The Badass Bible

By Harry F. Kane Cover Art by Alan Gandy *****

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART ONE: THE CALL OF THE FLAME

AND THEN SUDDENLY DARKNESS FALL EHUD AND THE KING OF THE MOB IT TAKES YARBLES GOING IN PIECES THE FART WHISPERERS DAUGHTERS ONCE BAGGED TWICE BORN

PART TWO: THE CARPENTERS APPRENTICE

SPIRITED BACK PULLED BACK BLOOD LEGION THE DOOR TO LOVE ZOMBIES ARE OUT ON MAPLE STREET THE GREAT ESCAPADE CORRESPONDENCE BREAKING NEWS STYLE AND SOURCE MATERIAL GUIDE

Dedication: To the wonderful Bonnie Sparks of the Bookish Ardour literary website, whose unreserved enthusiasm even for the draft version of this project gave me wings the size of Zeppelins. And turbo libido. And better skin.

PART ONE: THE CALL OF THE FLAME

AND THEN SUDDENLY

He woke abruptly, gasping for breath, sweat drenching his trembling body. The wet sheets clingy like flypaper, the smothering blanket restrictive like shackles. Hysterically, he freed himself, kicking the blanket to the floor, and gnashed his fake teeth, whimpering in the darkness. He breathed quickly and shallowly, like a child in the aftermath of a crying fit. His head rang like a trash bin hammered by a delinquent, his mind screamed in protest like a banshee. The nightmare. The voice. The crushing presence. The humbling power. The terrible demand. Slowly, his body uncoiled from its spasm of terror. The dream was receding in small waves. As the intensity of his emotions subdued sufficiently to allow coherent thought, he realized that his identity was uncharted. I dont know who I am, he thought, wiping his agitated brow with a clammy hand. Where am I? The dark room seemed a strange and disturbingly alien place. Walls and ceiling zoomed in and out alarmingly, and he blinked hard and tried to will away what he knew even in his confused state to be an illusion. Just an illusion. Another minute of recuperation passed and, like always, his personality reappeared in small waves. He was... Abe, old wiry Abe. Safe in his home, in his bedroom. Still alive and kicking, although approaching a hundred and thirteen. A serious number of winters and summers for any hobbit, even in this day and age. Apart from him, the bed was empty. The tangled, damp sheets cradled him alone. Sarah was still at her cousins beyond the river. Thankfully. He would have driven her to worry with the recurring nightmares that had been intensifying in the last nights. Nightmares... what an understatement. He got up; his ancient joints creaking in muted protest, pulled open the curtains to let in the morning sun, and sneezed at the dust particles swimming in the beams of light. He then went to the bathroom, veined, hairy feet sending only the slightest of protests about the coldness of the tiles.

A face worn more by worry than by time looked back at him from the mirror. Tired. Dull. Spent. His deep brown eyes surrounded by a web of hundreds of fine wrinkles. He felt stretched, like butter that has been scraped over too much challah. As he brushed his teeth, gums griping over even the softest of pressures, he felt now firmly rooted back in the real world. But still, every minute or two a flashback would resurface for a few seconds. The terrible and awe-inspiring flaming eye. The mountain. The voice. He could hardly resist it anymore. Submission was just around the corner. He scowled and gritted his teeth. *** Abe and his son Izzy dug into the unhealthy breakfast of fried eggs and veal sausages, Abe especially enjoying the chance to down three consecutive cups of coffee. When Sarah was in the house, with the plump wisdom of infinite generations of wise women, she would explain time and time again why breakfast, lunch, and dinner should consist of things like soya shoots, boiled cabbage, broccoli, and annoying fish filled with seemingly endless numbers of hair-thin bones. But at times like this, when she was away with her sensible relatives who really understood her, the two men of the household could catch up on the grease. And the sugar. Abe got up to pour himself the third coffee and looked thoughtfully at the small tremors in his hands. He scowled and gritted his teeth. He knew that in the end Sarah was right. A hundred and thirteen is not an age at which one eats like a pre-acne kid. But he didnt feel worse after such a breakfast; he felt much better, in fact. He looked at Izzy, who was reading his favorite magazine, something-something Astounding, or Amazing... Abe could see on the cover a spaceman with a heroine lying limp in the fold of his elbow, shooting with his other begloved hand an orange ray at something obscured by Izzys fingers. Abe scowled and gritted his teeth. The boy seemed poised to forget his chores. It was time for Izzy to do his homework, to earn his two hours of TV in the evening. Izzy, said Abe and faltered, the unformed words sinking back into his throat like into quicksand. Yeah, Pop? asked Izzy politely after more than five seconds had passed, but without lifting his eyes from his adventure mag. We... we should go hiking today. Weathers perfect. Abe couldnt believe he was saying this. This was not at all what he meant to say. Was it..? Could it be..? Again he felt the residue of the flaming eye from his dreams exercise pressure at the back of his head. He scratched it, but that didnt help. Yeah, sure, just lemmie finish this, said Izzy. Abe was silent. He was wondering whether he could quickly say that he had changed his

mind about the hiking, without sounding like a confused old man. Izzy thought his dad was silent because he was waiting for real communication. Sheepishly, the boy lifted his curly head and met his dads deep brown eyes, Another twenty minutes, Pop, then Im ready, okay? Okay, said Abe with a sigh, put the dishes into the sink, and went out on the porch with the remains of his coffee. It really was a beautiful day. The sun shined gently, without the offensive intensity which would arrive in another month; the slow breeze swayed the branches of the nearby trees almost imperceptibly. Immense white clouds drifted slowly in the blue expanse of the sky. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. A cat screamed like a banshee. The distant smell of someones early barbecue arrived in small waves. Childrens laughter could be heard at the neighbors. And yet there was a chill growing in Abes heart. He scowled and gritted his teeth. The other hobbits were right when they said that something bad was bound to come from his good luck. At his age he looked like he was only seventy at the most. His wife was also in terrific shape for her age, and the conception and birth of Izzy thirteen years ago had thrown the whole county into envious shock. Things had been too good for him. And now the time of reckoning was nearing. Now he would go up the mountain with his son, and Suddenly a sharp pain stabbed Abe in the right side of his head. He whimpered and gnashed his teeth, clutching his head with both hands. As if a veil, a shadow had fallen between him and the world; everything suddenly seemed to lose color. The flaming eye in his mind, in contrast, suddenly flared up in rich colors; he could almost physically see it. Then suddenly, as suddenly as it had begun, the attack was suddenly over. Abe felt cold sweat all over his face and wiped it with a clammy hand. He heard Izzy move about the house. Probably going to his room to dress for hiking. Abe fingered his tender head one last time and went in as well. *** Izzy appeared not to notice his fathers worsening mood, as they walked farther and farther up mount Horrib. They were walking though a meadow, the grass moving in small waves from the breeze, annoyed grasshoppers jumping left and right from under their feet. Lets have the picnic here, said Abe and pointed to a large flat stone in the middle of the meadow. His finger trembled more than usual. He scowled, gritted his teeth and tried to steady his hand. You okay, Pop? he heard his son ask. Even Izzy had noticed by now that something was

amiss. The boy looked so beautiful. He had his mothers Roman nose. Im... Im fine, lied Abe, just a bit tired. Old age, you know! He flashed a grin at Izzy, and then they were at the stone. The stone. Abe knew that this was not just any stone. It was the stone. And they didnt reach the meadow by chance. Something led them. Something led him. The flaming eye. Abe broke out in a cold sweat and gnashed his teeth. Then suddenly a wind sprang up, wailing like a banshee between the treetops, making the millions of leaves flutter in small waves. Abe scowled. Izzy sat down on the grass cross-legged and opened his knapsack. He arranged on the grass in front of him the two paper plates and the napkins and the cans of soda. Abe put his knapsack on the stone itself. The stone. Abe knew that this was not just any stone. It was the stone. And they didnt reach the meadow by chance. Something led them. Something led him. The flaming eye. Willing himself to not shake, not whimper, and not gnash his teeth, Abe took out the turkey ham and the bread, and then he took out the cutting knife. As his hand closed on the knifes handle, the real nightmare began. Tremors passed through his limbs in small waves. Again the shroud of twilight befell him and the whole world. He staggered, the knife in his hand striking the stone with a bansheelike screech. Cold sweat broke out on his face, as he turned slowly towards his son. It was as if the knife itself was pulling him forward. I... will... not... feed you! he whimpered through his gnashing teeth and fell to his knees. The flaming eye throbbed behind his eyelids. A titanic circle of radiant power, which spoke directly to his brain, OBEY YOUR MASTER! Abe felt his life burn faster. His veins pumped with fear as he sat shaking on his knees, trying to control himself, to control the knife. Trying to not do what the voice demanded. But he really did feel his life-force seeping out. After all, it was not really his. It had been given to him. Loaned. For a time. For a price. Abe could hear Izzy shouting something at him, as if from far away, as if from the bottom of a well. The boy was probably afraid that his Dad was having a seizure. Please... Abes lips moved as he mouthed his request, please, let me kill something else for you. A lamb. Twenty lambs. Another human... take me, I can kill myself for you...

Behemothic laughter slithered through the folds of reality itself. Then the voice said, NO! Abe felt as if a foreign force, as if some puppet master, was now forcing him to stand up, putting his feet into an alignment not of Abes choice, commanding muscles to contract, limbs to bend. At the same time the voice of the Master resumed, YEARS AGO WE MADE A PACT! YOU MADE THE SACRIFICE! YOU RECITED THE PRAYER! YOU PROMISED TO SERVE ME FOREVER! YOU AND YOUR WIFE ARE ALIVE AND HEALTHY STILL! WOULD YOU CHEAT ME OF MY PRIZE?! No, no, whispered Abe, trying to blink away the sweat, no, my Master, I serve you. I will always serve you. But please, spare my son. Then suddenly a high-pitched scream like that of a banshee penetrate the mist in Abes head. It was his sons voice. Abe realized that he was holding a squirming Izzy throat down over the flat stone, the knife that he clutched hovering mere inches away from the boys face. Then suddenly Izzy seemed to realize that Abe was looking at him. Dad! he shouted. Not Pop, but Dad. Dad, if you can hear me... fight it! I know you are there somewhere! I love you, Dad! Fight it! I know you can hear me! Then suddenly this burst of clarity receded, to be supplanted by the gray mist again. Abe felt the pressure of the Master threatening to squash him. As if any second now his whole body would implode and his soul would be sucked away into hell. He wept and gnashed his teeth. Then suddenly, he gave up. I will do as you wish, Master, he croaked. All his strength, his ability to resist, was gone. He had to do what the Master asked. He pressed the knife to Izzys neck. Then suddenly, the pressure on his body ceased. All of the sudden the veil was suddenly lifted and sunlight suddenly flooded back in. A warm luminescence seemed to emanate in small waves from every blade of grass, every molecule of air. STOP, ABRAHAM! said the voice, and it filled the old hobbits every cell with joy. DO NOT SACRIFICE YOUR SON TO ME. I ACCEPT A LAMB INSTEAD! Crying and gnashing his teeth with relief, Abe let go of Izzy, let the knife slip from his fingers into the tall grass, and sagged to the ground. Pale like death, with red, scared eyes, his boy looked at him. Come here, Izzy, its all right now, said Abe. Izzy met his Dads deep brown eyes, and saw that he really was back. But still he felt dread. I cant, Dad, not just yet, sorry, he said, running a trembling hand through his curly hair. Then Izzys legs gave away and he lay down on the ground, quietly weeping and gnashing his teeth. THIS WAS THE FINAL TEST, ABRAHAM. YOUR MORTAL EGO IS BROKEN NOW! affirmed the flaming eye, radiating small waves of dazzling colors, some of which unknown to the mortal eye. NOW YOU WILL BE MY SERVANT FOREVER!

I will be your servant forever, said Abe quietly, wiping off his cold sweat with clammy hands. He lay on his back, the buzzing in his skull already subsiding into mild pleasant prickling. Immense white clouds swam slowly in the blue expanse of the early summer sky.

DARKNESS FALL

Mo woke up abruptly, gasping for breath, sweat drenching his shuddering body. The wet sheets clung like fear. He kicked them to the floor and rolled over to his stomach, burrowing his head under the pillow. It was no good. He could still see the flaming eye. Hed pretended that he no longer saw it just in order to be released from the hospital. The eye had throbbed with anger as hed denied its existence, but Mo just couldnt stand being in the power of Big Nurse anymore. And he had succeeded in feigning sanity well enough. But still he had to undergo weekly evaluation. Today they would be waiting for him at noon. He had a bowl of cereal, trying to concentrate on a childrens show on TV, soaking up the commercials too, using all that debris to dull the glow of the flaming eye and hide it behind a layer of everyday thoughts. After breakfast he shaved himself to look respectable and sane, combed his raven hair, donned his shirt, and went out of the house. It was a fine day and immense white clouds swam slowly in the blue ocean of the sky. A warm breeze pulsated in small waves. His veteran Chevy quickly brought him outside the cluster of houses that was his town, and fields opened up on both sides of the highway. Mo switched on the radio and hummed to a song by some British fellas and tried to will himself sane. First, it was easy. He felt totally normal. But as the ground rose, and hills began encroaching the road, and it itself began to wind upwards, Mo began losing his cool. He knew that the road would slither around the foothills for fifty miles, before going back down and straightening out, and leading him to the Pyramid Mental Health Hospital. Suddenly an upsetting prospect. He always felt worst when driving near the mountain. His hands started trembling as the densely wooded sides of the hills began crowding the car, looming from all sides, waving the gnarled branches of their trees at him, digging their stone roots beneath the road, lifting and tilting it. The hills always tended to behave like that but it had never been quite so bad before. Cold sweat breaking out on his face, Mo almost lost control of his car three times in a row,

and as a result, he almost lost control of himself. With a face twisted as if holding back tears of frustration, he shouted, Why, you no good and hit the brakes. As the car screeched to a halt, he jumped out and looked for what had caught his eye. And then he saw it. An eerie glowing spot up a stern and majestic shoulder of the slumbering mountain. Mos heart thundered in his chest and the flaming eye thundered in his skull. COME, COME, MY CHILD! it vibrated, and he heard these words for the first time with such clarity, such intensity. Adrenaline washing over his tense body, he realized that this time he had absolutely no choice, and set out on foot, up towards the flame that was luring him. For almost half an hour, he stumbled over roots and stones and fended off tree branches with his hands but never lost sense of direction; the presence in his head working like an uncanny compass, steering him directly towards the glowing phenomenon he had glimpsed. Finally he came to a clearing and fell to his knees, for he saw a moving bush in the middle. He bore witness to its glow; it burned with an awe-inspiring uncanny fire that did not consume it. MOSES! the words appeared to come simultaneously from the bush and from inside Mos head. MOSES, YOU HAVE COME TO ME! I AM YOUR MASTER! I-I-I dont... mumbled Mo as he walked with narrow, shaking strides towards the eldritch living flames, Master, I... I... TAKE OFF YOUR SNEAKERS! commanded the majestic voice. W-what? said Mo. THE SNEAKERS! TAKE THEM OFF! said the bush, and the light seemed to grow even stronger. FOR THIS IS A HOLY PLACE! Certainly... certainly, stuttered Mo as he fumbled with his shoes. In a moment he was standing in his socks, looking at the uncanny bush and the awe-inspiring fire which did not consume it. How can I serve you, Master? he cried, overcome with reverence and admiration, and fell to his knees, averting his gaze. I AM THE MASTER OF YOUR ANCESTORS! said the titanic presence. I AM THE MASTER OF ABRAHAM AND ISAAC AND JACOB! DO YOU SERVE ME, MOSES? I serve you, Master, cringed Mo, all doubt gone from his mind, adrenaline washing over his tense body. This was real. This was more than real. The doctors had been wrong. Everyone had been wrong. And he had been wrong too, at believing them. At choosing the easy way out.

YOU MUST LEAD MY PEOPLE TO ME! said the voice. What? Who... who are your people, Master? asked Mo. THOSE HELD IN BONDAGE AT THE PYRAMID! YOU MUST FREE THEM, MOSES! Of course, Master! cried Mo. It all made sense now. The other patients were also good servants of the Master. Only no one believed them. Because everyone was too wicked or too weak to admit that the Master was real. For this entailed a responsibility the resplendent weight of which few would chose to bear. But how do I liberate them, Master? he asked, Big Nurse and her black helpers will not let me buck the pyramid. How can I convince her to let everyone go? LISTEN CAREFULLY, said the Master. THIS IS WHAT YOU SHALL DO... *** Mo parked his car by the hospital and got out. He knew that he looked shaken, and that his gaze was wild, but he didnt care. Not now. He looked at the pyramid-shaped hospital building, took a deep breath, clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, curled his lip, squinted, felt his stomach knot, clenched his fists, took a deep breath, curled his lip, and went towards the entrance. He nodded at the girl at the reception and strode down the pale green corridor, reaching the office Big Nurses office in less than a minute. He knocked and walked in, without waiting for an answer, adrenaline washing over his tense body. Well, well, said Big Nurse, looking up from her desk, and gave him a cold, carnivorous smile. Look what the cat dragged in. She tapped a wad of documents into alignment and put them to one side and arranged her two pens and one pencil into a disciplined line by her left elbow. Mo stood uncertainly, clenching and unclenching his fists and trying to force himself to speak. He squinted, curled his lip, gritted his teeth, pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and felt his stomach knot. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He curled his lip. Sit down, Mo, said Big Nurse in a commanding tone, and pressed the buzzer on her desk. You are two hours late, Mo. Two hours! She looked at him with her piercing, heavy gaze. And you look like youve slept in a field. Dont you realize how important it is for you to be on time and to look clean? She leaned forward on her mighty elbows. Dont you want to be healthy, Mo? Mo nodded in automatic, habitual agreement, and then the door of the office opened and two of the black helpers came in and took their places behind him, waiting. He felt their presence with the nape of his neck. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He gritted his teeth.

