blast Manhattan
out of the map. The idea was to detonate them so that the
asteroid would break into smaller pieces and those smaller pieces
would be flown off course by the blast. A solid plan.
The bombs were set on the sides of the modified moonlander,
lovingly nicknamed the “Cockroach”. The shuttle bay had been
used almost entirely to hoist the 2 ton machine. It was roughly the
size of a VW Bug and the shape had been converted into
something like a tiny jeep with folding wings and cockroach legs.
In a pinch, the moonlander could land on the asteroid using it’s
powerful cockroach legs, but the cockroach’s real objective was to
float near enough to the asteroid to deliver the bombs.
The four bombs looked like tiny surfboard replicas of the
cockroach. They also had wings and six prehensive legs to grab
onto whatever they could so they could be placed on the asteroid
without error. The detonation would be done by radio transmission
once the Horus was safely out of reach of the blast. The bombs
would not detonate unless detonated from inside the Horus. So
Lee knew that if Stasi wanted to land the cockroach, he would
have to kill her. Literally.
8
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
Their mission parameters gave them around four hours to set and
detonate the bombs once they reached the asteroid. Beyond that
time, there was no guarantee of a safe return, as the asteroid
would leave Mars’ orbit and make navigation a nightmare.
They had supposed to flip a coin to see who would drive the
cockroach around the Big Stone’s orbit. They had supposed to.
Now, Lee was forced to watch as Stasi carefully landed the
strange machine next to the Eiffel Tower. Her voice came in
through the radio, loud and clear, with the sound of her respiration
causing a rasping effect on the microphone inside her half-million
dollar helmet.
“It’s beautiful. Identical to the one in Paris, Lee.”
“Stasi, you are still clear to return to orbit. Leave the bombs and
return.”
“I am going outside.”
Her space suit would give her about two hours time to walk
around. She had parked her cockroach roughly two hundred yards
away from the Eiffel Tower, so it did not take her long to reach it.
Once she was there, she was utterly amazed.
Somehow, the Eiffel Tower had been moved, along with a sizable
part of the park on which it was built, to this desolate rock in
space. She could see park benches, and the visitor's desk. The
vegetation, the trees were frozen stiff from the cold of space, but
they were there, somehow mostly still green and beautiful.
Stasi reached a garbage can full of garbage. Half-eaten hot dogs,
frozen forever. Debris from a world decades ago. How was it
possible? The german newspaper was there. The one spied on by
the Hubble telescope. She picked it up. It was as if it was made
out of ice, the sheets stiff and hard and brittle. She crushed them
with her hands.
The real Eiffel Tower was still there, back home, where it was
supposed to be. But somehow, this magical place had suddenly
appeared out of nowhere, with no explanation. And this WAS the
Eiffel Tower. Stas knew it firsthand. She had been there when she
was still a student. She had gone there with her mother and
father. They had eaten crepes just outside. It was the same tower.
Then she saw it. The absolute proof that this was indeed the Eiffel
Tower she knew: an oak tree. About five meters to the left of
where she was. Part of the garden that had somehow been
transported here, to this insanity.
An ancient oak with a very specific message carved into its trunk.
Stasi remembered the tree. She remembered the message. It was
in German, surely made by one of the many german soldiers who
occupied Paris during the great war. It said: Dieter und Anne
Laure with a heart between both names. Stasi remembered the
tree and the carving, because she had been angry about it. Here
was a teutonic invasor in this sacred grove, marking a tree as if he
were the owner. It was an old mark. A mark made on a great oak
decades ago.
The oak was frozen in space. Frozen in time. The leaves were
gone. But the trunk was big and unmovable. As if someone had
duplicated an exact replica of the park under the tower and
dropped it square on the asteroid.
“It’s the real Eiffel Tower, Lee. I know it. There is a frozen oak. It’s
marked. The same marks as the ones back home.”
“Stasi, stop fooling around and get back to the ship. You might still
make it.”
“Some things are worth dying for. Seeing this tree is worth dying
for. There are great mysteries in the universe, Lee, and now I am
the owner of this particular mystery. Don’t you understand?”
8
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2 asteroid and of the strange Eiffel Tower in it flooded the internet,
“Our time is running out.” Lee said, worried for the first time since
the strange adventure had begun.
“I’ve already set the bombs. Leave if you wish. You can still make
Mars’ orbit.” She said coldly.
Back in the Space Shuttle, Lee began to sweat. It was not
supposed to be like this. This was not the mission they had
agreed upon. His mind was not set for these kind of situations.
Stasi set the bombs to detonate. She decided that she would
climb the tower and watch them go off. She had gathered
hundreds of photographs and other data for the bosses back
home and she had sent it all. She had about half an hour before
the orbit of the Big Stone changed. So after setting the bombs to
detonate, she went back to the tower.
She found Lee, suited up and standing under the Eiffel Tower.
“What are you doing here, you crazy man?” She asked utterly
bewildered.
“Back home in Wisconsin, when I was going to school, I took
french as one of my elective classes. There, I learned for the first
time that the only true love is that whom you can kiss under the
Eiffel Tower.”
“What?”
“Will you kiss me, Anastasia Smirnoff?”
Big Stone was detonated safely before it left Mars’ orbit. It broke
into seven different pieces none of which continued on their
course to Earth. The data collected by Captain Smirnoff was
somehow not sent to a private server, but to a local Facebook
account owned by Smirnoff’s youngest sister, Lisa. From there,
the photos and data regarding the strange “clone” of the Eiffel
Tower went viral and spread like wildfire throughout cyberspace.
Thousands of speculations about the possible origin of the
and eventually made it to the mainstream news. Most agreed that
it had been a hoax.