Well? said Big Nurse. Are you going to just sit silently there? I... said Mo and licked his dry lips. I saw the Master today. He spoke to me. Big Nurse made a displeased face. Mo, I am very disappointed. Very. Mo looked furtively at the two helpers behind him, and then at Big Nurse again. The Master told me to lead all his people here in the pyramid to freedom, he explained earnestly, clenching and unclenching his fists. The Master said you have to let them all go. Big Nurse leaned back into her chair, the black upholstery squeaking with the movement, and looked at Mo with a grimace of pained distaste. Mo, you realize that you have to stay here now. Youre obviously in no state to be running about. We cant let you go until you get better again. But, I can... I will prove that He is real! blurted Mo suddenly, surprised at the volume of his voice. Big Nurse was surprised, too. She quickly held up a hand, evidently to tell the alarmed helpers that there was no need to overpower Mo just yet, and held his gaze. Please, go ahead, she said, the crows feet at the edges of her eyes crinkling in something not unlike amusement. Lets be reasonable about this. Prove that he exists and you can go. She leaned forward, all attentiveness, arms folded on the desk, cradling her copious breast in her plump hands as was her habit. Well, first of all, said Mo, encouraged by the warm reception of his claims. First of all, I can... I can turn my stick into a snake. Immediately, one of the helpers behind him coughed, stopping an automatic guffaw from escaping. What?! said Big Nurse incredulously, almost breathlessly, through a suddenly frozen face. What did you say? That I... I... stammered Mo again and then clenched his fists and pulled himself together. I can turn my stick into a snake, and if I put my stick into water - it becomes blood. A half-minute of silence followed. The sunlight made interesting glowing squares as it fell through the windows bars. Mo looked at them with a tense smile. He felt the fog swirl at the perimeter of his vision, but he could hold it back. He could. Mo, said Big Nurse with an air of finality, picking up and then putting down a pen for emphasis, Im sorry to say this, but you are much, much worse off than we thought. It was a terrible mistake to let you out in the first place. Its a miracle you havent hurt anyone yet. Or yourself, for that matter. With a stern expression, she nodded at the people behind him. As Mo felt the strong hands of the helpers dig into his flesh, the fog broke through the barriers and rushed into the room from all sides. Big Nurse disappeared. The walls disappeared.

All was obscured and only the flaming eye in the back of his head and a chair slowly floating through the fog remained visible to the sweating man. Let go, you fools! he shouted, squirming, writhing, adrenaline washing over his tense body. He suddenly broke loose. He couldnt see them but he shouted anyway, limbs flailing in desperation and anger, The darkness comes now, dont you understand?! The darkness comes now! *** Mo walked unsteadily into the ward. The other patients were all there, lying and sitting on their beds. The familiar smell of chlorine and medicaments swirled in the shadowy corners of the hall. Loo! Loo! he was greeted first by Raul. Mo raised a weak hand to return the greeting. Hey, its Mo, hes back! exclaimed Joe. Everyone became agitated. Did they put you back inside? asked Cheswick, voicing everyones question. No, no, Mo shook his head. Ive come to free you all. Im taking you with me. I work for the Master now. A stunned silence descended, as the fog swirled in the shadowy perimeter of his vision. What about that Big Nurse woman? asked an unfamiliar voice. Mo turned to look. A bald man his age was sitting on a bed, legs folded beneath him. And there were half a dozen more strangers, with tattoos and beards, watching alertly from their beds. Mo squinted, curled his lips, clenched his fists, and asked, Who are you? Im Hunter! said the bald man. Me and my Hells Angels buddies here were taken in yesterday. Yeah, volunteered one of the Hells Angels. We were at an acid test at Keseys and the cops came and warped the trip. Indeed, said Hunter. Its a miracle we didnt go gibberishly mad. Yes, we did, said a Hells Angel with a thick mustache. Were here because we went crazy. No one is crazy! said Mo with unexpected confidence in his voice. He raised his hands, slowly swerving his head left and right, encompassing everyone in his vision. No one is crazy! We are all leaving the pyramid now and well go into the mountain and serve the Master! Well, Im game, said Hunter, unfolding his legs from beneath himself and sliding onto the

floor. His scruffy friends grunted affirmations and also staggered upright. The other patients started fumbling with their beds and small belongings. Is-(gulp)-is-that-(gulp)-blood? asked Jim through a series of nervous swallows and pointed at Mos hands. Mo looked at his hands. It was blood. He clenched his fists. The darkness... the darkness from the Master came, when Big Nurse didnt want to let us go, he said, without meeting anyones eyes. I warned her. But she didnt listen. Slowly everyone filed out of the room, through the corridor, into the direction of the exit. As they passed Big Nurses office, Hunter poked his head through the opening in the door, exhaled noisily, and then looked at Mo with a strange look in his eyes. That sure is some messy stuff there. Did you do that, man? Mo shrugged. The darkness from the Master came, he said. The woman at the reception desk looked at the procession of wide-eyed patients and leering bikers with mute horror. Then she shrank back with a banshee-like scream when Hunter hopped over to her with a polite nod and yanked the telephone cord from the wall socket. Outside the hospital, Mo took six people into his car and the rest went into the hospital ambulance, which one of Hunters wild-looking crowd managed to hot-wire. Confidently, Mo drove back towards the holy mountain, triumphant adrenaline washing over his tense body. The ambulance followed close behind, the bawdy driver giving honks of triumph at uneven intervals. An hour later they stopped where he had stopped earlier, and as everyone spilled out of the cars and reassembled into an oddball group, he pointed to the hill. Do you see now? Do you see? Indeed, what shone up the mountain was no longer a mere bright spot, but a marvelous column of light, a faraway trunk of flame surrounded by thin, curling black fumes. The very ground vibrated in a subtle rhythm. Adrenaline washed over Mos tense body. He squinted at the flame and clenched his fists. Loo! Loo! shouted Raul, swaying and flailing his arms with urgency. This is too much, man, said one of Hunters friends and turned around to vomit. Hunter himself was pale, his cigarette hanging limply from his lips, saved from falling only by dried saliva. Do not fear, friends! I will go! said Mo and began walking up, clenching his fists and squinting at the radiant far flame. He turned once and added, I will go alone and I will speak to the Master and I will tell you how we will live! Hunter gave him an unnerved thumbs up.

*** YOU HAVE FREED MY PEOPLE! boomed the voice of the flame. Mo clutched his head to keep it from exploding as the voice resonated inside it and outside it, without origin, without end. YOU SHALL LIVE HERE, said the Master, AND YOU SHALL WORSHIP ME, AND SACRIFICE TO ME! Live where, Master? asked Mo through the din. YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHERE! answered the voice. THE EMPTY ARMY BARRACKS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HILLS! Yes, said Mo, wondering how he could have forgotten about the barracks in the first place. YOU SHALL LIVE IN THE BARRACKS AND YOU SHALL TAKE WIVES FROM THE LOCAL PEOPLES AND YOU SHALL WORSHIP ME AS YOUR MASTER! We will! cried Mo and prostrated himself in the sulfur-smelling grass. The uncanny column of flame sizzled and sputtered with awe-inspiring power. I SHALL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU AND YOUR PEOPLE! said the Master. YOU SHALL MAKE A BOX IN WHICH I SHALL DWELL AND YOU SHALL CARRY ME WITH YOU EVERYWHERE! Tell me how to make that box, so that we may carry you and worship you, pleaded Mo, without daring to look up. I SHALL TELL YOU THIS! said the Master. AND I SHALL TELL YOU THE LAWS BY WHICH YOU SHALL LIVE! I SHALL TELL YOU HOW TO MAKE A HORNED ALTAR ON WHICH TO SACRIFICE BURNT OFFERINGS TO ME! I AM YOUR MASTER AND I SHALL TELL YOU EVERYTHING! ARE YOU READY TO LISTEN, MOSES? ARE YOU READY?! I am ready, Master! said Mo and his eyes rolled upwards as the preternatural flames within his skull lurched forward and grew and merged with the throbbing fiery column in front of him. *** And so the commune of the Masters chosen people thrived. In time, wives from other towns joined them. Some of their families came with angry demands and policemen, but the girls were all of legal age and had chosen the Masters grace of their own free will. Once a mob from a nearby town came but the darkness fell upon them. Each family sacrificed an animal for each newborn son. The Master lived in the holy box and talked to Mo from there, giving advice on any issue that arose. He was regularly fed by the flowing blood and the burning fat on the horned altar, and in return his people were protected from foes, had rich harvests, and lived in peace and virtue.

EHUD AND THE KING OF THE MOB

Ehud woke up abruptly, gasping for breath, sweat drenching his trembling body. The wet sheets clung like a drunk woman. Hysterically, he freed himself, kicked the blanket away to the floor, and gritted his teeth. Again the dream. Again the nightmare. He clenched his fists. The battle for Seoul, in which the whole platoon had been mowed down by Chinese machine gunners. The bullets screaming like banshees as they whizzed past. The screams of the wounded... Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. He still felt guilty about having survived. But thoughts like that belong to the night, he reminded himself. In the daytime, there is much one can do to redeem oneself, even if it is just doing ones job. He got up, flipped on the radio, and as a Bill Haeley piano riff throbbed into life, so did Ehud. He frowned at the bathroom mirror and curled his lips as conflicting emotions flooded into him. A handsome face looked back at him. But it was obvious that the owner of that face had gone overboard with the beers last night. The last year. The larger portion of the last two years, to be accurate. He smoothed out his mustache, combed his duck tail and sideburns, and put on his shirt and jeans. Ehud wolfed down his breakfast of three fried eggs and six sausages, washed it all down with five cups of coffee and smoked half a pack while digesting on the sofa in front of the TV, chuckling at a Kovacs rerun. Then he put on his work overalls and went outside. Half an hour later, he was at his garage. There were three cars waiting their turn for a work-over: a Studebaker, a Lincoln, and a cute 40s Chevy. It was going to be a bent eight day. He had a radio in the garage as well. An impressive polished box with two rows of dials. Dean Martin crooned from it while Ehud laid out the screwdrivers and the spanners. He was looking at the vise grips and musing on the need to buy newer ones, when the front door bell tinkled. Visitors. Customers. Hopefully. Ehud wiped his hands on his overalls automatically, although there wasnt any grease on them yet, and looked up. Uncle Bob! he said with a smile. Levi! Good to see you both. The men nodded at him. He realized that both were in squaresville: serious suits, their shoes official, their expressions somber. Ehud frowned. Anything wrong? he said. Yes, sighed uncle Bob. Its your Poppy, Ehud. Ehuds stomach knotted. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Adrenaline washed over

his tense body. What about Pops? Bob looked at Levi for encouragement and then met Ehuds gaze again. His shop got torched yesterday night. He was inside it. Didnt make it. What? said Ehud and shook his head. He refused to believe it. But hed been in the war. He knew that death was real. He looked at the two men again. Police know who did this? Levi coughed. No, the police dont, cause theyre in the pocket of the king. What king? asked Ehud. The new king of the Mob. Carlo Brandone. Hes come down hard on the town now, wants a thirty cut from everyone. A surprise his boys havent got to you yet. Ehud squinted, gritted his teeth, and his knuckles went white from the force with which he squeezed the vise grips. I didnt know this. And dad, too? Why didnt he say something? He didnt want to worry you, said Bob. You already done plenty for the hood, Ehud. You got rid of the hoods for us twice already. Ehud had indeed beat up, shot in the legs, and generally run out of town two petty gangs, the Ammos and the Male Kites, who had tried the protection racket. But thatd been three years ago. Things have been quiet since then. Or so he had allowed himself to believe. He scowled and gritted his teeth. So this Carlo fella is running the Mob here now? The Mob everywhere, said Levi. Hes a big shot at EGLON. Hell, he practically is EGLON. The corporation? Yes. Ehud frowned and curled his lip as conflicting emotions flooded into him. Sadness, self-pity, and anger struggled for dominance inside his sturdy skull. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. Im gonna get that king if its the last thing I do, he said and clenched his fists. Uncle Bob looked at him with understanding. I knew youd say something like this. But you realize how dangerous this will be? Poppy was my only family left, growled Ehud, except you, uncle Bob. This fella is gonna pay whether hes king of the Mob, whether hes EGLON, or whether hes the president himself! Levi lit a cigarette and looked at the young, haggard warrior. Tomorrow is the deadline for the hood to give its protection money for this quarter, Ehud. How would you like to lead the group which will bring him the money and promises of submission? Oh, Id like that, said Ehud with a bad smile and clenched his fists. Id like that very

much! *** Ehud stood at the entrance of his garage, below the sign which said: EHUDS PANNEL BEATING AND VEHICLE RESTORATION. He smoked calmly, letting the smoke trickle out of his mouth without effort on his part, and slowly moved his head left and right, left and right, to work any creaks out of the system. An old combat habit. A car stopped. A bronze Dodge. The back window rolled down. Hi, are you Ehud? asked a thick-lipped, plump man of forty-something. The very same, said Ehud, flicked his cigarette, and walked over. Going to the king? Yes, said a second man from the back seat. Ehud studied their faces. It was obvious that they hadnt been told. To them this was just a normal journey to pay tribute. Good decision. Uncle Bob and Levi knew their men. They knew that their men were sniveling cowards. But cowards or not, they didnt know the nature of the mission, and what they didnt know, they couldnt give away. He slid into the back seat, next to the two melancholy men. *** The EGLON building was an imposing skyscraper. It loomed over the whole square like a monumental reminder of the Mobs power. Ehud and the two men climbed out of the car. Ehud squinted at the skyscraper, took a deep breath, clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, curled his lip, squinted, felt his stomach knot, clenched his fists, took a deep breath, curled his lip, and went towards the entrance. The two timid men followed close behind. They were herded through a metal detector at the entrance. Ehud didnt set it off. Hed made damn sure that he didnt. The other one didnt either. The third one did and was patted down. They found a metallic key holder and confiscated it. The briefcase also went through an X-ray machine. Then two impressive hoods nodded at Ehud and beckoned for him to follow. He went after them, with the two timid men following close behind. By way of a sparkling clean lift the size of Ehuds garage, they were whisked up to the sixth floor. Ehud noted the number Carlo had chosen to house his seat of power. Fallen ones minion and not even hiding it.

The two guards flanked them as they walked on the lush red carpet towards the office of the king Ehud leading the tribute party, the two timid men following close behind. Two more sturdy looking men with impenetrable shades and striped suits opened the heavy, padded doors. It was a lavish office with marble columns on both sides of the antique mahogany desk. Three heavy crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling covered by gilded carvings. Obviously, the king had to show the world in every detail that he was the cats pajamas. And now his oily smile beamed at them from behind his desk. A plump face with overcast brows studied them. Chunky fingers, carrying about a score of unevenly distributed rings with impressive rocks, beckoned them forward. Welcome, he said. Im glad your community has come to its senses. He got up and his rolls of fat rippled beneath his suit. He walked over to the group, looking over Ehud and the other two. Thank you for accepting us, said the mustached tribute payer in a small voice, and put the briefcase on the floor by his foot. Carlo didnt follow it with his eyes but kept them on the man instead. Whats inside this briefcase? The darker man answered, The money, Mr. Brandone. Fifty five thousand. Forty in cash and another fifteen in checks. I thought I warned you that I want only cash, chided the king, wagging a playful finger at the group. Of course, we know, we will do better next time, naturally, we had so little time to prepare... spread his hand apologetically the mustached one. You would have had the time had you not stalled, said Carlo with the same amiable half frown, displaying a hint of an edge to his voice. After demonstrating its existence, he hid it again in his soft baritone. Still, very well, I accept. You will not regret becoming our customers. As he said this, the king of the Mob rubbed his plump hands and even gave a hint of a nod of appreciation. The whole charade set Ehuds teeth on edge. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He clenched his fists. Mr. Brandone, he said, I bring a private message for you from our elders. It is... Stop, stop, waved his hand Carlo, beaming at Ehuds simpleton approach. if its a private message, for my ears only, then only my ears must remain here, am I right? Without waiting for confirmation, he waved away both tribute bearers and the two guards. As the doors closed with a muffled click, the king approached Ehud with his wobbling obese gait. Well, pray tell, what is the vital message you bring, dear sir? It is a message from the Master, said Ehud and briskly unbuttoned his jeans.

What? What is this? Some kind of a... said Carlo, but before he could complete the sentence, Ehud whipped out his plastic dagger, which he had made razor sharp precisely for this occasion, and plunged it deep into the fat mans quivering belly. With a surprised whimper, Carlo looked down, unbelieving eyes bulging, and took a step back. Without letting go of the handle, Ehud stepped forward too and grabbing Carlo by his shoulder, wedged the dagger even farther. The kings fat closed over the hilt of the dagger and the hand holding it, before Ehud yanked out his weapon, unleashing a torrent of blood and fecal matter. The message is, youre full of shit, he said with grim satisfaction and caught the falling body, going on one knee with it, the fat bulk straining his muscles. With a soft dying gurgle Carlo Brandone jerked his legs and died. The blood and feces continued oozing out of between his folds of fat and onto the expensive carpet. Ehud got up, checked to see whether he had any blood on himself (he didnt), and turned to leave. His eye caught the briefcase with the tribute money. He strode over and opened it. After stuffing his jeans and coat pockets with the thick wads of cash he snapped the briefcase shut and went for the door. He stopped for a second, clenching his fists as he tried to compose himself, then said loudly, for the benefit of the hoods outside, Goodbye, Mr. Brandone, and went out. Mr. Brandone said he wants you boys inside in ten minutes, he said brazenly to the guards as he softly closed the door behind him, and walked over to the elevator. As he looked at his countless blurred reflections in the lifts polished walls, he speculated about the probable results of his actions. Brandones empire should crumble immediately, even if he did have an immediate heir. By this time tomorrow, a dozen of his lieutenants would be fighting amongst each other to divide the spoils of the Mob kingdom. The lift came to rest with a rumbling lurch. The doors opened softly. Ehud stepped out into the corridor, and walked calmly over the red carpet towards the exit. When a new king managed to consolidate the Mob, he would keep from pressing Ehuds people too much. He would know what had happened to Carlo Brandone. Ehud grinned and clenched his fist, as he walked out of the EGLON building. Enormous white clouds drifted lazily in the gray sky above. Ehud cast one last glance at the building behind him, and then saw that the other two tribute payers were still waiting for him in the car. He gave them a nod and climbed inside. How did it go? What did you tell him? asked the darker man nervously. Yeah, we didnt know about any secret message, said the one with the mustache. He got the message, all right, said Ehud and looked with compassion and a sense of brotherhood at his two companions. They were, after all, people of the Master.