Captain Smirnoff and Captain Roberts were given funerals back in

Moscow and Washington respectively with full military honors.
They were supposedly killed during a Russian-American joint
operation in Afghanistan. The governments of the two
superpowers denied completely all the information leaked in the
internet.

8
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4
 The Gravity of Ghosts
As deaths go, my own death was unremarkable. I had a heart
attack at home. I had been cutting the grass when it happened.

It was not a surprize for anybody who knew me. I was fifty years
old. I was overweight, I had diabetes, high blood pressure, and
deep and abiding addiction to pizza, beer and soft drinks. I was on
the top tier of heart-attack candidates. I didn’t care.

When I died, I fell next to my lawnmower. A terrible shooting pain

in my chest gripped me and didn’t let go. It paralyzed me. I knew I
was dying. My left arm went limp, I couldn't’ get air into my lungs
and I knew if I didn’t get help soon, I’d be dead. It’s a very
stressful death, a heart attack. Painful. It’s a kind of pain I can’t
explain, because you know you’re dying.

I had a big yard. 100 meters of pure beauty and peace in the
middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It was about a mile away
from the nearest highway. Beautiful pecan trees, apple trees,
squirrels, wild birds, even a deer or two would show up.. I had a
huge two story antebellum house, fully refurbished, with all the
commodities of modern life, solar panels, two car garage,
swimming pool and the most beautiful garden you could wish for.
But it was kind of isolated. That’s how I liked it.

So I was alone.

I had been living alone for the last two months after my wife, Betsy
left me. Our two kids were off to college in other states, and I had
few friends, none of which would visit me unannounced. Roy
Shillings, Mack O’Hanney and Stan McGrady, my closest friends
would come every friday for poker, pizza, beer and pornos. But
they would not be coming for another four days. It was only
monday.
Monday afternoon.

So, as I died, I figured they would wouldn’t find my body until

8
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK friday. Friday after five. That would be the time when the poker
6 boys would find my body.

I hadn't finished cutting the grass. Weird, worrying about that
when I knew I dying. But when you die, you really don’t wanna
leave anything undone. I was wondering if I had left the front door
open. I figured the squirrels would go into kitchen and eat up all
the fruit in my fruit basket.
Then the pain made everything go black.
I guess I passed out.
When I woke I was standing next to my body. The lawnmower had
shut off and it was still a sunny, beautiful day. Indeed, I had left
the front door open, so I went to close it.
Wait.
What?
My body laid crumpled next to the lawnmower. I was dead. Or
was I?
I was confused. I felt fine. I looked at my hands, my feet. I still had
hands and feet. It was as if I was still here, but also there,
crumpled by the lawnmower. How could that be? I looked up at
the sky, and sun was shining. There were no clouds. The woods
next to my house were like they had always been, although,
maybe a little quieter. I didn’t hear any birds.
“You’re dead, mister.” somebody said behind me.
I turned around and saw a little girl. She was about eight years old
and wore a cute little blue dress like the ones little girls used to
wear decades ago, with long white stockings and black shoes.
She had long brown hair, very pale skin… And no eyes.
8
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
Where her eyes should be, there were two huge black holes, like
two miniature black holes you would see at the end of a galaxy.
Pure darkness. Nothingness.
And I wasn’t afraid of her. I felt no fear… because somehow, I
knew her words were correct: I was dead. And this… this was the
afterlife.
“Who are you?” I asked her.
“They killed me in those woods years ago. Been looking to get
back home ever since, but… there is no more home. Mom and
dad are gone.” She replied without any expression in her eyeless
face.
“What’s your name?”
“Tiffany.”
“And how do you know I’m dead, Tiffany?”
“Because your body is there, dead, next to the lawnmower.”
I thought about my own daughter, Rebecca. She was very
different from Tiffany. When she was eight years old, she liked to
dress like a boy, short hair, jeans… Becca was a tomboy.
And suddenly, I was standing next to Becca. But she want’s eight
years old. She was 24, and she was fighting with her boyfriend,
Jacks. They were having lunch at the Beverly Connection in West
Los Angeles, California. She had gone to study medicine at UCLA
and she was still trying to finish her degree, working two full time
jobs just to get through.
“I don’t really care if you did or you didn’t, Jacks, the fact is that I
found her messages on your iPhone and you can’t really convince
me that there is nothing going on.” She said under her teeth to
the muscular, handsome mustachioed young man.
He lowered his eyes and played with his fork, tossing lettuce
around his dish with no appetite.