IT TAKES YARBLES

It was a dreary early autumn evening. The drizzle made the walls of the apartment blocks glisten eerily, and a light fog swirled in the shadowy corners of the streets. Elisha noticed that he was quite alone. Just a few minutes ago, there were still other pedestrians walking past in small groups, but now this part of the block seemed unnervingly empty. Deserted. Like a prop town for a post-apocalyptic thriller. He hadnt walked through this part of town in years. But his car would be repaired in two days at the earliest. He clenched his fists thinking about the leering smile of the mechanic. He knew that he was being hoodwinked by Ehud, but couldnt prove anything. The story of his life. Elisha, the loser. Voices drifted into his direction. A group of young men, half a dozen boys in bowler hats, stood near a 24/7 mini-mart. The pavement beneath their feet glistened from the drizzle. The light fog swirled in the shadowy corners of the street. Elisha smelled danger. Of course, he almost always smelled danger. His stomach knotted. He clenched his fists. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. Elisha slowed down and thought his options through. They had already seen him, and if he suddenly crossed over to the opposite pavement it would a dead giveaway. That hes a weak and cowardly animal. This would be sure to wake dormant predatory instincts. Not that they looked like their predatory instincts were dormant. Far from it. A hush fell on the group, and they eyed him openly. He felt his stomach knot. Now he had only three options left. The first one was to tough it out by walking in a bouncy manner, with tensed muscles, and giving them the quick look-over. But that wouldnt work. He didnt have what it would take to intimidate them and he knew it. Not least of all - he didnt have the muscles to tense. Nor the street fighting experience to back up his bluff should it be called. It was a chance he just didnt have the guts to take. Clop, clop, his shoes carried him over the glistening pavement, closer and closer. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He clenched his fists. The fog swirled in the shadowy corners of the street. The second option was to brazen it out - to just walk slowly and confidently with straightened shoulders, pretending that there was nothing in the world to possibly worry about, and that he was in fact a denizen of another plane, beyond the life and reach of the local roughs. This also wouldnt work, because he doubted that here and now, without extensive

preparations beforehand, he could project a convincing image of a nonchalant, detached man bristling with sleeping inner strength which better not be unleashed. Anyway, he was already fifteen yards away, too late to abruptly change his posture. He felt malevolent gazes probing his face. His stomach knotted. The third option was thus the only remaining one. To slink it out. To continue on his way in his slouched, furtive manner, evade any eye contact, and hope to project the Im-far-tooinsignificant-to-be-even-considered-by-worthy-alpha-males-like-you persona. He passed the youths by, looking straight down, holding his breath. But as always, he couldnt control himself completely in such situation. Elisha risked a glance. He risked a very quick, sideways glance. Their legs were still, no one was moving. They also had the fashionable codpieces bulging. He looked away, but the image remained. For some reason their tough boots and especially the codpieces made him flush. He felt his face go warm. Malenki lizards ran up his spine. But he wasnt a homosexual. He wasnt! Just because he was a bachelor who only scored once every two or three years, and almost always... limping along... didnt mean that he was a pansy... He clenched his fists. Hey! he heard. This made the flush drain from his face instantly as he was yanked back to the situation at hand. His stomach knotted. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He was certain that the hey was meant for him, but decided to ignore it. Clop, clop, his shoes continued carrying him away over the glistening wet pavement. Hey, Im talking to you, baldie! Now there could be no more evading. He was the only bald man in the vicinity and knew it, and they knew that he knew it. Why, oh why wasnt he listening to some music? Had they seen the earphones, they would have known that he cant hear them... What now? Feign deafness? Pretend to be a foreigner? He had to turn around. If he didnt, that would invite retaliation. With such reasoning, he stopped and turned around, his fists clenched. In spite of being teenagers, the boys looked threatening to him. Physically he was taller than any of them, but the wondrous optical illusion of fear made them towering, enormous. Their boots and codpieces looked now like symbols of violence. More specifically, of anti-Elisha violence. And still there was no one else on the street. Er, yes? he asked. Come here, I gotta ask a shoto, waved one of the young hoodlums at him. The others suppressed giggles. The wet pavement glistened beneath their tough boots. A light fog swirled in the shadowy corners of the street. What is it? asked Elisha, still clinging to the irrational hope that they did indeed only want

to ask him something and that he could answer it from where he was and then be on his way. Come ere, come ere, droog, the boy continued waving his hand at him. All of the young hooligans were dressed in white, their tight pants glistening from the drizzle, their silhouettes made eerie by the light mist that thickened and swirled in the shadowy corners of the street. Cursing himself for a weakling, his stomach knotted, Elisha walked slowly and meekly towards the group. He risked a glance into their faces before pointing his eyes at the pavement again. The drizzle made the moist pavement glisten and shreds of fog swirled in the shadowy corners of the street. The delinquents spread out as he approached, and one of them immediately went behind Elishas back with the polished unobtrusiveness of a professional hooligan. His presence now put Elisha decisively and completely at the mercy of the pack. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. He felt his stomach knot. So, you gotta light, my starik? said the one who had done all the talking thus far. Elisha shook his head slowly. Sorry, he said, I dont smoke. He said he doesnt smoke, said a plump, dim looking fellow. Good for him, said the one behind Elishas back. Hell live longer. Do you think youll live longer? asked the spokesman. This sounded like a trick question. Elishas throat went dry, and he clenched his fists. I must try to answer without provoking them, he warned himself, knowing quite well, that even if he succeeded in the complicated dance around excuses for violence ten times in a row, there was little chance of them letting the matter rest. His stomach knotted. They would continue talking to him until he obliged with a reply that allowed them to attack him. Unless, he reminded himself, they get tired of the game and stop fishing for provocations and just start the show anyway. I hope so, said Elisha. Anyway, I dont like the taste of cigarettes. He was sorry he said that even before he finished the sentence. He had volunteered information about himself. This was weakness. An opening. A hint of receptivity. And when people want to dish out violence, they are very sensitive to receptivity. His stomach knotted. Again his eyes darted involuntarily towards the codpieces. To his horror he saw that this time his gaze was intercepted by the leaders eyes. And what do you like the taste of? asked the ruffian with an oily smile. The others guffawed. He likes yarbles, maybe, said the voice behind his back. Nah, hes a real man! said the leader. Hes got no hair on his gulliver, a testosto muzhik, he can screw us all if he wants to. Elisha shifted his feet uncomfortably and looked around. A lone woman was walking hurriedly past. The drizzle made her shoes glisten through the fine mist which thickened and

swirled in the shadowy corners of the street. No one else. Not even a car. He clenched his fists. The leader leaned into Elishas face, You can screw us all, cant you? Now this was a lose-lose question if he ever heard one. Elishas stomach knotted. Answer the man, baldie! said the voice behind him and a split second later he received a rough push in the back. Elisha staggered forward, explosive adrenaline washing over his tense body, but checked himself inches before colliding with the leader. That would certainly have unleashed the violence. Now he had postponed it for at least a few more seconds. You think youre too good to talk to us? asked the plump youth, breathing heavily, darting his eyes at the others to take his cue about the development of the situation. Dear Master, who art in the sky, prayed silently Elisha, glory to thy power, save thine meek slave Elisha. Save me from these evil men. Curse and punish them. The leader said something about a tolchok, and the plump youth obliged by sinking his fist into Elishas stomach. Elisha doubled up, coughing, adrenaline washing over his tense body, then someones fist connected with his ear, the resulting explosion of pain and dizziness overwhelming his brain utterly. A second later, as he returned to the world, he was already on the ground. Instinctively, he curled up into a fetal position. Please, Master, save your faithful servant, he whimpered semi-audibly and braced himself for the blows. Curse these evil men! The blows didnt come. Motorcycles roared in the night. The Bears! shouted one of his assailants, unmistakable alarm in his coarse voice. Elisha risked a glance into the direction from which the sounds of motorcycles were nearing. Just in time! Four futuristic bikes were rushing straight at him. With a weak scream he pushed away at the wet pavement and rolled to one side, picked himself up, and ran, ran, ran. Behind him he heard the leader of the first gang shout, Tetsuo, you malenki shit. Kaneda! Come and get it, svolochii! The breaking bikes screeched like banshees, and many voices exploded into a noisy tumult. After fifty yards Elisha risked a glance at the battle behind him. The Bears had the upper hand. Dressed in synthetic biker jackets, chains a-swirling, they had already dispatched two of their opponents to the ground and now were busy making mincemeat out of the remaining ones. Realizing that he was safe, that he was free, Elisha felt his eyes burn with emotion. He fell to his knees on the moist pavement, which glistened in the drizzle.

Thank you, Master! cried Elisha in great joy. Thank you for sending the Bears to avenge your faithful servant! He doubled up and began crying in earnest. Glory be! Glory be! he whispered in a hoarse voice, waving his clenched fists. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. Shreds of evening mist swirled in the shadowy corners of the street.

GOING IN PIECES

Levin slammed the hood of the car with a scowl and looked around. This was a bad hood to have problems with the car. But they had problems with the car. His young wife, Kitty, looked at him with some anxiety through the rolled down window. The stupid woman. She should know better than show anxiety in a rough neighborhood. It would attract trouble like blood attracts sharks. He gritted his teeth, then made an effort to produce a smile, showed it to her, and again scanned their environs. Peeling walls of down-market apartment houses had closed in on them just before the engines abrupt demise. Now, these walls seemed elements of a hostile landscape. A hostile landscape in which they were trapped. He saw a few dark-skinned figures look at them from a drugstores entrance. Torn papers, nylon bags, and paper cups littered the streets, crawling in the small waves of wind. Graffiti graced every wall and most doors. Dusk was already shimmering in the heavy city air, or rather, the heavy neighborhood air. This part of town seemed to Levin a synthesis of everything he hated about cities. The stifling nearness of the grotty buildings; the smells and sounds appearing and disappearing without warning as one slightly shifted ones position; the straight lines outlining man-made masterpieces of ugliness; the unknown and potentially dangerous faces. This was why he preferred life in the country. He scowled and clenched his fists. It was a tough decision, but they had to ditch the car and find a hotel. Get your stuff, were leaving, he said and gritted his teeth, while Kitty complained and fumbled with her bag. As he stood, now with Kittys hand on his elbow, the street appeared to narrow further and further. Any moment now the walls would squash them and they would turn into just two more stains among the graffiti. He tried to blink away the fearful illusion. And were some of the pedestrians slowly getting nearer? A car screeched to a halt. A familiar head looked out of the drivers window. Levin, Kitty, I dont believe this, what are you doing here? Why, its Stiva, clapped her hands Kitty, speaking in a shrill voice which would surely attract all sorts of unwanted attention. Levin looked at her and gritted his teeth. Then he smiled at Oblonski. What a surprise to see you here, Stiva! Our car broke down. We were just about to go look for a hotel. Go look for a hotel?! Here?! Stivas eyebrows shot up. You better get in, yes, get in immediately. Well go to my place. Lock up your car and lets go! *** My sister wouldnt throw you out just for nothing, Stiva, my boy, said Kitty, already

slightly tipsy after the martini; already having seemingly forgotten what a lucky break it had been for them to meet Stiva. Levin clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. Stupid city girl. If he wasnt so in love with her... You are right, Kitty, agreed Stiva softly, Dolly did have a reason to throw me out. He sighed and gave a guilty smile. She found a photograph of me and Miss Roland. The governess?! exclaimed Kitty with automatic indignation. How could you, Stiva, of all things - a governess? Well, I... said Stiva, blushing deeply, you are quite right to say this, of course, Kitty... His gaze roamed uncertainly the space between Kittys and Levins eyes, resting for second on a hand or a knee. Dont you give Stiva any of that now, said Levin to break the spell of guilt his wife had so offhandedly woven over their host. Then he looked at Stiva. Dont you go minding what Kitty says, Stepan Arkadievich, he said and patted the grateful hosts knee. Were here in this town in the first place, because she played the whore at me... Levin, really! exclaimed Kitty and gave him a sharp blow on the shoulder. What peasant language! She spilled a few drops of her sherry on her fingers and on the dusty carpet. Well, I see myself as a peasant, and Ive never hidden this, least of all from you, darling, said Levin with a dangerous smile and gritted his teeth. Then he regained his more amiable expression and turned to Stiva again. You see, we had an argument, several arguments in fact, about this and that, he said gesticulating with his glass, and she packed her bags and went to her fathers. All the way to Illinois? said Stiva. Yes, and I went there to get her, and her old man oh, hes a great one - he refused to let me go for five days. Levin patted himself until he located his cigarettes. May I? he asked. Certainly, certainly, said Stiva and got up and immediately conjured up a bronze ashtray from somewhere. Kitty puffed her lips and gave Levin a dirty look as he applied flame to the tip of his cigarette. Levin felt her gaze but kept looking into Stivas direction. Anyway, he said, letting out a swirling white cloud, finally her old man lets us go, after a ton of alcohol, and then the car breaks down. Right here, in this dump. Sorry, he added, after realizing that Stiva was an inhabitant of this dump. No, no, Stiva raised a deprecating hand. You are perfectly right. It is a dump, I know, because I live here. Actually his bachelors apartment was not bad at all. He had even arranged his books on the shelves, and his family clock hung beside the cupboard. In fact, the place looked like he had been inhabiting it for some time now. A layer of dust covered every surface, with cleaner patches around books and glasses that had been moved around recently. How long have you been here, Stiva? asked Kitty.

Stiva shrugged. A month and a half by now. A month and a half? But when will you get back? I dont know, said Stiva, shaking his head sadly, I just dont know. Whats that? asked Kitty with arched brows. Theres someone at the door. She looked at Stiva, Who could it be at this hour? A mistress of yours? She couldnt resist a jab, never could, thought Levin. He looked at her and gritted his teeth. I dont know who it is, said Stiva, his face going slightly pale. Levin saw this and suddenly remembered that they were in a dangerous part of a dangerous town. He clenched his fists. Stiva got up with a wan, apologetic smile and went to the door. Who is it? he asked. Open up, snow-white! said a coarse, grating voice. Yeah, open up, its the seven dwarfs! guffawed a second voice. Levin caught Stivas eye for a moment and was disturbed by the pure terror he saw there. Look, I dont want any trouble, stammered Stiva at the door. Just... just go away. Please. Levin clenched his fists. It was all Kittys fault. If she hadnt brought attention to herself on the streets, the local hoodlums wouldnt now be trying to get at her. He looked at her and gritted his teeth. Give us your homeboy, snow-white. We wanna get a piece of his ass! What? Levin shot out of his chair and looked at Stiva. What did they just say? They want a piece of my ass? Ill give them a piece of my ass. Levins face contorted with rage and humiliation. Adrenaline washed over his tense body. No, no, dont say that, said Stiva pleadingly, trying to keep Levins voice down with his hands like an orchestra conductor. You dont know what its like here, they are monsters. They... they... he completed his sentence with an awkward jerk of a shoulder. Suddenly Levin looked at the broken and shamed Stiva and realized something horrible. Adrenaline surged through his tense body. He clenched his fists. The door shook again, Open up, little pigs, or well huff, and well puff, and well set this door on fire. Woo, yeah! said another voice and other voices too added hoots of appreciation at the idea. Listen, listen, said Stiva urgently, leaning on the door. Listen, we have, we have a lovely young woman here you can have her! What?! said Kitty incredulously. What?! said Levin uncertainly.

Look, Im opening the door, but you get the girl, and leave us. We dont want any trouble, said Stiva and before anyone could stop him, unlocked the door and swung it open. A crowd of rugged ruffians stood motionless and looked with hungry eyes into the apartment. Stiva rushed back to the living room, grabbed Kitty painfully by her shoulder and elbow, and began forcefully to steer her towards the open door. The crowd gave yells of encouragement. Look here, you cant... said Levin and made to stop Stiva. You leave that boy alone to give us our piece of booty or youre all getting it, snapped a towering dark-skinned man and stepped over the apartments threshold. Believe me, said Stiva, twisting his head to throw a quick glance at Levin, its the only way. Im sorry. Levin! Levin, dont let him do this! screamed Kitty, suddenly finding her voice after the initial shock. Levin took an indecisive step towards her but by then Stiva had already pushed her into the outstretched arms of the mob. A hand quickly muffled her screams, more arms closed in on her body, and she was whisked away into the night. Stiva shut the door with a bang and fumbled with the locks. Then he went to the cabinet and poured himself and Levin straight whiskies. I cant believe we did this. I cant believe we did this, said Levin and looked at Stiva with an expression of wonder, disbelief, and pain. Thats how it is Levin, thats how it is, said Stiva softly and gulped down his drink. Levin followed his example. Then he went to the sofa, curled up there, and covered his face with his hands. Stiva went into the kitchen and switched on the radio. *** Levin woke up with a start because of a shrill noise, which his brain identified with a few seconds lag as the ringing of the doorbell. Adrenaline surged through his tense body. A sleepy Stiva emerged from the other bedroom and went for the door. Hello? he asked cautiously. Silence. Hello? Anyone there? he asked again. Then he looked at Levin. I think I hear something. Like crying. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Oh my God, Kitty! he said. Levin raced to the door. He saw Kitty, lying in the corridor in front of the apartment door. Her hair was unruly, her makeup smeared, evil bruises and scratches could be seen on her face, neck, and plump arms. Her bare breasts were hanging out from holes cut in her pullover. Her skirt was torn and covered with blood.