“Becca?” I said.
“Dad?” She replied and turned around to see me.
But she didn’t see me.
“What did you say?” Jacks asked her, looking up.
“I thought I heard my dad. But that’s impossible. He’s in South
Carolina.” She replied.
“Look Becca, Lucy is just obsessed with me. There’s nothing
going on…” Jacks tried to explain.
“Jacks, I don’t believe you. You’re a lying piece of shit.”
“Becca, honey, you have it all wrong…”
Somehow… I knew he was lying. It was not a hunch. It was a
certainty. It was clear as a bell. A vision of him with this black
chick having sex. Knowing he is lying and lying anyhow.
I got angry…. So I threw his drink on his lap.
They both jumped out of their seats, surprised.
“What the hell was that!?” He said.
“I didn’t do that!” She cried.
“You must have… otherwise…. How did that happen? The glass
didn’t jump for itself, Becca.” He accused.
“I’m sorry….” She said…
9 threw me out…!”
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
0
“No, I’m sorry…. Honey… really… I am very sorry. That crazy
bitch is like… Fatal attraction. I don’t want anything with her. I
don’t care about her. I care about you… I only care about you,
Becca… I love you. Please… Please forgive me and let's put this
behind us…”
He reached out to her and she didn’t pull back. They hugged and
he kissed her.
Now I was desperate… Really angry. This asshole was lying to
my preciouss little baby… He was a cheating, lying bastard!
Somehow.. My ghostly outburst had ruined the situation…
I thought about my son, Jeffrey.
And suddenly, I was no longer in Los Angeles.
I was in Atlanta, Georgia. And my son, Jeffrey, who was now a 22
year old bum, was shooting up heroin in a dingy apartment in the
middle of the ghetto. He was alone, and he looked terrible.
“Jeff?”
I tried to stop him from shooting up, but my hands passed right
through his arm.
“Leave me alone, dad.” He said in the middle of his opiate dream.
“Can you see me?” I asked.
“Yeah sure. What are you doing here?”
“Jeff, I think I’m dying. I had a heart attack back home.”
“You’re just saying that to make me worry about you. You’re fine.”
“Jeff, why didn’t you tell me you had a drug problem?”
“Get out of my house dad. You have no right to be here.. You
“I didn’t throw you out, Jeff. You were supposed to go to school.”
“You threw me out and then mom left you. You’re so full of
yourself, dad. Get out! Get out of my house! Get out of my dream!”
And suddenly, I was back home, looking at my dead body,
standing beside a little girl with no eyes.
“Are you convinced now? You’re dead, mister.” She said.
“Why?”
“Because you had a heart attack? Too much pizza? Working too
hard on the yard in the middle of a hot day?” She had the slightest
smile now on that terrible eyeless face.
“I mean, why did he want to throw me out? I love Jeffrey.” I asked.
“There are rules.” She replied. “If one of the living does not want to
see you, they can send you away. Like your son. He sent you
away because he didn’t want to see you. Also, if you spend too
much time with the living, they start to go crazy. You can’t really
talk to them, or they will go nuts. Then it’s on you.” She said.
“How do you know all that?”
“Been dead for quite a while… Don’t know rightly how long, but it’s
been a while.”
“Are there many more like you?”
“We dead tend to stick to the place where we died. But we can go
wherever we think of… We also know everything. Just think about
it. Time is no longer a problem. You will know all that happens,
has happened or is happening. Just think about it and you will
know.” She started walking back into the woods….
“Wait…”
9 words that came out of her mouth were coming between bites of
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
2
“Find your own way. I just need to tell you that you’re dead…
Figure it out, mister.”
And she disappeared.
“Frank?” It was my wife’s voice.
“Rose?” I shouted.
And suddenly, I was at the McDonalds of Buford Road, and my
wife was eating a Big Mac and fries alone.
“Frank, you are such an ass.” She said.
“Rose, can you see me?”
“If only you had spent a little more time with me. If twenty four
years we never got to be together. You never listened to me. You
didn’t care.” She started crying. “You didn’t listen, Frank. But I still
love you. I still love you and if you were not such an ass we would
be together, and I wouldn’t be here, eating a shitty hamburger by
myself. I would be cooking you your favorite hashbrowns. Don’t
you see…?”
“Can you see me Rose?”
If she did, she made no sign of it. She just kept talking.
“So, I tell you what is going to happen, Frank: I am going to ask
you for a divorce. I am going to ask you for a divorce and you’ll
have to sell your parent’s house to pay me off. And you will be
alone, and broke and I will laugh at you…. And then, maybe you
will understand how much I really hate you, Frank.”
I was back in my garden. She had not been talking. She had been
thinking. I had just heard it as words, but in fact, she had not really
used her mouth, because then I remembered that all those nasty
her Big Mac.
What had I done to her?
When we first married, we were in love. She was everything I ever
wanted in a woman. Gorgeous, smart… good in the kitchen. Then
came our kids. And my career took off. I had graduated from
Clemson University with a Business Masters Degree. Started
working at Walmart, made it to middle management within a
couple of years. In ten years, I had my own Walmart and I was
making a very comfortable six figure income.
We had two cars. We went on vacations. Sent both kids to
college.
I guess I didn’t pay enough attention to Rose. We both gained
weight. We stopped dating and going out. It’s what normal married
couples do, right?
She never did care much for my friends. And maybe, if I am
honest with myself…. Maybe I didn’t care any more. We had very
little in common. I was bored with her. It’s not like I would have an
affair.. I don’t think she would either… But her endless talks about
her mother and her brothers and sisters bored me.
Yeah, I could see how it all came to this. Funny that I couldn’t see
it when I was alive. I had been so busy living that I had not really
considered why I had lived the way I did. Kids, work.. Wife. Had
that been all of it?
And now, Rose was there, sitting in a McDonald's, alone, thinking
about how she was going to divorce me without really knowing
that I was dead. What a surprize she had in store!
I went back home.
I didn’t want to hang around in the garden, next to that horrid
lawnmower and the corpse that lie next to it. Rigor mortis had
given my face a peculiar “Joker” smile that made me utterly
9 already dead, friend.”
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
4
uncomfortable. My fingers were turning dark and flies began to
look for moisture in my open eyes and mouth. I was in no mood to
see myself decay, so I decided to go back into the house.
I tried to close the front door, but I found that my hand went right
through the door handle. I was turning “ghostly”. I looked at my
hands again, and it was like looking at a transparency. It was still
my hands, but I could see right through them.
I figured that if I was a real ghost, I could pass through walls, so I
went from the foyer into the sitting room through the wall…
Indeed, it was like crossing through water… As if the wall between
the foyer and the sitting room was made from water.
I tried grabbing an apple from the table… No use. My hand went
right through it. I suddenly worried I would starve to death… If I
couldn’t eat… How would I…?
I shrugged it off. Ridiculous. Ghosts don’t feel hunger. I wasn’t
hungry. I was nervous. I had wanted to eat an apple because I
was nervous and I liked eating when I was nervous because it
calmed me down.
I did the next best thing. I turned on the television.
I saw Bela Lugosi in his famous role as “Dracula”. He was strolling
through his castle in Transylvania, looking mysterious.
Wait….
If I couldn't pick up an apple, how did I manage to turn on the
television? I looked at my hand, and it still held the remote.
“Perhaps I can answer that, my friend…” Said Bela Lugosi,
looking straight at me.
“Dracula?” I asked.
“My name is Lugosi. Bela Lugosi. I am an actor, and like you, I am

“Oh, Mr. Lugosi, I’m one of your biggest fans!” I said. I had never
met a movie star before, and I was a little awed.
“You are a charming liar. Did you know that all we who die and
have movies made are summoned by your televisions? You
summoned me, my friend.”
“I… I’m very sorry, Mr. Lugosi, I had no idea…”
“Fame in the silver screen has it’s price. We are not able to
transcend into the next realm until we are utterly forgotten, and
many of us are never forgotten. The same happens to people who
have statues and portraits of themselves made. Our spirits linger
in that which we leave behind.”
“Do you want me to change the channel?”
“It matters not. I will be summoned again and again and again… It
seems not very restful, but at least, since you are dead, we can
…. Chat together.”
Bela Lugosi smiled at me, and I thought it was strange that the set
behind him did not change. I knew this movie well and there was
another scene which was not playing just after his creeping
around in the castle.
“Might I come in your house, sir?” He asked me.
“Sure.” I answered.
And suddenly, Bela Lugosi was there, standing next to my
television.
“Ahhhh… much better. I missed seeing things in color.” He said.
9
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
6 Wait…
His face paint was pale-green. I had no idea. But it made him look
even more ghostly. He was amazing. Elegant, beautiful.
Marvelous.
He sat down, grabbed the apple that I was not able to grab and
took a bite out of it. He seemed to savour the taste, as if he was
eating the most precious treat in heaven or earth.
“I don’t get to do this often, Mr. Dougherty.” He said.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“We are dead, sir. We are omniscient. We can know anything just
by thinking of it.”
I thought about it. Indeed, once I focused on a subject, I knew it
instantly. I knew who murdered Kennedy. I knew what was in Area
51. The secrets of the universe were at my fingertips…. And
somehow, I knew that I was not wrong about any of it.
“You are entitled to heaven, Mr. Dougherty. You have been a
good man, a righteous man.” Bella said, smiling. “What are you
doing here on earth? It’s not like you are summoned by your
image on the television.”
“I don’t know… I guess I never thought about it. I didn’t know what
to expect.”
“Are you a religious man, Mr. Dougherty?”
“I used to go to church with my family growing up. We were
baptists. But I really never believed in all that jazz about Jesus…
and the Virgin Mary.” I said, confused.
“But you believe in me?” Smiled Dracula at me.
A great and terrible fear gripped me. What if this was it? Was I
condemned to roam the earth for all time as a disembodied
spectre? Was this hell? Was I in purgatory? Perhaps it was no
coincidence that I had come to Bela Lugosi first.