Kitty, Kitty, get up, dont do this, get up, Levin muttered without being quite aware of what he was saying. His wife raised herself on one elbow and met his gaze with one puffy red eye. The other one was swollen closed. She opened her mouth wordlessly and dropped her head on the cold floor with a smack. The two men dragged her inside and checked for vital signs. But she was quite dead. No, this cant, this just cant... said Levin and pulled at his hair. Stiva looked at him helplessly and slunk away to the cabinet and glasses tinkled and whiskey poured. No, I will, no, no, this will... said Levin and ran into the kitchen. Stiva could hear drawers being noisily opened and closed and cutlery thrown about, but he didnt move. He felt paralyzed, emotionless. He just stood slightly slouched with what he knew was a foolish grin on his face. But he couldnt help it. He never could help this foolish grin appearing in times of stress. An involuntary reflex of the ganglia. Levin marched back into the living room with a cleaver in hand and a very frightening expression on face. What, what are you... stammered Stiva, but stopped once Levin shot him a black, vehement look. Then Levin crouched by the body of his wife, raised his hand, and plunged the cleaver into Kittys elbow joint. Then he did this again, and again, until he severed this part of the limb. Placing the bloodied half of the arm on the carpet beside himself, he started striking at the shoulder joint. Stivas glass slipped out of his hand and crashed to the floor. No, Levin, no, this is insane! Insane! he whimpered, and shut up again, as Levin turned around. His eyes were piercing. Blue steel radiating death. Bags! he barked at the cowering Stiva. Bags! I need bags! I need twelve bags! Now! What? Bags?! said Stiva, uncomprehending, refusing to comprehend. Yes, dammit! said Levin, For this! He brandished half an arm as illustration. Yes, yes, all right, muttered Stiva quickly, pulled his head even further into his shoulders, and scuttled off to the kitchen.

THE FART WHISPERERS DAUGHTERS

High up in the mountain was the cave that was the sanctuary for the family. Its entrance was surrounded by a belt of thin birches, after which the pines began. These were empty woods, with very few inhabitants. Only two strange squirrels lived nearby, and a determined woodpecker. And a few crows. After about an hour of walking down the slope one reached the pulsating murky cloud that covered the remains of the town below, and indeed, a large portion of the globe. Of the remains of the globe. The world was in the fifth year of the perpetual nuclear winter and the small radio in the cave broadcasted terrible news, when there was any news. After the initial whirlwind of looting and firestorm of fear had passed, the remains of the human race had regrouped and continued the social order from before modernity. Clans; tribes; feudal structures in the luckier places. In the cave itself, enough canned food and drink and electrical batteries had ensured the survival, if not the comfortable existence, of the family. The daughters, Electra and Betty, pallid and with brittle fingernails, were already teenagers, and their father, Lot, a man made haggard beyond his age by his lot, did his best to maintain a civilization of three. Every afternoon each of them read aloud thirty pages of the Book of Books, and every evening they would do the same with Charles Dickens or some other classic. The territory around the mountain was controlled by motorized outlaws led by their warlord Lord Hibiscus. Although the latest rumors from the radio indicated that a stronger tribe was moving closer month by month, and when the time came, Hibiscus and his warriors would migrate to the desert, rather than die fighting. Yes, even after the apocalypse, political analysis had survived. It was a cold afternoon, in which the weak sunlight sent anemic sparkles dancing uncertainly over the snow and enormous white clouds drifted slowly in the gray sky, when Electra brought up the matter. After the days reading, Lot had retreated beyond the curve of the cave to rest on his personal cot, and the two girls were finally alone. Electra was dressed in a blue turtleneck pullover and pale blue jeans. Betty was in a pink pullover, and baggy pants of a considerable amount of pockets. Both girls sat on their folded legs at the mouth of the cave. Electra was brushing her sisters long, golden hair with a wooden comb and speaking in a wooden voice. I need a man, she said and the comb faltered for a second, before resuming its slide. Im going crazy in the last months. I dream of them, of all these men in the Magazine. Me too, said Betty, and shrugged. Last night I continued playing with my good thing long after you fell asleep.

The good thing was something which each of the girls had between their legs. They had discovered it years ago, but when their father had shown his strong disapproval of them touching their good things, or even speaking about them when he was about, they had learned to not make any noise when playing with the good things, and to only talk about them when they were alone. Yes, Im so glad Mother liked this Magazine, said Betty, or Father wouldnt have taken it. I cant imagine life without it. But its not enough anymore, said Electra through clenched teeth. She finished brushing Bettys hair and put her head on Bettys shoulder, giving her neck a lingering kiss. Betty gave Electras cheek a stroke and slid her other hand into her own panties. I want to have a baby by Clooney, she said and sighed. Electra grinned, put her hand into her panties as well and joined in the game. And I would kiss Pitt until he just screamed. And I would make Maguire the best soup in the world, and then I would hide from him in the woods and he would look for me and then find me... said Betty with a faltering voice. And I would jump on Depp and throw him to the ground, fantasized Electra, and I would bite him and hit him and then I would run away and when he found me, he would bite me and hit me... A loud snore from their father intruded upon the playtime. Electra took her hand out from her panties, sniffed it with her eyes shut as was her habit, and then said what needed to be said. Mother wasnt good enough for Father. He deserved better. Betty also stopped playing with her good thing and turned to meet Electras gaze. Both sisters flushed. Then Betty said, We are much better than her. We are young and pretty and smart. Electra smiled. Yes, and we take much better care of Father. We cook, we mend the clothes, and we read the Good Book. And we dont drink his whiskey. I like him when he drinks more whiskey, said Betty. He becomes... nicer. He loves us more, he laughs, he hugs us. He never hugs us otherwise. I would die without you. Betty suddenly hugged Electra and kissed her. But Electra seemed to be somewhere far away. I think Father is a beautiful man, she said, again woodenly. I would have a baby by him. Gosh, so would I, sister, agreed Betty and sighed. And anyway, continued Electra, its our duty, right? The man on the radio said that it is a duty of every survivor to try and have healthy children, didnt he? He did, thats what he said, nodded Betty, and in the Good Book it says so too, that we must multiply and flourish. She frowned. But Father doesnt want us. He says its wrong for us to touch each other. I dont care what he says, suddenly said Electra. Tonight, at dinner, I will make sure that

Lot drinks a lot of whiskey and then I will take him to his bed and lie with him and have a child by him! Betty looked awestruck. Then she licked her lips. What about me, sister? Electras mouth jerked into a smile. If it works for me, it will work for you. *** In the evening, as the shadows leaked into the cave from the outside and the birches began their nightly groaning, the family sat around the small aluminum table on which three plastic bowls steamed. The two girls had prepared their stunning noodle soup and had put into it a whole can of beef. They had also poured half a bottle of whiskey into the pot, masking its presence with immense amounts of pepper. Whats the occasion for the rich dinner, girls? asked Lot, as the intricate taste and aroma of the dinner assaulted his senses. His perpetually bloodshot eyes looked with melancholy love at his two daughters, who smiled back at him. We just thought it would be nice to have a party, said Betty and fluttered her lashes. We love you, Daddy. Lot frowned with good-natured puzzlement. But the soup was fantastic. And as the evening developed, both girls kept refilling his whiskey glass from two bottles under the table, not one. They frequently winked at each other, and Betty looked at Electra and at Lot a lot, but Electra behaved as if she was not following a cunning cunnilingus plan. The family read Pride and Prejudice and Predators and discussed the plot and characters for the hundredth time, and giggled. Well, the girls giggled. Lot didnt giggle, but gave his explosive laugh at unexpected intervals. His bald head glistened in the light of the candles, and he patted his daughters knees increasingly often as he agreed or disagreed with them, or when he just felt nostalgic and mellow. His funny, snappy farts whispered of worlds unknown and worlds bygone. And then gradually his speech slowed and fragmented, he stopped making any sense, and overturned his glass three times in a row while trying to pick it up. Electra came over and helped him stagger to his cot. Betty followed them with a tense gaze, her hand already sliding down her pants to cope with the excitement. *** As Lot simultaneously penetrated and touched Electra, she felt that he was doing this not only to her, but to the whole universe. . . She moaned. Her spine tingled as if an electric current were running up it from her good thing.

He stopped moving inside her while his fingers worked quickly and Electra had one, two, three orgasms in a row. She moaned. Her spine tingled as if an electric current were running up it from her good thing. Suddenly, a kind of light exploded inside Electra. She was no longer herself, but a being infinitely superior to everything she had ever known. She moaned. Her spine tingled as if an electric current were running up it from her good thing. When his hand took Electra to her fourth orgasm, she entered a place where everything seemed at peace, and with her fifth orgasm she knew the Master. Then she felt him beginning to move inside her again, although his hand had still not stopped, and she said Oh, Master, and surrendered to whatever came next, Heaven or Hell. It was Heaven. It was Hell. It was everything and nothing. She moaned. Her spine tingled as if an electric current were running up it from her good thing. *** The next morning Dad was grouchy. Why had they not stopped him from drinking too much? Why wasnt there any aspirin left? Why did he feel so tired? But he did not remember anything. Both girls looked with curiosity into his eyes, but when he averted them, it was from mere alcoholic guilt. What kind of a father am I? he complained loudly as he squinted at the infirm sun. What kind of example am I giving my daughter? No, no, Daddy! exclaimed Betty and ran over to her father to kiss his bearded cheek. You are the best; we both love you very much! Lot looked at her with pained gratitude. Betty pecked his cheek once more and flittered away to do some chores. That evening Betty migrated gradually from her chair to her fathers knee, and then to his lap. She poured him glass after glass while he told with increasing emotion of his love for his dead wife - their mother - and how he missed her. *** And so, with the blessing of the Master, both Electra and Betty achieved their purpose - they conceived by their father. They never spoke to him about those evenings, but frequently relieved the experience while together, whispering what they remembered, and playing with their good things. As the months went by and their bellies grew, they could no longer hide their conditions from Lot, and told him about a shining spirit that had come unto them.

The night following their confession, the shaken father dreamt how the shining spirit enters his daughters, and it felt very real. On the next morning he announced that he believed them. Both daughters survived giving birth, and both children survived being born. It was a miracle. The babies were two boys. Oedipus and Onan. And no one knew that one day the world would tremble at the mere mention of the name of the fierce warrior - Onan the Barbarian, Onan the Destroyer. Whole nations would tell legends of the savage sword of Onan and a prophesy would be uttered that one day he would be king!

ONCE BAGGED TWICE BORN

Billy and Reave walked silently as the milky night fog curled and crawled around their ankles. Billy had the strangest feeling that the ground wasnt really there, that only tiny patches of it flickered into existence for an instant every time he put his foot down. So whats so excellent about old Joes trailer parties? he asked his friend. Both boys had hair down to their shoulders and wore tight jeans and sneakers. Reave was blond and Billy wasnt. Youll see, said Reave. Yesterday was... just wow you know, just pffff, wheee... Billy looked at his friend and said nothing. He could get no sense out of Reave during the whole day. And what was that about a new name? What was that about a new name? he asked. Bill, said Reave, my name is Bill now, not Reave. Ive been rebirthed and I have a new name, which the Master likes more. The Master.., said Billy quietly. I hope he doesnt call me Reave, he added, but Reave didnt laugh. Billy heard voices. They were coming from where Joes trailer was. That is, at the edge of the river, a hundred yards away from the other trailers. Billy saw half a dozen kids sitting on the ground in a semicircle. Old man Joe was sitting on a folding stool in front of them, with his back to the trailer, and appeared to be tying a girls wrists. Hey, everyone! said Reave. Ah, its Donnahs turn, I see. Hey, Wayne, Garth, said Billy and tried to keep his cool. Yo, Billy, my names Michelangelo now! said Wayne and raised his hand in greeting. And Im Donatello, said Garth and grinned. Reave sat down and crossed his legs and motioned for Billy to do the same. Old man Joe had just finished tying the girls wrists and was now sliding a nylon bag over her head. Cold sweat broke out on Billys forehead. He watched the girl sit quietly, until the plastic began clinging to her face. Her eyes opened wider. She began squirming. Hang in there, thats a good girl, said Joe and continued holding her. No one interfered. Billy looked at Reave. Reave was watching with tense fascination at the girl becoming frenzied in her attempts to get some air. Did he do that to you too, man? whispered Billy to his friend.

Yeah, whispered back Reave. Thats exactly the thing, man. Thats being rebirthed. The squirming girl let out a high pitched wail, jerked her limbs, let out some gas noisily, and went limp. Joe immediately took off the bag and began slapping her blue face. Wake up, Donnah, he said with authority, come back, girl, come back. The girl opened her eyes slowly. She looked at Joes face hanging over her and burst out crying. I saw it, she wept, thank you, Joe, I saw it, I saw heaven. You are now birthed again! said Joe and everyone clapped. Billy joined in the clapping. The girl staggered to her feet. You have a second chance to live your life as it should have been, said old man Joe. You are starting over. You have the chance to be the person you were meant to be. You new name is April! He pointed a finger at Wayne and Garth. Go sit with Michelangelo and Donatello. The girl sat where she was told to. Now, said Joe and looked at the others, I see we have a new addition to our group today. Yeah, this is my good friend, Billy, said Reave and patted Billys shoulder. Hes a good guy and he deserves the chance to be saved too. It dawned on Billy where the wind was blowing and he felt cold sweat break out on his forehead. Look, Joe, guys, he said with a placatory smile. I just came here... just to watch, you know... No one just comes! thundered Joe and his eyes looked like they were capable of discharging lightning bolts. His thick arms thumped his knees. Billy squirmed uncomfortably. You came here, said Joe, because you were guided here. You were guided by the same force which guides everyone else to come here. The same force, which guides me in what I do, he raised his voice until it filled the whole of the local patch of night, the same force, which will guide the man who comes after me, the man whose boots I am not worthy to lick! Billy watched and listened with rising awe. There was a power about Joe, a deep conviction which transformed him, made him look like the most powerful man Billy had ever seen. Come on, dude, Reave nudged him. Go and do it, dont be such a sissy. You need this, trust me. Everyone was looking at Billy. Donnah, or rather April, gave him a small smile of encouragement. With a reluctant grunt Billy got up, walked over to Joe, and sat down beside

him. Its going to be okay, son, this is for your own good, said Joe and slid the bag over Billys head. Now, Im gonna tie your hands, son, so that you dont try to break the ceremony. You trust me, dont you? Sure, was the muffled answer, and Joe tied Billys wrists together. Billy couldnt see much, because the cellophane was already foggy from Donnahs perspiration. And perhaps someone elses too. Then the plastic clung to his face as Joe pulled at it, and he had no more air. After a few seconds Billy realized that this was all a terrible idea and that he had to breathe. He mooed in protest and tried to break free. The world folded and bended through the plastic. His chest began to burn. Stay with me, son, stay with me, he heard from just behind his head, as a powerful arm held him in place. Just a little more, I know you can do it. Billy hesitated for a second and then it was too late. One last time he tried to take a breath and darkness flooded in; a swirling darkness, the middle of which began to glow almost immediately. *** Something smacked Billys face. It was Joes hand. Welcome back, said Joes mouth and everything swam back into focus. The crazy darkness was gone. Now only the normal night darkness curled at the shadowy perimeter of the trailers lights. Wow, said Billy, and as Joe freed his wrists, he sat up, and looked at Joe and then at Reave. No, not Reave. Bill. He knew now, that the new names were the real ones. As if reading his mind, Joe said, Billy, you have now been rebirthed. You start from scratch and this time you can be the person you were meant to be. You new name is Ted! What did you see, Ted? asked Bill, leaning forward eagerly and tugging tensely at the grass in front of him. I saw Napoleon, said Ted and gave everyone an abashed smile. Hey, laughed Bill, the torn grass falling from his hands, thats nothing. I saw Genghis Khan! Suddenly a new figure appeared out of the night and paused by Michelangelo and Donatello. A longhaired man of about thirty. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and dark brown cowboy boots. Good evening, everyone, he said and came up to Joe. You Joe? Ive heard stuff about your sessions.

Yeah? asked Joe warily. And who might you be? Call me Jess, said the stranger.

PART TWO: THE CARPENTERS APPRENTICE

****

SPIRITED BACK

Everyone looked at the man with tensed expectation. You think hes a cop? whispered Ted to Bill. Bill shook his head silently. A wind sprang up and began rotating the branches of the nearby trees. Then Joe stiffened and stood up. You! he croaked and put his hand on the mans shoulder, I knew you would come one day. Ive dreamt of it. I felt it. I knew you would come. Everyone gaped. So this was the one Joe had raved about for so long! Dozens of eyes strained to catch every detail of the strangers face, figure, and countenance. Jess smiled. You have to rebirth me, Joe, he said. I have come for this. No! exclaimed Joe, throwing up his hands and taking a step back, preposterous! It is you who must rebirth me! For who am I to rebirth you?! I am nothing! I do not deserve to lick your belt buckle! Joe, please, said Jess gently and took a corresponding step forward, gazing deeply into the old mans eyes. You are Joe the rebirther and you will rebirth me. This is the will of the Master. Bill and Ted exchanged glances and shrugged. Joe, on the other hand, just stood there, unable to tear his eyes away from the strangers face. You know best, sighed Joe finally, and sat back down on his stool. Jess looked around, distributed a few faint smiles and nods to those gathered, and settled on the ground by Joes side. No need to tie my hands, he said. I want this. Silently, reverently, Joe pulled the bag over the mans head. Jess spoke true. He didnt struggle. As the clinging bag outlined his face more and more, he just shook a little, his leg jerked once, he broke wind, and went limp. Face twisted in a mix of fear and ecstasy, Joe frantically pulled the bag off the newcomers head and slapped his face. Jess breathed in and opened his eyes immediately, not coming out of his slouch but transforming it into a more comfortable lying on his back, at Joes feet. I saw heaven, he said calmly, slightly dreamily, and looked at the dark sky above them.