The little eyeless girl… It was SHE who I saw first. Some poor little
girl… murdered. Or was she? What if she was lying? What if…
what if she was also a condemned soul… that would explain the
eyes. Tiffany… that was her name… Tiffany. What if Tiffany was
really the devil?
I had to find Tiffany…
And suddenly, I was back, next to the lawnmower… and… the
cadaver.
I don’t know how long it had passed, but my body was now
swollen and putrid. The eyes had caved in and maggots were
starting to eat from them. My mouth was also full of maggots. My
fingers black and blistered by the heat. Three days? Four? Hard to
tell… I was no expert in forensic medicine.
I couldn’t look at myself. It was simply too horrible.
“You know nothing about me!” Shouted the little eyeless ghost
behind me, startling me.
Her shout had a kind of “force”, because it made me fall on my
ass, just behind myself as a corpse, rotting.
But I knew better. I got up…
“Tiffany Ann Martin. Born July 1st 1812, died December 18th
1820. You killed yourself, Tiffany. You ran into the woods against
your parents wishes. You ran because you saw something.
Something you wanted to forget…”
“You know nothing about me!!!!” She shouted, this time a little less
terrifying.
“You didn’t rip out your eyes. Crows did. When you died of
hypothermia. It was really cold outside, wasn’t it. And you couldn’t
9
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
8
find your house? Or you didn’t WANT to find your house? Which
was it?”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” She cried… first angry, then pleading.
“What is it that you saw, Tiffany? What did you want to rip out of
your eyes?” I asked.
“You know nothing! You know nothing about me!”
“Your father’s nakedness… !” I said, and almost instantly, I felt
sorry I had said it.
Her shout was something between the cry of an animal, thunder,
and the ripping of the fabric of reality. It did not only blast through
my soul, it kind of ripped it apart. Her eyes… her face… grew into
this gigantic all-encompassing hatred…. And she was gone.
Tiffany WAS a dark spirit. Something best forgotten. Something
that had not found how to forgive itself for what it was. She was
not a little girl any more… she was not even a shadow of
humanity… But then… she had been…
No more.
Was this my future? What had I done for which I had not found
forgiveness? Would I wonder in the netherworld as a ghost until I
forgot everything except that which still held me to this world? If
Bela Lugosi had made no movies, would he be a free spirit? A
liberated soul?
What’s the word he had used? Transcendence?
How did one transcend being a ghost?
I tried to relive my entire life. I went back to my childhood… I was
a baby. A toddler. I was in Kindergarten. Dad leaving mom. My
younger brother is born to another “dad” who I never even knew.
Highschool. My first dog. My first crush. Losing my virginity.
College. Rose…. Becca. Jeffrey.
My whole life passed before my eyes.

I had made mistakes. But I had done nothing to deserve hell. I

was innocent. Or was I? What was I forgetting?

Then, Roy Shillings, Mack O’Hanney and Stan McGrady arrived

later that afternoon. What WAS time? How was I conscious of the
passage of time?

Their shock at seeing my decomposing dead corpse next to the

lawnmower. The ambulance. They called Rose and Becca and
Jeffrey. My family is summoned to the house for the funeral. I am
buried next to my mom and dad.
.
It all happens so fast! Like scenes in a movie. They are sad. They
are genuine in their sadness.. They had loved me. All of them…
Their love had been sincere. Being dead begins to make sense.
Even Rose, who had just left me… or perhaps she most of all..
She is the saddest.

I remain on the earth. I look at my tombstone and I look at the sky.

Is this all of it?

Then a funny thought comes to my head… If I am dead? Why am

I standing up? I look down at my feet. They are transparent, but
solid somehow too… Firmly planted in the ground next to my
tomb.

If I am dead, why do I have feet?

And suddenly, I no longer have feet. Nor legs… I don’t have

GOD HAS FORGOTTEN US
arms… or a penis, or eyes. Or a tongue… I don’t have a mind or
thoughts.
Our world is small. It is so small, that it’s easy to go from one end of it to
I am free. the other in just a few breaths. I wouldn’t say we live in a crowded
world, because we lived in a different world before, and that world was
crowded. In fact, there are only six people in our world.
1
I am Adam. I have a wife, Eve. And under us, swim four strange people
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK 0 who speak a different language and think different from us. We call
0 them Sinequanon: the bottom feeders. I’m not sure if they are two men
and two women, or four women, or four men. Three of them are
perfectly golden, as golden as my wife. One is black. Perhaps he is the
male and they are the females. Perhaps she is the female and they are
the males. I don’t know. They are strange.
But in such a small world as ours, we have to get along. They feed from
the bottom. We feed from the top. They swim at the bottom. We swim
at the top.
Our world is rectangular. But vast things outside of it can be seen in the
distance. Strange creatures, great, gigantic creatures live outside our
world. They come and go. Some look at us, but most leave us alone.
They are gods. Weird beings so large, so impossible that we can’t even
fathom what they really are. They’re always there, well, almost always.
They control day and night. They control the weather, cold or hot. They
control the universe outside our world.
I remember the universe before. When I was young.
It was a different universe, with many more gods than now. It was
somehow a larger universe. And we were many then. Hundreds of us,
swimming here and there. And many of us were very different from
each other. There was every color in the rainbow. Bottom feeders. Tops
feeders. Babies. Old people.
Then, the “great change” came upon me. I thought I was dying. It was a
great spider’s web from the sky which came upon me. I swam for my
life, but there was no escaping the terrible web. Soon, I was caught in it,
and I was being pulled up, and up, and up.
I left the old world, and I saw the terror of space. I couldn’t breathe! It
WAS death, come for me.
But somehow, I survived. The great web left me and I was swimming
once again, but now, it was in a tiny, dizzying mini-world. The mini
world was one of storms, and terrible tsunamis. I thought it might be
hell.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
And I was alone.
Nobody could be seen in my tiny hell. The storms, the great waves
crashed into the tiny world, shaking me to and fro like a bundle of
seaweed. I thought I would die again, but no death came to me.
Barely, I could see the terrible, cruel hand of a dark god grab my pocket
world and toss it around the emptiness of space like a child would toss a
balloon.
What had I done to deserve hell? I was not a “sinner”, I was a righteous
person, who lived a righteous life. Besides, I was barely a teen-ager.
Why should someone as young as I be cast into hell.
And then, my pocket world “burst” and the oceans poured into the
“New World”.
That’s when I met my “Eve”. She was the only other person there. Oh,
there were the four strange creatures at the bottom of our sea of love,
but … they were strange and did not speak our language. Behind their
strange whiskered faces, I could see the ghost of intelligence, but they
were so alien, so peculiar, that for many years, Eve and I simply hid
away from them.
I was not alone!
Eve.
My Eve, my wife… my sister… my daughter. She was all to me. My all.
The sum total of the love which burst from my heart into this new
world. We had the entire world to ourselves! It was as if we were the
only two beings on the planet. A cosmic love nest where I didn’t have to
fight other males for the attention of my wife.
Was I in heaven?
I asked Eve about her origins. How had she gotten here? She told me a
story basically mirroring my own. She had been born in a great crowded
world. Then, the web had gotten to her, picking her out from among
hundreds of others.
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0 Then, a brief stint in a hell, held by the hands of a cruel god, crossing
through the emptiness of space. And finally, arriving here.
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She arrived before I did. But not much time before. Almost upon
arriving in this “New World”, I had come afterwards.
We were alone in a world made for us.
Of course we fell in love.
How can I describe love to you? My Eve was everything I cherished. The
beauty of beauty itself. The warmth, the truth, the life. Gold-colored,
with such amazing yellow eyes, so full of wisdom, patience, clarity and…
yes… love. I lived for her, but I also knew that she lived for me.
We were the only two people in the world.
Our world.
Oh, there were some details. For one, this was a “smaller” world than
our home worlds. I could cross from one end to the other in a few
swipes of my tail. And somehow, these strange bottom feeders, these
creatures from the deep… What were they? They were harmless
enough, smaller and shy. But they weirded us out. Were we sharing the
world with beings who shared nothing in common with us?
But the most terrible thing about this new world was what made it so
special: we were alone. Eve and I were totally alone. There were no
people near us.
Certainly the new world was a more beautiful than the old world.
Harmonious. Colorful. A great forest of plants rooted in the deep
reached all the way to the surface of the world. My home world had no
plants. Only people.
I remember the castle. That was the best part. A huge, ancient and alien
castle, created by another race in another time. It was pink and green
and yellow and purple. And huge. It occupied half the world! But we
explored every inch of it. We swam inside it, outside it. We made it our
home.
And then there was God.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
In our home world, there were always many gods, and they were not
particularly interested in us. But here, in our new world, God was always
there. God took good care of us. God sent us food from heaven. God
changed the sea when it was dark. God made it warm when it was cold
and made it cooler when it was too hot.
I thought God was a woman. I don’t know why. She was so alien, so
strange, so humongous that there was no way to know for certain. But
something deep within me told me that God was a woman.
There were other gods, but none of them really took care of our world.
None of them brought us food or changed the weather to make sure we
were warm when it was cold. Our God was smaller than these other
“Great Gods”, and sometimes, I thought that the “Great Gods” punished
our “God”, because I thought our God was “crying” after the Great Gods
screamed to her.
But how could I know?
I wasn’t even sure if it really WAS female.
We lived with “Her”. I could see her bed. It was even larger than our
world. But “she” slept there. I would watch her sleep. She had to lie
down to sleep. Something strange. Why did she have to lie down to
sleep?
I tried to speak to God every day. I don’t know if she listened. I don’t
even know if she understood. But I spoke to her as best as I could,
asking her all the questions about the universe outside our world. What
was it like? Was she really a girl? The other gods… what were they to
her and why did they sometimes make her cry?
Sometimes, God left us.
There was a great door, a kind of dimensional gate to another universe,
and our great God went through it and then she was gone for a long
time. But she would always come back. She would send us food from
heaven and change our water and change the weather whenever we
needed it. We loved God. She was a Great God.
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I could feel her love. I knew God loved us. She would talk to us in this
0 strange, unfathomable language, and she would make us see things. She
4 had, for instance, these idols of herself, they were just like her, but