As if hypnotized Ted watched the man - he seemed to be glowing, charged with incredible energy. His very skin seemed to emit a hint of light and Ted felt certain that if he could make a leap of perception, a leap of faith, that light would become quite visible. As things were, he more felt it than saw it. This man has a lot to teach us, he thought. Jess put his hands behind his head, and looked at Joe. I saw a white light, Joe, he said, and a spirit of the Master came to me as a bird. Joe nodded, moved almost beyond words. Did the spirit say anything to you? Jess grinned. The spirit of the Master said that I am his son, Joe. I knew it! squeezed out Joe and then tears of joy streamed down his bearded face. He bent over Jess and hugged him. Jess wept.

PULLED BACK

Time seemed to move in different ways here. Here where? He had almost forgotten his life before. Before what? Questions... questions without answers. He barely remembered his name. Floating in the murky white clouds it looked to him that both an eternity and a moment were the same. Therefore, he felt as if he had been there for but a moment. He felt as if he had been there for an eternity. This didnt help much, but he wasnt even sure if time was important. Somewhere on the periphery of this cloudy world a darker portion pulsated, ever reminding him to not go that way. It was an outer darkness from which laments could be heard and weeping too and the gnashing of teeth. Once he had fleetingly brushed that area. There the world was more solid. Not just murky white clouds, not even murky black clouds, but solid ground and evil blackened towers and jagged cliffs loomed, and amongst the ruins beneath the towers and cliffs, loathsome unnatural figures lurched and had even looked at him with agitated malevolent gibbers, as he had sped by, terrified. And in the center of the whole ghastly land, he had caught a glimpse of a lake of fire. He had fled as quickly as he could back into the obscure and objectless milky infinity. Back into the murky white clouds. Back into the fog. And now, without warning, he saw a faraway house. On a faraway lawn. He recognized it immediately and his speed increased. It was his familys house. It was home. And although it was still faraway, he could see everything as if he were in possession of some sort of enhanced telescopic vision. Mom and Dad were sitting on the wooden porch in easy chairs, Mom reading a magazine, Dad - a paperback thriller. Around the house the murky white clouds twirled. But the house itself looked solid, the very same prefab from his childhood. And the small island of grassy ground on which it stood also seemed perfectly solid. There seemed even to be a patch of sky with a patch of sun above it. Memories flooded back. He fiercely willed himself closer and suddenly he was there, on the grass by the porch, the murky white clouds behind him, the solid wooden house with the solid people of flesh and blood in front of him.

I wonder if they can see me, he thought, this childish fear surprising even himself. He neednt have worried. Lazka? Mom saw him and dropped her magazine. Son? Dad also gaped at him in comical astonishment, the paperback falling softly to the wooden floor. Mom, Dad! he cried and ran to them. He suddenly had a body again. A real body. And with every step he took, he seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, until finally he was again an eight year old kid. He jumped on the wooden porch and hugged his mother, who now towered above him. Lazka, Lazka, boy, repeated a moist-eyed Mom, and kissed his forehead. Dad was also there, ruffling his hair with his strong heavy hand, just like he used to do, smelling vaguely of coffee and tobacco. You gone and died, son? asked Dad finally with an emotional smile. Whatja die of? I was ill, answered the boy bashfully. But here I am now, with you. Im so happy. Youre just in time for some pie, said Mom, blinking back small tears, and inclined her lovely head towards the house. On cue, the familiar aroma of baked apples drifted out into the porch from the kitchen window. Lazka heard the panting and whining of a dog and then a cold wet nose pressed at his elbow. He turned and exclaimed in a shrill childs voice, Archie! Archies here, too! He hugged the dog, looking deep into his brown eyes. Archie wagged his tail like mad and licked the boys face and gave barks of happiness. Suddenly, a strange chill went through Lazkas body, filling his limbs with disturbing tingling. He let out a moan and grabbed a porch post to steady himself. Whats wrong, son? asked his mother with concern. Lazka, youre getting all transparent, boy! said Dad, as if it was nonsense, which he better stop doing as not to upset his Mom. Lazka would have been more than happy to comply with Dads implied request, but could do nothing save try to keep from keeling over The tingling grew, and it felt now as if invisible hands were tugging at him. Suddenly, Lazka was pulled by this unseen force off the porch, and the house receded quickly into the murky white clouds. The last thing he saw was his parents waving to him and then the swirling whiteness obscured anything once more, and back, back he flew, through no effort or will of his own, back, and back, again past the constant presence of the outer darkness, again past the gnashing of teeth

and the forlorn weeping and the forbidding towers looming over blackened ruins. Then even the murky white clouds grew dim. He felt as if his eyes were closed. As if he had eyelids. As if he was in a body again. A real body. But so strange this feeling was. As if... as if he was feeling his bodys rotten flesh knit itself back. There was no pain, but a strong tingling sensation, which he had begun feeling while on the other side, as if he was inside some sort of electromagnetic field. A small iron nail surrounded by magnets on all sides, spinning, spinning, spinning... although it was probably only his head that was spinning. Then a voice boomed in his buzzing ears. Lazarus, come out! the voice demanded. In the name of the Master, come out, Lazarus! Lazka gave an audible grunt of surprise. It was a familiar voice. It was the voice of his friend and teacher. The voice of Jess. So it was his mighty will that had pulled Lazka back into the realm of flesh. Lazka forced himself to open his eyes. It was dark. He tried to move, and realized that his movements were blocked on all sides. But at least he was alive! He was back! He probed the wooden walls around himself, and realized that he was buried. This did not shock him. After being dead and then coming back to life, waking up in a coffin six feet under was a piffle. Good thing that they hadnt cremated him. Although who knew the extent of the powers of Jess. Come out, Lazarus! again the voice boomed. Although logically he should have been hearing it all muffled like and coming from the ground above him, Lazka was in fact hearing it crystal clear, coming from everywhere. Uncanny. He was almost completely covered with flesh now and felt ready to make his move. He strained with his arms at the lid of the coffin. It didnt budge. He knew that it was covered by a thick layer of soil pressing down on it. But he felt a peculiar power buzzing through his regenerating body. He felt this power circulating through his reanimated limbs. Lazarus remembered his training, and with a hoarse shout he splintered the coffins lid with his fists, punching right through. Black earth began pouring into the coffin and onto his face. Undaunted, Lazarus took a deep breath and began digging himself out. *** Jess was on his knees, drained by the strain of this exercise which had used up all of his

power. At least for now. The dampness of the cemetery grass was already penetrating through his pants but he didnt care. Blinking away glowing concentric circles from his vision, he looked at the grave. He had felt a reaction, a tug, an answer to his efforts. Now he waited for visible results. Martha and Mary, the sisters of the man he was trying to raise, were standing by him, daring not breathe, watching, waiting. Further back stood a crowd of about twenty people, who were also following the whole procedure intently, exchanging opinions and bets concerning the outcome. Then the earth of the grave began moving. Someone in the crowd screamed. The two sisters gasped. Jess grinned. A human head appeared, all muddy and still only partially covered with skin. Now there were more screams. The crowd of onlookers surged back. Even Martha and Mary backed away. Lazarus climbed out and stood up, brushing the soil off his funeral clothes. As he stood there, the last portions of his outer layer knitted themselves together, and then there were no more horrible gaping wounds to frighten the onlookers. Thank you, Jess! he shouted and dropped to his knees in front of the Son of the Master. You are the Master himself, I swear! he shouted in great joy. No, modestly said Jess, I am not the Master. I am his son. Although I am the Master as well. Martha and Mary overcame their shock and ran towards Lazarus. All three siblings quietly blinked away small tears as they hugged and hugged. Someone from the crowd gave a jubilant hoot. Jess closed his eyes and allowed himself to pass out. *** Not much is known about the further fate of Lazarus. Some say he settled in France, others say Cyprus. But all agree on one point: until the end of his days, until he died a second time, and this time for longer, he only ever smiled once.

BLOOD LEGION

Right, heres where I turn left, dude, said Ron the truck driver and pressed the breaks. As the truck screeched to a halt at the fork, he turned his bearded face to Jess and grinned. You sure you dont want to come to Vegas with me? Why waste time in that little rat-hole of a town? I have to go there, smiled back Jess, thanks for the lift. Well, good luck, then, said Ron and gave him a mock salute. You too, may the Master watch over you, said Jess seriously, opened the door and scrambled onto the dirt road. As he stepped away, the truck roared to life, and slowly turned to the left. Then it gathered speed and gave one last honk as it dwindled rapidly down the road. Jess waved his hand at the truck and then looked at the town. It was about two miles away, a modest blot on the landscape at the foot of the Rockies. He slid his hands in his pockets and started walking. He himself was unsure what business he had in this part of the land, but something seemed to have been pulling him there in the last days. Something waited for him. What? After ten minutes of walking, Jess suddenly felt a stab of apprehension. He stopped and clenched his fists. What was wrong? Was he near that which had called him? He scanned his environs, but nothing seemed out of place. A herd of cows grazed contently on the bank of a nearby lake to his right side. Two cowboys watched over the herd and cast only short glances of curiosity at the longhaired hitchhiker. To his left, a small path led away from the paved road and winded past two mounds and then towards a small wood. The two mounds. There something wrong with the two mounds; he was certain of it. He looked around one last time and took the small path. As he neared the small grassy hills, he felt his tension rise. By the time he reached them, he felt as if in some sort of vacuum. There were no sounds around him, no grasshoppers, no birds, even the grass stopped rustling. It seemed to move slowly in utter silence. Then two figures seemed to abruptly appear by the mounds, as if morphing away from the earth itself. Jess stopped and clenched his fists.

The two figures were men. Violent looking men. They were both Caucasian, dressed in jeans and t-shirts with ripped off sleeves, their naked arms covered with tattoos. The plumper one held a switchblade knife. The other one held a chain. Howdy, stranger! shouted the plump one. Dont you know this is our turf? You wanting a workover? You come to the right place! Youll be a real beauty once we finish with you, you slimy hippie, shouted the other one happily. They both strode energetically towards Jess, but their gait was slightly wooden, and there was something artificial in their faces, as if they were wearing masks. Possession, thought Jess, they have been possessed. He controlled his breathing, and began concentrating on the Holy Spirit. The two intimidating men stopped fifteen yards from him. Theres something wrong, said the thinner one.I smell something very wrong. He took off his shades, uncovering poisonous yellow eyes, and looked at Jess, meeting his calm gaze. What in Hells name?! he gasped and stepped back. The plumper man also scrutinized Jess and pocketed his knife, face twisting into angry despair. What do you want with us, Son of the Master? shouted the thinner one, picking at his studded leather belt. Have you come here to torture us before the appointed time? squeaked his comrade nervously. The two men stood shaken, no longer threatening. The mounds behind them did not give them enough power to withstand the Holy Spirit. Slow and majestic, enormous white clouds drifted above the uncanny standoff. Jess took a step forward and the two men cringed. What are your names, demons? he demanded with a commanding voice. We are Legion, answered both figures in unnerving concert. The poor bastards, thought Jess, looking at the two men. They must be possessed by a whole hive of demons. For how many years have they been their slaves? He took a deep breath as he measured his opponents. Outcasts from society, unable to control their own bodies, menacing the unwary folks passing by. Although it looked like they could only move around the two mounds, and by now surely the townsfolk had learned not to come here, and yet... the amount of harm they could inflict was not part of the equation. He had a duty to perform. Souls to free. You must leave these two wretches, Legion! he said, and both men winced. Do not force me to send you back to the fiery Gehenna!

I knew it, I bloody well knew it, the fatter Legion host spat on the ground with frustration thinly disguised as defiance. Look, please dont send us back to Hell, Son of the Master, begged the thinner one. You know we dont really have a choice. We need bodies. Thats the way we exist, is all. I know, said Jess, but you know that I cant allow you to continue using the bodies of their rightful owners. These folks werent born just so that you could squat inside of them. He took a breath and raised his hands, feeling the Holy Spirit beginning to gather with almost audible crackling in the air in front of him. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. No, wait, man, wait! shouted the fat man this time. Well leave them two bodies, but why dont you move us somewhere else? Yeah, like them cows over there, for instance! agreed the thinner man. Jess let the gathered Spirit-blast hover in the air in front of him and rolled the thought over. The request wasnt entirely unreasonable. He heard a whinny of a horse behind him and turned his head. The two cowboys were now twenty yards behind him, smoking cigarettes and watching with quiet, skeptical curiosity the whole thing. Their horses were visibly unhappy being so close to the cursed mounds but were trained well enough to hold their ground. Jess turned back to the two demon-infested men. Its a deal, Legion! Ill pull yall out of these two fellas and cram you into the cows! You are merciful, Son of the Master, spoke the two men, again in ghoulish synchronicity. A burst of wind fluttered through the grass and was gone. An ant climbed on the top of a wild flower and froze, as if its delicate antennae were picking up something confusing. Jess concentrated, feeling the skin tingle all over his body as usual, slowly twisting his hands in the air as he amassed energy and compressed it, and then he hurled the Holy Spirit Blast at the two figures. The air shimmered for a second, and then both men fell on their backs as if bowled over by an invisible force. They began writhing and screaming. But they didnt just scream. These were ghastly sounds, dozens of intertwining voices, screeches and bellows, in a myriad different tongues. Again the air shivered, but this time right above the two men. The men themselves quieted down immediately. Beads of sweat breaking out on his face, Jess pulled with both hands at the energy net that now covered the struggling demons. His jaw muscles quivering, his feet firmly rooted to the ground, his body straining as if under an enormous load, he turned very slowly. As Jess turned, the shimmering air also moved, pushed by his Holy Spirit, until finally he was facing the herd of cows. He saw the demons with his special sight, a whole cloud of pulsating, green and purple hideous blobs, in which loathsome faces formed and reformed

constantly. The two cowboys didnt quite understand what was happening but got out of the way of his outstretched hands just in case. Jess pushed his hands down, slowly, strenuously, as if against great resistance. The cows began mooing in an agitated manner. Whatthhell? said one of the cowboys and spurred his horse back to the herd. The other cowboy lingered, looking at Jess, before joining his partner. Meanwhile the two wretches on the ground began showing signs of waking. D-d-dude? What? said the thinner clutching his head. The fatter one mumbled something without opening his eyes. Who knew how many years were missing from their lives? Sounds rushed back into the meadow, now that the curse had been lifted. Grass murmured and insects sang, first one, then three, then a score. A bird flew over and landed with a quick flutter of wings on the branch of a small bush on the left-hand mound, and after some deliberation picked at a small orange berry. As Jess slowly pushed his hands down, the shimmering air descended on the herd. The cows stopped mooing. They also stopped chewing and moving. They froze. The two cowboys jumped from their horses and walked over to the herd. Gasps of astonishment escaped them when they saw the yellow, malevolent eyes of the paralyzed cows. The younger cowboy turned back to Jess, who was shaking with the strain. Whatth hell didja do to our cows, stranger? he shouted. But Jess couldnt answer him, for he was not yet finished. Without breaking his concentration, he began pushing away at the air in front of him. In response, the whole herd of motionless cows began moving away towards the lake, an eerie movement, for their legs were motionless. The hair on the napes of the two cowboys necks stood on end as they witnessed the uncanny spectacle. An unseen force was pushing the yellow-eyed cows towards the slope that overhung the lake. With one final effort, during which he even stopped breathing, Jess pushed the whole herd over the edge of the slope and into the water of the lake. Its surface broke as thirty cows plummeted, still motionless, into the light blue water. No bubbles of air escaped the animals as they sank into the depths. And no sound escaped the two cowboys either. Then they both turned and looked silently again at the stranger who had displayed the uncanny and frightening abilities. As Jess took a breath, wiped the sweat from his brow and turned towards the town, the two cowboys spurred their steeds and overtook him in a gallop.

They disappeared into town long before Jess reached it in his measured pace. *** As he passed the first houses on the outskirts of town, curious but polite glances examined him from behind windows and from wooden porches. An old-timer walking his golden retriever stopped as if struck by lightning when he saw Jess. Dean, come inside, dont just stand there, shouted a female voice from a nearby house. The old-timer coughed and turned back, in spite of the dogs polite hints concerning a nearby sapling. Two young boys on bikes also came to a halt and watched the stranger in silence. But before Jess could reach the town proper, a police Chrysler stopped in front of him, blocking his way. A sweating man with a heroic belly and a sheriffs star on his shirt got out of the drivers place. He had a thick mustache curving down to his chin and Rambo-shades that made his scowl look cinematic. The two cowboys emerged from the back seat of the police vehicle. Thats him, sheriff, thats the stranger that gone and done in our cows, the younger cowboy pointed at him. Without looking at the cowboys, the sheriff fixed his shades on Jess, slid his thumbs into his belt, and walked over slowly, with an authoritative rolling gait. Say, son, you responsible for the Malones cows to go and jump in the lake nowhe inquired, chewing his words, his shades reflecting the strangers drawn and tired face. I reckon I am, sheriff, answered Jess. There were demons in them two boys yonder, and I had to do something. Hmm, said the sheriff and scratched the stubble on his right cheek. Now look here, son, he said, and took another step forward. This is a small, quiet town. We live a peaceful and a quiet life, and we dont need no out-of-town busybodies coming over and meddling, and stirring things up for us. And thats a fact, affirmed the younger cowboy from behind the sheriffs shoulder. Jess clenched his fists but listened silently, with a calm expression, trying not to show how exhausted he was. Now, I kint charge you with anything, continued the sheriff, cause we dont have bewitching laws anymore, but I suggest you go back up that road, he pointed with a plump hand, and a shiny wristwatch flashed in the sunlight, and find yourself another place to stay. Were good, Master fearing folks in this here town, and you and your kind just aint welcome here. Jess pursed his lips and gave everyone a thin smile. He could see that the tough sheriff was afraid, although he wasnt allowing himself to show it.

And this hidden fear was only natural, for if he had believed the tale of the two cowboys, then the stranger he was facing could turn out to be far more then he, his precinct, and this whole small town could handle. But he had to try and protect his citizens, and his good name; so there he stood with his Rambo-shades, head tilted in a nonchalant manner, only the growing patches of sweat on his shirt betraying the inner tumult. Jess touched the back pocket of his jeans. He still had some money left, a gift received in a more hospitable town. He was saving it for an emergency, or for someone who was more desperate than him, but what the heck. Fine, sheriff, he said with a resigned air and a sheepish grin. Just point me to the bus station, and Ill get me a coke and a bus outta here. The tension in the air seemed to dissolve with these words. The two cowboys un-stiffened, and one of them cleared his throat. The sheriff smiled too and nodded. Now youre talking, stranger. Hop in my car, Ill give ya a lift. Jess looked around once more and climbed into the police cruiser.

THE DOOR TO LOVE

Miriam woke up with a start, gasping for breath, sweat drenching her trembling limbs. The wet sheets clung like the smell of cigarettes. Waves of adrenaline washed over her frail body. Hysterically, she freed herself from the sheets, kicked them to the floor, and stared into nothing, waiting for the panic to subside. Again she had dreamt the dream. The nightmare. That the thing inside her had grown so big, that she herself had become a slimy throbbing tumor on its side, and was removed, discarded with disgust into the green plastic bin by the operating table. She bit her lips to stop them quivering, blinked back small tears, and got out of bed. Looking out of her window, she massaged her stiff neck and it was an ordeal, a test of courage as always. Well, not really as always. A mere year ago she would have been able to squeeze some life back into her neck and shoulders without a second thought, then have a coffee, a cigarette, and be off to work. But now, now she followed with manic attentiveness the most minute channels by which the pain spread, reaching up to her skull and down to her shoulder blades. The tumor had changed everything. She didnt smoke now either. Nor did she drink coffee anymore. At just a little over thirty, she had been forced to drop all her bad habits, and now she drank water with vinegar, she ate muesli and fruits, and she regularly meditated on her prana circulation. She also regularly shuddered, as she mentally mapped every brook of discomfort that trickled up or down her body. And she could never be sure whether changes occurred, and when they did, whether they were real or only in her imagination. But today another worry had been added to her burden. And it could be the straw that broke the camels back. Just thinking about it sent waves of adrenaline through her frail body. If her calculations were correct... and they always were... *** Miriam went out of the bank with desperation showing in every wrinkle of her prematurely aged face. She felt her mask of control crumbling, threatening to reveal something soft, helpless, ugly, pleading. She stopped by a bus station and pretended to read the various posters and ads on the wall.

She blinked away small tears and tried to keep her legs from buckling. Her account was finally empty. The thought sent waves of adrenaline through her frail body. Her illness had swallowed every last penny. Miriam had always thought of herself as a strong woman, and when she learnt of the tumor, she had not allowed herself to go to pieces. No, she had told herself that she would tough it out, like she had toughed out so many other things life had thrown at her. But two years had passed since then. Her strength had ebbed away little by little. The chemotherapy had eaten up her strength and her finances. She had lost her job in the wave of cuts five months ago. So now she couldnt pay for the treatment and the state health plan refused to finance her treatment unless the odds rose over eight percent. Her current official rating was six and a half. Now, with the drying up of her savings, hope seemed to have faded on all fronts. She only had her monthly social security check left. Four more months of it. It would cover only basic food while it lasted. She would have to sacrifice the Internet, the cable TV, and really conserve water and electricity. Eat the cheapest stuff, which would be helping not her but the enemy that was gnawing away at her from the inside. She blinked away small tears. Suddenly, her brain snapped to attention. The word Love had penetrated the mist of anguish. From where? She examined with aroused attentiveness the various posters that she had only pretended to read. There it was, the word Love, close to the word Heal. Miriams heart skipped a beat. She forced herself to calm down and read the whole sentence. It was: HEAL YOURSELF THROUGH LOVE. The message sent waves of adrenaline through her frail body. It wouldnt have been like that two years ago. Two years ago she would have snorted in contempt at the poster and forgotten it, but not now. Now, there was suddenly no straw, however fragile looking, that she could afford to discard. Her eyes roamed the poster for information, trying to glean something hope inducing. It was a free seminar. Again, in the past Miriam would have seen this as proof of the low quality of the whole affair, but now... now it opened another door to hope.

A smiling longhaired man of about thirty beamed at her from the poster. She repeated his name silently, to get the taste of it. Jess. Funny name, he didnt look Mexican. It said on the poster that the Seminar was that very day, in the evening. Could fate be helping her? The mere thought sent waves of adrenaline through her frail body. She tried not to get too enthusiastic, but she wanted to believe. Needed to believe. She saw two grannies look at her. Did they think she was a down and out loony? Miriam shuddered. She averted her gaze quickly and went home. On foot. Miriam was now officially in saving every penny mode, and even buses were no longer cheap enough. Maybe she could apply for discount or a free ride on at least one of the city lines. But judging by the speed with which in her experience the bureaucracy reacted, by the time she would be approved she would have kicked the Miriam winced, swallowed back the unformed thought, and concentrated on walking. The first raindrops began producing dark wet spots on the pavement. *** Miriam entered her apartment, flushed with the exercise, unwound her scarf from her neck, peeled off her coat, kicked her boots to the corner of the corridor, and rushed to her computer. She was still within the five day grace limit of nonpayment of her Internet bill, and had access to the web. Two more days. After that - the information blackout of the needy would descend upon her life. As the computer warmed up, she cooled down, and began breathing more regularly. She even went to the kitchen and washed herself a cucumber. She returned, crunching at the watery vegetable, and saw that it would take at least another minute for all the useless programs to appear and become functional, before she could proceed to the Internet. Autumn rain pelted the window. It blurred the outside world, but Miriam didnt mind. At the moment this blurred vision felt like the most adequate way of seeing things anyway. Her eyes caught a change of color on the computer screen and she turned. Finally. All the useless crud she no longer needed but never got to uninstalling had finished stalling her. She typed in the words Jess, Love and Heal into the search engine and pressed Enter.

Soon she was exploring the mans website. It had a nice relaxing soundtrack, like the weather reports on TV, and on the top of the screen animated white clouds swam beneath a golden smiling sun. One by one, questions formed beneath the clouds. DO YOU FEEL THAT THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOUR LIFE? SOMETHING MISSING? You bet somethings wrong, thought Miriam. Hope is missing. Life is missing. Another question formed. DOES EVERYTHING SEEM TO GO WRONG? ARE THINGS OUT OF CONTROL? DO YOU FIND IT HARD TO RESPECT YOURSELF? Miriam trembled. The message sent waves of adrenaline through her frail body. It was as if the question was directed personally at her. She blinked back small tears and read the next question as it formed. But it was not a question. It was an answer. THE ANSWER IS LOVE! LOVE THE MASTER AND YOU WILL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE! LOVE THE MASTER AND HEAL YOURSELF. Miriam watched the words disintegrate beneath the golden rays of the animated sun, waiting for the next sentence as if her life depended on it. For she felt that it did. SUBMIT TO HIM AND THE MASTER WILL PROTECT YOU! SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE AND CHOOSE ETERNAL LIFE! Whimpering, Miriam blinked back small tears and waited for the next message. There wasnt any. She pressed the a word from our founder link. A scroll appeared with a handwritten text on it: Hi, thank you for taking the time to check out our website. All are welcome. Are you sick? Blessed
are the sick. Are you meek? Blessed are the meek. This is what we all believe. Our mission is to spread the good word and to save people. Every soul counts. And we are counting on you. Yours, Jess .

Miriam looked at the name. It seemed to vibrate with mystery. And hope. Nevertheless, she was a practical woman and needed more information. She pressed personal experiences. The first personal experience was from a smiling middle-aged woman. Sharon Cone: I had almost given up. My marriage was troubled and my business was failing. But just weeks
after attending the Jess seminars, I feel like a new woman! Choosing to love and honor the Master is the best investment I have ever made!

Miriam screwed up her mouth. This was not what she needed. Her problem wasnt a bad marriage, or her business failing. It was her looming death. Well, that and money, too. She pressed the next personal experience. It was from a smiling, very young black woman.

Abigail Brown: After high school I chose to be an ordinary housewife. My husband was a good man, but
weak. He tended to drink, to flirt with other women. We kept fighting. I felt that life was bad. I had almost lost all hope. Now my life has completely turned around. Now I know that I am assured eternal life. I chose Jess!

Miriam rolled her eyes and pressed the third personal account. It was a man in his forties. He was smiling a white toothy smile and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up on his thick manly arms. As she read his story adrenaline washed over her frail body. Todd Morton: The doctors had said that there is no hope for my cancer. I was given another three months to
live. You can imagine how hard that hit me and my family. But after choosing the path of Jess everything changed for the better. Two years have passed and I am still alive. Now I know for certain: he who submits to the Master chooses life!

Miriam exhaled noisily and got up from the computer, blinking back small tears. It was decided. She would go to the seminar. Suddenly, hope loomed on the horizon. *** Miriam woke up with a start, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. Her wet clothes clung like the flu. She shot out of the sofa, adrenaline washing over her frail body. She had fallen asleep! She had missed the seminar! She grabbed her cell phone and looked at the time. It was fifteen to nine. She hadnt missed it! She could still get there in time! She got dressed quickly, put on her favorite brown boots, wrapped herself in her gray coat, and went out. The rain had subsided to a slight drizzle, which merely made the pavement beneath her heels glisten eerily. There were no serious puddles. Shreds of fog curled in the shadowy corners of the street. There was almost no one else out walking. In fact, this part of the block seemed unerringly empty. Deserted. Like a prop town for a post-apocalyptic thriller. She passed by a group of youths dressed in white, with the fashionable codpieces and bowler hats, but they didnt jeer at her. They were busy talking to a stooped bald man. Nevertheless, she picked up speed and walked faster, the moist pavement beneath her heels glistening eerily. Soon she was in front of the community center. Thickening fog curled in the shadowy corners of the street. A long line was formed at the entrance, but it was moving quickly. The queuing people were a motley assortment. Obvious prostitutes, cranks, junkies, drunks, policemen in civilian clothes, furtive looking yuppies, doddering seniors, and poker- faced respectable housewives. Miriam moved with the line, the moist pavement glistening beneath her heels, and was soon

inside the uncomely building. Walking over the dirty tiles, she went through one of the doorways into the hall. She managed to find a seat in the eleventh row. The worn, torn seats were uninviting to say the least. Wrappers, paper cups and small puddles of various suspicious colors shrouded portions of the grimy yellow floor. Miriam shuddered. She looked at the other people, most of them sitting, or in the process of sitting, and some just standing by the walls of the hall, as if trying to be there and not be there at the same time. Two longhaired youths in leather jackets plopped into the two free seats beside her. Miriam held her breath and pretended not to notice them. Waves of adrenaline washed over her frail body. She watched them out of the corner of her eyes. This Jess guy, man... said the one with the goatee to the one without. The one without nodded; leather and zippers conveyed sounds indicative of fumbling, and then he showed his hand to this friend. In it there were what appeared to be two postage stamps. Ill take the smiley, said the goateed metallist, plucked one stamp from his friends palm and put it into his mouth. The other stamp went into the other mouth as well. Miriam shuddered. She began regretting coming to the community center. She was just clutching at straws, she scolded herself. Giving in to her fear. But, she replied to herself, how could she not give in to her fear? When everything collapsed on all fronts and pain and death loomed in the near future? It was as if some vital domino somewhere had fallen and set in motion a process of entropy that she simply did not have the power to halt. Maybe no one did. The lights dimmed. The hubbub died down. Ambient ethnic music oozed into the great hall and four smaller lamps lit up around the stage. Wispy fog began crawling over the floor. Miriam shuddered. She thought the fog bad taste. Men appeared on the stage. Twelve somber men in identical gray suits. They were looking straight ahead, over the heads of the audience. Stone-faced. Then a longhaired man in a blue suit appeared on the stage. He had a microphone in his hand, the cable trailing behind him, disappearing in the artificial fog. Hello, people! he cried with a joyous voice. Good to see you all here! The audience murmured in response. The metallists near Miriam began making sounds. Man, its starting man, its starting, whispered the one with the goatee. Yeah, I feel it. Gonna be one mother of a trip, this, croaked back his friend. I hope our seminar will influence profoundly each and every one of you! said Jess and smiled. Love is the answer. Love is the cure!

The music jumped in a synchronized climax of flutes and drums, and then relaxed into general ambience with sounds of birds, running water, and of a faint throb of bass. Jess looked at the audience and spread his hands. A hush fell. Miriam shuddered. A tremendous presence, she thought and blinked back small tears. This man was no fake. He was the real thing. One of her longhaired neighbors began twitching and whispering to his friend, I can feel it man, I can feel it, do you feel it, I can feel it man, its like, wow man, its like pfff! *** The sermon was glorious. Miriam felt her body relax, and let her mind bask in a golden light that seemed to emanate from somewhere at the back of her head. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven! she heard, her eyes halfclosed. She let out a sigh. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted! she heard. Her lips began to tremble and she blinked back small tears. Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth! she heard. Love your neighbor as yourself! she heard. Waves of adrenaline washed over her frail body. She looked at her left-hand neighbor. He was a fat man of fifty, with a trucker hat. His chins were quivering with emotion. She leant over and hugged him. The man said Aghaaaa and began crying in earnest. Then Miriam turned to her metallist neighbors. I love you, boys, she said to them, blinking back small tears. I love you too, lady, said the boy without the goatee and showed her an OK sign with his thumb. Lady, youre all purple and glowing, said the boy with the goatee and suddenly covered his face with his hands. People were crying everywhere. Strangers hugged strangers. Miriam felt reborn, as if a terrible weight had been lifted from her. She smiled and blinked back small tears. Thank you all again for coming! said Jess into his mike. He spread his hands again. May the Master bless you all; may the Master protect and heal you all. Submit to him and come to your inheritance! Love! Love! Miriam physically felt the energy of the speaker as he said his blessing. The golden light at the back of her head flared up one last time and subsided, leaving a gentle buzz in her skull. Then Jess stepped off the stage and walked to the exit past the isles, his costumed dozen around him, cutting off the possible attempts of people to mob the bringer of salvation. Miriam knew that she must get to him. That this man could cure her. That this was her

chance. Fate had guided her here. She shot out of her seat and with a scatter of excuses and apologies limped over peoples feet and elbowed past peoples bodies towards the procession. Her timing was perfect. At the very moment when Jess passed her isle, she managed to stretch a hand and grab the back of his suit for a second. She let go immediately but the moment of contact had been more than enough. Her hand buzzed, her arm buzzed, and this subtle electricity was moving up her shoulder, and now up her neck and down her chest... She had received a part of the sacred energy! She realized that Jess and his men had stopped. Jess was looking at her. Did you just touch me? he asked with a smile. She nodded dumbly. I thought I felt a woman touch me, he said. Why did you touch me? I... Im ill. Sick. Cancer, said Miriam with dry lips. Her whole body abuzz now. Her skin tingling and the hairs on the nape of her neck standing on end. You are healed, said Jess. You faith has healed you. Go in peace. And then he went on his way and soon was gone. With an enormous sense of relief Miriam sagged into the nearest empty seat, adrenaline washing over her frail body. She let out a short laugh, hugged herself, and blinked back small tears. *** Ten minutes later, Miriam had already given the little money that she had on her for both books being sold by the organizers of the seminar. For the next two days she sat at home and read them carefully, underlining important parts with a pencil and writing in the margins. Three weeks later she completed her training as a love coach and began work as an online adviser for the Jess website. She felt healthy, at peace. She finally had a purpose. What she needed was not a career; not worldly success and recognition. She needed to help others discover the door to love.