much smaller. She would dress them and play with them in front of us
for hours. For days.
She also showed us illustrations in books larger than our entire castle.
Inside the books we could see pictures of strange and magical things.
Worlds with thousands of castles like ours but infinitely larger.
Creatures for four legs, and with six legs and with eight legs.
Our own God had two legs, so I imagined that these creatures with
more legs than her must be her Gods. We didn’t have ANY legs. We had
fins.
And then, one day, God forgot about us.
It began slowly. At first, she stopped playing with the idols and putting
clothing on them. Then, she stopped showing us images in her great
books. She spoke less and less to us. Eventually, she began to forget to
feed us.
Our world fell into chaos.
We knew hunger for the first time. Not just any kind of hunger, but the
real hunger of not having eaten anything during a whole season of light
and dark.
Then, we realized that God was no longer changing our oceans, so our
oceans became polluted and we couldn’t breathe.
But the worse of it came with the “big freeze”. Somehow, our God
forgot to bring warmth to our world, and the world became cold… so
cold that two of the bottom feeders died from hypothermia. Only after
the death of two of the bottom feeders did the warmth come back.
But we finally understood. We were doomed. God had forgotten us.
……………………………………..
Margaret was getting fed up with her teenage daughter.
STRANGE STORIES OF ROBIN KACZMARCZYK
She had changed radically when she got into Freshmen High School. Her
room was mess. She was no longer interested in playing with her dolls.
Now she was rude, moody and secretive. The worst of it were her poor
goldfish. Alice was so busy with her new life as a High School student
that she was no longer paying attention to them.
When she came into the house from school, she threw her backpack
into the floor, threw herself into the sofa and turned on the television.
“Alice, two of your fish died today. Go check the fish tank.”
“Aww… Ma, I’ll do it later. I’m wasted.”
“I think you forgot to turn on their heater.”
“Oh, yeah. I was using the wall-plug to charge my cell phone.”
“Well, it was cold last night, and two of your cat fish died. You know
they can’t stand the cold weather.”
“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it later. Let me just chill out. School
is stressing me out. I’ll clean up the tank after lunch.”
“You used to love your goldfish. You used to talk to them. You’ve
changed, Alice.”
“I’m not a little child any more, ma.”
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 Postscript
There are two kinds of stories here. Some that I wrote years and years
ago in a typewriter and then lost to history, which I had to re-write from
memory, such as “The North Pole” and original stories like “The Big
Stone”. I had a big folder with dozens of stories like “The Machine”,
“The Whale” and “Jack Nicholson in Hell” and somehow, it got lost… so I
wrote down some notes on the stories I remembered and then got
down to actually re-writing them. The stories that didn’t make it here
are those I couldn’t remember.
I am not big on re-writing. Usually, when I think up a story, it comes as
an inspiration and I don’t take long in writing it. It “flows”. Then, I read it
once and if it’s not utterly rubbish, I send it to my dad, who reads it
next. He usually send the stories to one or two select friends to read
who give us feedback. But basically, once I let the story “flow” I forget
about it. That’s how I roll. So if you find inconsistencies, absurdities, or
just plain bad grammar, please forgive me. I’m not a word-cruncher. I
just like to tell stories.
I appreciate you reading my stories. Thanks for your time.

God Bless,
Robin Kaczmarczyk
Valle de Bravo, México
14 of June 2017

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