ZOMBIES ARE OUT ON MAPLE STREET

Say, whats that thur by the cemetery? said Harry and waved his hairy forefinger out of the cars window. It was a humid summer evening and Harry Antipowski was sweating profusely and constantly brushing away locks of hair that kept falling on his moist forehead. Pilot Pete was younger, thinner, and more withdrawn. His uniform had less coffee stains on it and he still worked out. Pilot Pete looked skeptically at his partner, suspecting him of boredom. Probably just them kids going wild agin. Listening to that damn heavymetal by the graveyard. But even as he was saying this, he realized it wasnt true. He could now see half a dozen torch lights move erratically and show fleeting glimpses of the various limbs of a serious crowd. Youre right, somethings up, he revised his opinion and turned the steering wheel. Antipowski spat out of his window. As the car neared and stopped, the crowd totally failed to disperse. It was a surprisingly large group of people. A whole damn evening street party. Only it was at the very end of Maple Street, where street parties were never held. It was by the creeper-covered wall of the cemetery. Pilot Pete stopped the car with the headlights hitting the mass of people dead on. Shadows thrown by noses, lips, and puffy eyes crawled over the turning faces. These were all people he knew. There were few people in this hick town that he didnt. Old Joe Liebman was standing there, his shirts sleeves rolled up, showing his thick hairy arms. Hed obviously just been punching a longhaired feller held down by Liebmans brothers Chuck and Cliff. He wasnt punching him now, though. Now everyone stood still like rabbits caught in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. But Pilot Pete could see that no one was scared. Whatever it was they were doing, they looked like they were prepared to continue doing it, with or without the laws sanction. He smelled trouble and his palms swam with sweat. Antipowski climbed out of the car, spat on the ground again, smoothed out his uniform shirt with his two hammy hands, and finally asked the question: Whatcha all folks doing at this hour here, and whos the feller thatcha holding down there? Pilot Pete glided over to Harrys side. He caught the gazes of Mrs. Jones and her eldest son, Tommy, and nodded at them. Tommy didnt react, although his Mom did shoot back a flicker of a smile. This was going to be a tough crowd. A tough night.

The craving to light a cigarette hit him hard out of nowhere and was almost unbearable, but he couldnt show his nervousness. The mob didnt look ugly, but any mob could turn ugly. He smelled trouble. If the gathered folks got whiff of any hint of fear from the law, it all ended here and now. Harry Antpowski walked forward with a few slow and confident steps. He looked Joe, Chuck, and Cliff over, and then silently scrutinized the guy they were holding. The sheriff ignored the rest of the crowd. This was good respect tactics, thought Pilot Pete. Harry was showing that he wasnt taking sides, but was an impartial and invincible force. Pilot Pete could see from where he stood what Harry was seeing, cause he had better eyesight. The longhaired wretch had fresh flowering bruises on his face, also puffy lips, and a half-closed eye. Now, Ive known you for a long time, Joe, Antipowski said finally, looking up at Liebman, but you know as well as I do, that you aint got no right going and taking the law in your own hands like that. Again Pilot Pete stood by Harrys side. Yeah, he said, just say whatcha got on this feller and well take him in. His voice suddenly jumped into a higher register at the end of the sentence and he was forced to follow it up with a deep grunt to compensate. Nerves. His palms swam with sweat. Joe glared at the beat up fellow with a vehemence Pete had never seen in the old lumberjack before. He looked frightening and suddenly very alien in the white glow of the beams of the police cruisers headlights. Then Joe transferred his cracked gaze to the two cops, his quivering jaw muscles betraying the depth of emotion below the skin. That here is that Jess feller, dunno if youve heard of him. I sure have, said Antipowski, and folded his arms at his chest. One of those love peddling gurus, if I aint mistaken. Pilot Pete was scanning the crowds faces, his palms swimming with sweat. He smelled trouble. Antipowski was an old professional hound and had already established a rapport, but the dialogue seemed very fragile to Pete; these seemed to be animal forces that seethed all around. This here was a good and proper old-fashioned lynch mob if he ever saw one. Oh, he aint just a love guru, said Joes brother, Chuck, giving the beat up wretch a tug on the hair. I do declare he aint only that at all. Suddenly a woman elbowed her way through the nearby townsfolk and gave Jess a sound slap. Wheres my Abigail, you animal?! she wept and slapped him again.

It was Betsy Evans, a normally well balanced, middle-aged hairdresser. Her black skin glinted in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. Her pretty fat lips were twisted in a scowl Pete had never imagined possible on her normally benign, affable face. What had gotten into her? Hell, she gave Pilot Pete a trim just last week. His palms swam with sweat at the thought. Betsy turned to Pete with a grimace in which pleading and hatred were locked in a fluid dance. Hes gone and brainwashed my Abigail, he has! Shes gone somewhere with the other kids and he aint saying where they are. He got some kind of hold on them. Old Barker joined the talk, his white beard glowing in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. Our kids bin going nuts in the last week, ever since he came here with his damn semeenar. Kids? How many kids are missing? asked Pete. With this question he let loose a torrent of tortured and angry complaints from a dozen people present. My two boys are gone! said Jeff Walker, his wife silently nodding in affirmation with her pallid, serious face, standing like a sad wraith just outside the beams of the police cruisers headlights. And my girl. Little Billie-Jean. Shes not my girl. Not my girl anymore. Shes different, whispered hoarsely Mike the cabbie. She wont talk to me and dont want pocket money anymore and dropped out of school. I havent seen her in three days! And the Joneses went nuts, said Cliff Lieberman, looking with open malice at the beat up feller he was holding down. The whole family - Jeff, the wife and the kids - all went nuts. How so? asked Antipowski, studying with renewed interest the face of the Jess guy in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. As was Pete. It seemed incredible to him that this thin hairy nobody was such a dangerous cult leader, capable of controlling people. But you never know. His palms swam with sweat. He smelled trouble. Quit their jobs and took off, just like that, continued Cliff. The Joneses just stopped trying to keep up. Live in cupboard boxes out of town now. Dressed in rags. I went there and I tell him: Jeff, think, you got a family, you got kids, you kint just leave yer job and house, if you dont care about yourself, think about the kids, fer Masters sake. And you know what he says? He looks at me with this dumb smile and these crazy eyes, and says: look at the birds. They dont worry about tomorrow. Is that the way it is? asked Harry Antipowski and took out his pack of Camels. Pete felt a pang of envy. Harry always knew when to do what. He knew that he wouldnt look weak; to the contrary, he was showing that everything was under control. But he was bluffing. He must know as well as Pete that everything was not under control. The people were still talking to them, but only as long as they looked only interested, and could, in theory, join them.

The moment he and Harry had heard them out and told them to lay off, all bets would be off. He calls himself the King, said Joe Lieberman. Does he now? said Pete, feigning interest. Yeah, said Chuck, and he cant even sing Heartbreak Hotel to save his life. The Master... suddenly said Jess in a deep hoarse voice. Pete flinched at the sound. Whatcha say, boy? Harry leaned forward. The... the good Master loves you tender, said Jess and looked at Harry. He licked his bloodied lips. He loves you true. He will all your dreams fulfill. Pete felt as if he was suddenly caught in an absurdist play. His palms swam with sweat. Aah, shut up! snapped Joe and gave Jess another punch in the stomach. With an oof Jess sagged. Now, now, said Harry, holding his hands in the air placatingly. Look, folks, you can all see hes just a nut. Just a nut, nothing! answered Joe savagely, the veins pulsating in his temples. Hes broken our families. Hes broken our town. Hes a disease. Joe looked at Jess and suddenly bellowed at him, Well, mister love guru? Have you got anything to say to us? Where are our children? What have you done to the Joneses? What the hell do you want here? Jess lifted his head with an effort and looked Joe in the face. Im here... he stopped and coughed and started over. Im here to set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law... He stopped again and began coughing convulsively. Pink froth built up on his lip. He regained control of himself with difficulty and then spoke again, eyes shining eerily in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. He who loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. And he who loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. Whoa, said Pete, stunned by the outpour. This boy really is something. Yeah, said Joe, thats why we have to end this now. Wait, wait, said Harry, spitting out his cigarette onto the dark grass. Wait. He looked around at the townsfolks faces and then at the Jess guy again. This feller here looks like youve broken him a rib or two and has got himself a ruptured lung. We need to take him in, lock him up, get him a doctor; one of them shrinks, too... No! said Joe with grim determination. No, sheriff, this has to end now. He looked around at the gathered people. This ends now! This ends here! The crowd answered with shouts of affirmation.

That was it. The threshold point. They were becoming agitated. Time for talk was over. Petes palms swam with sweat. But he had to try. Hey, hey, he said with as a commanding voice as he could muster. Just what do you think youre gonna do here? They know not what theyre doing, said Jess. Were gonna do exactly what youre thinking were gonna do, replied Chuck and began putting a noose on Jesss neck. Harrys hand went to his holster. Hold it, sheriff! barked old Barker. To his utter amazement Pilot Pete saw a doublebarreled shot gun covering him and Harry. Old Barkers hands shook only a little, but his face showed a fatalistic determination. Petes palms swam with sweat. Yeah, dont interfere, officers, said Mike the cabbie, also leveling a pistol at them. People always told me: be careful whatchu do. Well, I know mighty well what Im doing now. Im doing whats right. You realize, of course, said Harry in a calm loud voice, holding his hands in the air, the consequences? When this is over, well call the National Guard if we have to, and youre all going to face justice. Joe looked at Harry again. The lumberjacks face was expressionless in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. His wide, dimpled chin chewing the words like cud, You do what you have to, sheriff, we have no quarrel with you. He looked at the Jess guy again. Chuck was just throwing the other end of the rope over a stooped pseudo-colonial lamppost. Joe sighed. But we cant let you interfere with what we have to do, sheriff. Youre making a bad choice, said Pilot Pete, surprising even himself. A bad, bad, choice. I wash my hands off the lot of you. You aint the people I used to think I know. Think what you will, boy, said old Barker, without taking his gun off the two officers. Pete looked at Harry. Harry said nothing and brushed away a lock of hair from his forehead. Not so tough now, son of Master, said Joe and spat in the mans face. Then his two brothers yanked at the other end of the rope. With a choked gurgle, Jess rose up, up into the air, without a struggle, and hung from the street lamp. He squirmed only slightly. Then his legs jerked once. Hes gone and kicked the bucket, said old Barker with satisfaction and lowered his gun. People said yeah, and woohoo, and then the ground began shaking and a distant rumble echoed in the night.

Whatth hell, said Harry, bringing his hands back down. No one was paying attention to that anymore. Petes palms swam with sweat. He smelled trouble. He wasnt the superstitious type, but there was something uncanny about the earthquake hitting at the exact moment of the gurus death. And then things went from bad to worse. A final jolt threw everyone to the ground and terrible sounds began coming from the cemetery. Squelching, shuffling, and hundreds of... of voices. Yes, those were voices. Inhuman, yet human. The hairs on the nape of Petes neck stood on end. I really hope this aint what I think it is, said Pete to Harry as they struggled back to their feet. All eyes were on the cemetery gates now, the limp figure hanging forgotten. Then two or three women in the crowd screamed, as the first of the dead lurched out through the gates. They were a terrifying, sickening sight, caught in the cold white light of the beams of the police cruisers headlights. Skeletons half-covered by rotted flesh and clothes, without eyes and without tongues, and certainly without leg muscles or vocal cords, yet as if animated by some alien will, they clambered towards the crowd, limbs and stumps of limbs moving abhorrently, howls and screeches escaping the caved in chests and crumbled mouths. Git back yer critters! cried old Barker and emptied both barrels at the nearest animated corpse. The feculent head and the whole upper part of the torso, together with the left shoulder and arm, exploded in a cloud of debris. The corpses remains fell down. But there was now a score of other living corpses crowding the cemeterys entrance; a macabre and chilling spectacle in the beams of the police cruisers headlights. It almost made Pilot Pete wet his pants. His palms swam with sweat. Come on, then, said his partner and stepped forward, revolver in hand. Harry emptied his whole gun into the lurching dead without any effect. Pete realized that old Barker had blown the zombies head away. He checked his theory by sending three slugs into the head of a corpse in a moldering dress. The corpse fell to the ground and was still once again. The heads! shouted Pete with a voice he himself did not recognize. Go for the heads!

But it was too late. The dead were now upon the living and terrible screams filled the night as dead, putrid teeth pulled at living struggling flesh. This cant be happening, thought Pete and tugged at Harrys sleeve. We have to get out, Harry. We have to run! he whimpered. Antipowski spat and turned. Lets go, Pete! he said. They dived back into their cruiser, and as Pete put the car into reverse the jerking beams of the police cruisers headlights showed one final glimpse of the hideous terror that had befallen the town. There was now a voluminous moving mass of howling and growling dead, at least a hundred of them. Some were finishing off the last of the present townsfolk, but most were just lurching hither and thither, no doubt looking for fresh victims. Luckily the precinct was at the other end of the street. Unluckily, the precinct was at the other end of the street. They could hole up there and get out the big guns, but the dead would reach them soon. The streets were unerringly empty. Deserted. Like a prop town for a post-apocalyptic thriller. Look, said Pete, as they drove past the town mall. The mall was split in half. A great jagged wound ran through the middle of the building. Thats the earthquake that hit us just now, said Harry. We gotta get the National Guard here asap, he added. Peter stopped the car with a jolting screech and they both jumped out without bothering to close the doors. As they ran inside the precinct, Harry went for the phone immediately, while Pilot Pete locked the doors and slammed shut the windows. Then he ran to the armory and returned with the two M16 rifles and a bag of cartridges. Harry looked at him with an empty gaze, still clutching the phones receiver. What? said Pete, smelling trouble. What could possibly be so bad now? They said its happening all over the country, not just here. Oh no, said Pete, feeling his whole body go lax. His palms swam with sweat. What had the people of this town unleashed? Both your and my folks live on the other side of town, said Harry. You call them and tell them to git the hell out and into the closest army base. And then call the local TV; the people have to be alerted. Ill keep watch here. Right, I will! said Pete and grabbed the phone. As he dialed his homes number, he saw the figures and faces of the dead press against the glass doors.

Harry held his rifle ready in case one of the reanimated corpses figured out breaking the glass. The siege of precinct thirteen had begun.

THE GREAT ESCAPADE

Not a thing stirred in this portion of Hell and no one saw the shadow that stole silently like a stalking tiger through the ruins of ugly, unwholesome buildings, black from eternal flames, loathsome carvings glinting maliciously in the darkness for uncounted ages. The wind screamed like a banshee, scraping the defaced ruins and rippling the black sands of Hell. The stealthy shadow clung to the base of the prison towers steeply sloping wall and began its laborious journey upwards, fingers and toes of steel digging into the slightest foothold, as only a Cimmerian or a Nazarene can climb. Twice the figure stopped its progress. Once, when something unseen slithered loathsomely over the stones above it. The intruder froze, for any creature in Hades is a spy of its evil Prince. The second time, its assent was checked when an execrable thing with leathery wings flapped past, screeching like a banshee. The climber merged with the shadows, motionless but poised to strike. But the hell-bat too did not detect the intruder and soon the climbing shadow reached a window. Swift and silent like a stalking leopard, Jess entered the prison. Suppressing shudders of revulsion he navigated through a very narrow passage crowded with obscure and cryptic shrines, careful to avoid debris the shuffle of which could give his presence away to the abhorrent demon guards. Then he came to the entrance to a low chiseled chamber. His knuckles whitened as he balled his powerful hands into formidable fists. Luck was with him. Only one of the foetid creatures guarded the prisoners. Heavy brows covering its face down to the pointed oriental chin, it sat hunched on a wooden desk, playing unholy dominoes with a rotten severed head planted on the desks edge. Swift and silent like a striking vole, Jess slid behind the pugnacious minion of Satan and promptly snapped its neck with his fingers of steel. Before the rotten head could react, the savior pushed a fistful of dominoes into its mouth and shut it in a drawer of the evil desk. Having done that, Jess looked about him. Eerie green candle flames illuminated the oozing darkness, dark soot covered the ceiling. Everything was still. All was quiet. Only faraway banshee-like wails of souls in torment echoed through the dreaded wastelands.

He plucked the key-ring from the spiked belt on the demons corpse and approached the large cage. He pressed a finger to his lips in order to forestall any exclamation that could alert the inhabitants of Hell to the jailbreak, and after standing with closed eyes for exactly three seconds, forefinger tapping the point between his rakish brows, he chose the right key the first time, and quietly unlocked the door. Everyone, be silent, he whispered to the glad prisoners as he swung the heavy door open. Out they came - Adolf and Eva: drawn and haggard, bearing fresh marks of torture on their bodies; Kane and Abel: a proud rugged blond warrior and a slouched furtive fellow with beady eyes and a hook nose; and Onan the Barbarian: a gaunt but still formidable figure, towering above the rest, his blue eyes undimmed, icy, brave. Onan bowed to Jess, cracked his knuckles and said quietly, Open the armory, Son of the Master, so that we may take weapons. Jess nodded and his nimble fingers again instantly found the key among those which he had taken from the dead hells-spawn. With a treacherous creak the wooden doors of the armory swung open, and inside were becobwebbedsted shelves filled with the most exotic weapons, some of which had quite worrying proportions, and the disagreeable geometry of the design of others was of undoubtedly unhallowed nature. With a grunt of appreciation, Onan chose a huge simple broadsword for himself and spun it experimentally, his knuckles whitening, his sinews of steel bulging like the muscles of a galloping stallion. He attached the formidable weapon to his leather studded belt, his chiseled jaw set firm in anticipation of battle. Eva and Abel took slender rapiers, while Kane and Adolf both took two heavy battle-axes and grinned at each other. Their knuckles whitened as they squared their shoulders in anticipation of battle. Jess looked at the prisoners and rejoiced at seeing that their spirits had not been broken by their stay in the land of the cursed. Lets go, he whispered, and stealthily like a raccoon, he led the group into an inner corridor that pierced the insides of the dreaded Black Mountain. Gruesome carvings glowed uncannily on the worn slimy walls of the corridors as it winded and subtly climbed upwards. Then the grim corridor forked. One branch led to the left, remaining on the same level, while the other led downward. Following his legendary intuition, Jess chose the way of descent, and soon they were all carefully going down a rough flight of very small, numerous, and steeply descending stairs. In silence they walked, their moving feet shuffling in the eerie gloom of the place. Breaths bated and weapons drawn in anticipation of battle. In another twenty minutes of silent descent, the group reached a small circular chamber with corridors leading out of it in all directions. In the middle of the dank room was a well of rough stone from out of which repellent odors rose.

Kane leaned over the well, and screwing his face into a grimace of distaste, spat into it. You fool of a cook! hissed Jess. Dont bring attention to us! Everyone froze. The stifling air carried no sounds. But mere seconds later, drums took up an abhorrent throb somewhere within the mountain. Faraway yells of various demons could be heard. Unseen atrocious limbs pattered and slithered within the labyrinthine corridors. The hairs on the napes of the companys necks stood on end. Hold fast! commanded Jess, his voice booming around the chamber, for the need for silence had been lost. They come soon! With confident nimble movements he unfastened his staff from his back, and gripped it in his right hand, knuckles whitening in anticipation of battle. A white-yellow glow sprang up on the upper end of the staff, dispelling the hell-gloom, which now curled in the shadowy corners of the chamber. The first wave of attackers poured from three corridors at once. Creatures outreaching in grotesqueness the most chaotic dreams of man; running, lurching and crawling demons that screamed like banshees went at the fugitives with claws, teeth, and evil scimitars, but Kane and Adolf kept them at bay with their whirling battle-axes. Demon blood and gore splattered in every direction, as abhorrent skulls caved in, and putrid scum flowed from severed limbs. Eva and Abel also worked with their rapiers, puncturing the misshapen demon limbs when they presented the opportunity, forcing the grody apparitions to let out sickening yelps before being finally quieted by Kane, Adolf, or Onan. For the mighty Onan was a separate island of defense all by himself, a death-dealing machine, his broad sword felling a ripe harvest of repellent gibbering hell spawns with every mighty stroke. He wielded the weapon with one strong sinewy hand, knuckles whitened with his grips intensity, while the other hand was at his crotch of steel, moving in the rhythm of his thunderous battle cry: Oh yeah, more, oh baby, faster! The battle cry that puts dread into the heart of any enemy that hears it. Behind the defenders, Jess concentrated, pressing at his temples with his hands, face screwed up with the effort, trying to mentally penetrate the mountain, to discern which corridor would lead them away from Hades. Then suddenly the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. The vile attackers fell back in disarray, screaming like banshees, slipping on the gory puddles the oozed from their fallen comrades ripped innards. Run, you dogs! bellowed Onan, clutching his horn of plenty in triumph, and brandished his gore-covered blade of steel high above his head. Kane and Adolf laughed as well.

Foul demon blood dripped from their axes onto the chambers stone floor. A score of horrendous corpses lay, left behind by the retreating hordes of hell. I feel something coming, said Jess. The smaller demons left in order to make way for what comes. And what comes? asked Abel with an unsteady voice, fingering his rapier nervously. Something you better not know, whispered Jess and turned to a door. We go this way! he commanded and led the group. As they raced across the winding corridor, the glowing top of Jesss staff providing the only light, they heard a menacing far off noise behind them, as if a huge horse were breathing heavily at the effort of trailing them. The hairs on the napes of the companys necks stood on end. Its him, said Jess. Its Belzeebub! No one said anything, but Adolf swung his ax grimly in the air, as if practicing for a final showdown, his knuckles whitening in anticipation of battle. The ooze on the walls glinted maliciously, and the darkness of hell curled in the shadowy corners of the walls. The accursed corridor was finally over, and they were out in a huge cavern. An immense cavern. Its ceiling was almost invisible, only twisted stalactites protruding through the veil of hellish vapors that curled and swirled up above. Near these twisted stalactites a half dozen of the winged creatures flapped their leathery wings, screeching like banshees. A wispy stone bridge curved over the flaming abyss of Gehenna, towards the other shore. The exit! cried Jess. Hurry, go! But everyone just turned and gaped. Jess also turned. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. His knuckles whitened at the intensity of his grip on the glowing staff. Out of the corridor a huge dark figure had emerged, outlined by red flames, a flaming whip in gnarled scaly hand. Belzeebub. The dark figure walked heavily towards them. The lesser demons screamed and lurched behind it. Onan and Kane shifted their feet, knuckles whitening in anticipation of battle. Adolf squared his mighty frame and flexed his biceps of steel. Over the bridge, cried Jess, gathering his strength. Run! This is an enemy beyond any of you! I must stop him here! Run! I will fight with you! said Onan grimly, and took his place by Jess, swirling his notched and bloodied broadsword with his sinewy hands.

Aye, we cannot leave our savior! said Adolf, and Kane too joined them. With a desperate glint in his eyes Jess spun to face them, I thank you, but there is nothing your mortal weapons can do. Do not let my effort be in vain! Run! Run! I will follow you! Reluctantly, the warriors retreated up the bridge, casting glances of concern over their shoulders. Evas lips trembled as she let herself be dragged away with the rest of the group. Jess remained facing the peril alone, his knuckles white from the force with which he clutched his staff, muscles of steel tensed in anticipation of battle. Belzebub reached the bridge. He raised his flaming whip and fire came from his nostrils. A sight enough to strike any mortal soul dumb with fear and despair. A low detestable growl escaped the arch-demons jagged teeth. His slimy scales glinted, and his toes curled in the shadowy corners of the cavern. But Jess did not flinch. I am the son of the Master, he said, raising his staff, wielder of the Holy Spirit! You cannot pass! Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass! With force, Jess brought down his staff upon the bridge! The stone structure shuddered, groaned and crumbled right at Belzebubs feet, and with a terrible guttural cry the arch-demon fell through the gaping hole and into the fiery Gehenna. As he hurtled downward, Belzebub swung his flaming whip, which screamed like a banshee and sought to entrap the saviors legs, but Jess was paying attention, and jumped, and the whip didnt get him.

CORRESPONDENCE

Dear Paul, I am delighted at this chance to write a letter to you, and appalled at the circumstances in which it finds you. The way they arrested you even before you got off the plane in Afghanistan is proof that the whole system really is out go get you, under any guise and in any circumstance. Which is only natural, since what you say attacks the existing world order at its very roots. We are all rooting for you, and have even organized a blog ring dedicated to your release from prison. There is hope that in the upcoming elections the current reactionary governor will be ousted. Until then, know that we are with you in spirit! (Some of the younger followers have also started a graffiti campaign) And now to the point. Dear Paul, it is my greatest pleasure to share with you, that I have finally had my REVELATION! Yes, I have finally seen and heard the majestic sights and sounds of HEAVEN. During my travels, I was lucky enough to meet one of the seventy-two disciples, and was given a tiny piece of the flesh of Jess. It looked miniscule and I doubted whether it would have the desired effect, but the apostle assured me that it was almost a double dose. It was well dried, he said, thereby explaining its modest size. I fasted a day before ingesting the flesh of Jess, and then I switched off my phone, locked the door of my apartment and did it. After a mere half hour, I began to feel very light, and the ceiling rippled. The designs on my living room carpet began crawling hither and thither in a very unnerving manner. But I kept my faith, and did not fight it, but submitted completely. Soon a parallel reality was superimposed on our mortal one; I could see it whenever I looked out of the corner of my eye. Then a second parallel reality appeared, then a third, and very soon what seemed to me to be an infinite number of parallel realities began existing simultaneously in front of my gaze. Then, just as I felt that I would be overloaded and my humble skull would implode, all the realities mercifully disappeared, and I beheld the door of heaven open. A voice loud like a trumpet bade me enter, and I did. Inside, I saw mechanical self-eating elves singing Hallelujah. At times I almost forgot who I am, and what my purpose was. Perhaps for this reason my recollections are somewhat patchy. I feel certain that at no point did I see the Master, but I distinctly felt him sit on a throne, and there was a rainbow around this throne. Like a multifaceted force field, like a shimmering diamond it glowed, and the Master was inside it. Of that, I am completely certain. Around this throbbing throne of majesty I saw twenty four seats, I counted them. On each seat sat a wise old sage dressed in white. And each had a golden energy field hovering above his head. Seven light-swords burned before the throne, and the force field around the throne

periodically discharged lightning, and thunderous incomprehensible voices echoed in the immense hall. In front of this throne, there was a sea of glass, but I could not see what was underneath it. Around the throne, and indeed, inside the throne, were four beasts, covered with eyes on all sides. And the four beasts were all different. One looked like a lion, another like a sort of a small cow. About the third one I do not recall much, except that it had a human face. And the fourth one was like an eagle. Now, although they did not look exactly insectoid, all four beasts had six wings each. Three pairs. I could not bring myself to examine them closely, but they looked like a mix between bird and bat wings. Then, as I approached slowly, the four beasts began honoring the presence inside the thronebubble, saying Holy, holy, holy, Almighty Master, which was, and is, and is to come. And the twenty four sages also jumped up and sprawled on the glass in front of the throne, the golden energies above their heads elongating into shining, vibrating strings towards the pulsating, quivering jewel surrounding the throne, inside which I felt the Master sit. And then, and this is the most important part, although I grant you that what I have described so far is already incredible, I saw clearly a dead Lamb standing in the middle of events. Its throat was cut, gaping open, but it looked at me with its seven eyes. Yes, seven eyes. It also had seven horns. And as I looked at the seven eyes and the seven horns, I realized, beyond any doubt, that these were the seven Spirits of the Master, sent into our world. As I came to, I frantically wrote all of this down, feeling the experience receded rapidly. Unfortunately, I feel that I have forgotten a lot even while I was writing, but nevertheless, this all seems more than enough as confirmation of what you and indeed Jess himself have described. And so you see, dear Paul, even with you in prison, we are continuing the sacred work as best as we can. Soon, we will compile enough testimonies and witness accounts, to complete the big project. It will be a book to shake the world. A storm is coming. Our storm. Hang in there! Your good friend, J.A.

BREAKING NEWS

BREAKING NEWS: NEW LUTHAMA BEN MARTEN STATEMENT, ERASMUS IN SAFE HOUSE

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BREAKING NEWS: NEW LUTHAMA BEN MARTEN STATEMENT, ERASMUS IN SAFE HOUSE By Thomas A. Leading European intellectual Erasmus transferred to safe house, amid fear that the reply to his open letter to Luthama ben Marten may be interpreted by some of Martens followers as a fatwa, and attempts could be made on the intellectuals life. Speakers for the military have said that the statements source cannot yet be traced. It first appeared on the Warriors of the Master website yesterday. The controversy started last year, when Erasmus, speaker of the European Intellectuals Union, wrote an open letter calling for Luthama ben Marten and his followers, called Protesters, to end their reign of terror on the continent. Read Erasmus open letter

Erasmus expressed sympathy with the goal of the Protesters to lead a spiritually fulfilling life through knowledge of the Master, but called for peace and dialogue between the so-called fundamentalists and the so-called moderates. The main issue, which Luthamas followers insist must be resolved immediately, is that of free will. Dozens of Protesters have shouted the slogans no free will! or predestination! before detonating their codpieces. Click here to hear samples of Predestination, the controversial new album of Masthurbathor.

While Erasmus has declined to take sides in the debate and has written that both fundamentalists and moderates may have a point, Luthamas new statement throws doubt on the possibility of the conflict being resolved soon. Experts already agree that the peace brokering attempt by the European Intellectuals Union can be written off as a failure. Recommend this article? yes no Rate this article. 1-2-3-4-5

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OUR STRUGGLE: AN ANSWER TO ERASMUS New Luthama ben Marten statement from Warriors of the Master website Erasmus! In the preface to your statement, you say that you do not endorse firm assertions. That if you were faced with firm assertions, you would prefer to go over to the skeptics, if your church would allow it. Now, I will assume, that what you are saying comes from a benevolent attempt to broker peace between us true believers and Satans minions. Were someone else to write something of the sort, I would attack him in the manner for which I am known. But good intentions or not, you, Erasmus, are wrong! Terribly wrong! The true believer must delight in assertions! In firm truth. In firm heart and firm action! The true believer needs to adhere, to affirm, to confess, to defend, and to invincibly persevere. And we are invincible. We will persevere. Of course, by these unshakable truths I mean the firm assertions of the Holy Scripture. Not the needless and harmful interpretations by middlemen. We dont need middlemen. And if you meant anything else by firm assertions, then you are as ridiculous as the subjectjumping president is when he addresses the world from the television screen. We true believers need intellectuals and scientists to keep away from us, but we also need with us those who assert, in an unwavering, unbending manner, stronger than the stoics. Does not Paul demand assertion, calling it confession: With the mouth confession is made unto salvation?

And did not Jess also say: Whosoever confesseth Me before men, him will I confess before My Father? Here also, confession means in fact assertion, as should be obvious even to a blind man. I could talk a lot more about this, but I will not. Suffice to say, nothing is more known and more common among true believers, than assertions. Take away assertions, and you take away our whole religion. As a courtesy to you, I do not say that you are evil. I refrain from judging your heart, leaving that for another time, or another person to do. But I warn you, as I warned the blasphemous Danish cartoonist: correct your tongue, and your pen, and refrain henceforth from using such expressions. You could be an upright and honest person, but your words, which are the index of the heart, are not so. If, on one hand you think that the question of Free Will is not important in serving Jess, you are speaking honestly, but thinking evil thoughts; but, if you think that it is important, then you think rightly, but speak evil words. For if you have any doubt, that all is not preordained by the Master, that he does not already know everything, and indeed makes everything happen - how can you then confidently trust his promises? For, if you believe in the Master, you must also believe that he can deliver the goods! If you tell us to not look for the Masters hand and will in everything which happens - then our religion falls apart! How can we worship the Master, if he cannot and does not do everything? In a word, you treat this issue as if we are discussing some trifle, like who will win in a reality show, or when will I return the money which I owe you. You treat the issue as if it is less important than the general peace of the community, and that anyone speaking about this should be prepared to make concessions, so that the world does not descend into turmoil. And with this, you plainly show for all to see, that a happy, and long, and peaceful life are much more important to you than faith, than conscience, than salvation, than the Word of the Master, than the Glory of Jess, than the Master Himself!!!!!!???!!! Well let me tell you this, and I hope you really pay attention: In this discussion I am seeking a goal so solemn, and essential, so great and glorious, that it must be maintained and defended unto death! Even if the whole world is thrown into turmoil and into war. Even if it should be hurled into chaos and reduced to nothing. Recommend this article? yes no Rate this article. 1-2-3-4-5

Other World News Belgian princess to marry son of Khazakstans dear leader. Knife fight in Tropica Bar leaves three dead.

Father convicted of honor killing of daughter. Community in mourning two days after school shooting. Spiderman 15 a distant second in box office who is first? Boy crosses world in balloon. For more World News click here.

THE END Autumn 2010

An incomplete style structure and source material guide

1. AND THEN SUDDENLY

Source material: Genesis 22:1-24 Narrative loops: Gnashing of teeth; things moving in small waves; Like a banshee; He scowled and gritted his teeth; Then suddenly; Suddenly; Deep brown eyes. Other source material: Tolkien; Metallica Master of Puppets; vintage alien takeover B films.

2. DARKNESS FALL

Source material: Exodus; Leviticus Narrative loop: Adrenaline, Tense body; Gritted teeth; Clenched fists; Knotted stomach. Other source material: One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest; Hunter Thompson.

3. EHUD AND THE KING OF THE MOB Source material: Judges 3 Narrative loop: Stomach knotted; Gritted teeth; Clenched fists; Adrenaline, Tense body; Curled lip; He two timid men following close behind. Other source material: Noir crime pulps; The Godfather.

4. IT TAKES YARBLES

Source material: 2 Kings 2: 23-25 Narrative loop: Drizzle making things glistening; Fog curling in shadowy corners of the street; Knotted stomach; Clenched fists; Adrenaline, Tense body; Risked a glance. Other source material: Clockwork Orange; Akira.

5. GOING IN PIECES Source material: Judges 19 Narrative loop: Scowl; Gritted teeth; Clenched fists; Adrenaline surged through tense body. Other source material: Anna Karenina

6. THE FART WHISPERERS DAUGHTERS Source material: Genesis 19:30-38 Other source material: WWIII themes; Mad Max II; Paolo Coelho sex scenes.

7-8. ONCE BAGGED TWICE BORN & SPIRITED BACK

Source material: Matthew 3:13-17, Luke 3:21, 22 Other source material: Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure; the quest of the DNA cowboys; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; Aldous Huxley "Heaven and Hell"; Leonard Orr; Wayne's world.

9. PULLED BACK

Source material: John 11 , Traditions about Lazarus of Bethany Other source material: Solaris film, Takovsky version.

10. BLOOD LEGION

Source material: Matthew 8:28-34 Narrative loop: Clenched his fists. Other source material: Rambo First Blood.

11. THE DOOR TO LOVE

Source material: Mark 5:21-34 Narrative loop: Waves of adrenaline over frail body; Blinked back small tears; Moist pavement glistening; Curling in the shadowy corners of; Miriam shuddered. Other source material: Contemporary inspirational healing narratives.

12. ZOMBIES ARE OUT ON MAPLE STREET

Source material: Crucifixion of Jesus; the Second Advent; Matthew 10:35 Narrative loop: Smelled trouble; Palms swam with sweat; In the beams of the police cruisers headlights; Other source material: Night of the Living Dead; Return of the Living Dead; Monsters are out on Maple Street; Attack on Precinct 13; cop buddy drama; Michael Jackson.

13. THE GREAT ESCAPADE

Source material: The Harrowing of Hell Narrative loop: Like a banshee; Of steel; Animal-like agility; Whitened knuckles; In anticipation of battle; Curling in the shadowy corners of; Hair on nape of neck standing on end. Other source material: Tolkien, Robert Howard, Howard Lovecraft

14. CORRESPONDENCE

Source material: Book of Revelation; Gospel of Luke 10:1-24 Other source material: Timothy Leary biography; John W Allegro: The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross; Terence McKenna: "Time and Mind", "Food of the Gods".

15. BREAKING NEWS

Source material: On the Enslaved Will" Or The Bondage of the Will. Other source material: war against terror.