It was a night when guardian angels ran away and demons ran amok. It all began when one hell of a storm came our way. The storm had god of war thunder, wicked witch of the west winds, drown the world rain, baseball size hail and needle sharp sleet.
That fatal night I was manager and second cook in the restaurant Glass Goblin. Margo, my fiancee, and who we didn’t know at the time was pregnant with our child, was waitress. Joe, a good guy, was first cook and second manager. The three of us were dog tired from working the first, second and then the third shift. What happened to the second and third shift crews? They heard that the storm was coming and never showed up. After that hell night there was no reason for them to show up because there was nothing for them to show up to. We had been manic busy on the first and second shifts because a horde of refuges in trucks, buses, cars and motorcycles had heard that the worse storm ever was about to tare the area a brand-new butt. Most of them had descended off Interstate 66, taken their food to go, and then hauled their frightened tails up the interstate to safety, the lucky dogs. Why didn’t we shut the place down and go with them? The owner of the place, a sweet old girl, was paranoid. She had Glass Goblin built to withstand a category three hurricane. We didn’t believe there was a storm big enough or bad enough to knock the joint out. We believed we were as safe in Glass Goblin as anywhere. In addition we knew that there were going to be stragglers. Those unlucky enough to be caught by the storm and would need a sanctuary. We had no idea that there was a demon riding the storm, that he was hungry and that he was hunting.
We didn’t know that he was hunting us.
There were seven truck drivers, unlucky rear guards, in the restaurant of doom when the storm hit. None of us had ever been, or will ever again be, in a storm that strange, that weird, that savage. Strange because it was coming from the wrong direction, out of the south, you know, like the hairs on a dog cut, with a dull razor, the wrong way. It was weird because south of us was a hot desert. Yet the chaos storm coming from that way was deep winter cold. It was savage because thunder around here was as rare as a three-headed dog. How bad was it? Wild Bill, a big trucker, was so nervous that he squirted his Super Jumbo Hotdog, chili, ketchup, mustard, cheese, onions and other stuff out of his bun onto the counter, floor and all over himself, including his face, when a monstrous thunderclap detonated above us in the black night. Nobody laughed.
Oh yeah, there was a family of five who had hauled their tired, frightened behinds off the interstate seeking cover from the kick ass storm. They were lucky they made it because their ragged, dilapidated car died at the bottom of the interstate’s exit ramp, a quarter of a mile from Glass Goblin. The family ran out of luck when they staggered battered, cold, shivering and drenched to the bone into Glass Goblin just before the full brunt of the storm hit. When they crawled in looking like drowned rats who had just escaped the Titanic they didn’t know they had just entered the Alamo. We fed the family. I didn’t charge them because they said they didn’t have any money. The father stuffed free Super Jumbo Hotdogs and it seemed like a gallon of soda into his fat body like it was his last meal and drink, which sadly turned out to be true. The mother, a thin, mousy looking thing didn’t eat and only drank water sparingly. She looked tired and scared half to death, poor dear. The couple had two cute little daughters about seven and eight-years-old. They stayed huddled under a pink blanket my pretty, kindhearted Margo gave them. One sat next to her mother, under the blanket quivering with fear, while the other sat in her mother’s lap, under the same blanket, quivering with fear. Their devil’s food cake, angle’s ice cream and hot chocolate sitting in front of the little dears went untouched, poor babies.
The fifth member of the family, a boy about five-years-old, crouched down in front of the shatterproof window that had a steel gate across it. Both window and gate covered the entire front of Glass Goblin. Steel four-feet-high, half a foot thick poles were in front of the window. They were built to stop a speeding eighteen-wheel truck. Margo had draped an old green army blanket over him. With his little fingers clutching the windowsill, the kid peaked wide-eyed and mouth wide open out into the storm ravaged night. He looked like one of those soldiers in the trenches of World War I as bombs, bullets and gas savaged the landscape beyond. His frightened mother kept begging him to get his little tail away from the window and come to the booth the family was camping out in before lightning fried him, or a monster came out of the night, through the window and ate him. He ignored her, or maybe he was just too scared, poor little kid.
Deputy Tom Morgan crept up to the restaurant in his black, police issued, tank like truck. Hounded by the storm he literally crawled into Glass Goblin.
“Hot damn dog!” howled Deputy Morgan as he forced the shatterproof, glass door closed against the wind, rain and hail that were trying to get in and get us. “If this ain’t the drunk-crazy daddy of all damned storms then it has to be his dog-ugly mama! Ha!
“Cup of coffee woman! And one Giant Bigdog Burger Deluxe! To hell with to go, I’m eating it here and staying here! Not for fantastic sex with each and every one of the most beautiful woman in each state of the union, or the Sultan of Borneo’s entire wealth, which I hear is somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred billion good old U.S. American dollars, would I go back out into that! Ha! Ha!”
The fat deputy pulled his foul weather gear off. Ice-cold water cascaded off onto the counter top, Howard Glenn Moose on his left side and Mike Tooth on his right side. Both truckers gave the deputy dirty looks, then silently moved their wet bodies and soggy food to dryer places. The deputy then flopped his wide, fat ass down on the stool at the counter. He’d broken three stools previously. The deputy ignored the truckers.
“Animal,” said Joe a small, wiry, retired trucker, to himself.
Joe, who was busy cutting up potatoes and onions, and had spied the deputy’s disrespectful move, abandoned that task. He went and got a mop and bucket in order to clean up the mess the pig of a deputy made before someone fell and got hurt. The deputy ignored him too.
“The uncouth dog,” I muttered under my breath.
I wearily tossed two, half-pound hamburger patties on the hot grill for the deputy’s Giant Bigdog Burger Deluxe. I then tossed a pound of French Fries into a basket and then into a hot deep fry vat.
As I wiped the wet counter in front of Deputy Morgan the door opened and everybody in Glass Goblin stopped, whatever they were doing, turned and looked that way. A dark, gaunt faced, skeleton thin, hounded looking man with wet, long, black stringy hair, a long black stringy beard, hairy arms, hands, legs and feet walked in. He quietly, meekly closed the door against the driving wind, hail and rain that were growing more savage by the second. I instantly sensed that something was real wrong with this customer. My gut told me that he was running from someone, or something. That he was being pursued from others, himself, or both. Why? Because it was midnight, darker then the devil’s butt and he was wearing ink-black sunglasses. The wind was hurricane velocity and Arctic cold in midwinter. The clouds were spitting out bullet velocity ice and all the stranger wore was; a thin black wife-beater, no name tee shirt, black jeans cut off just above the knees, open toed sandals, no socks, no hat, no gloves and no pack. The stranger radiated cold and looked like he’d just climbed up out of the Arctic Ocean in midwinter. Yet the man didn’t shed one drop of water, didn’t shiver one little bit and didn’t seem to give a damn that he was being chased by pneumonia whose master was Death. He meekly sat down at the far end of the counter, as far away as you could get from everyone else in Glass Goblin, and still be in the place.
“Coffee please,” I heard him say softly, gently to my honey Margo with a ghost of a smile on his gaunt, hairy face. “Sorry about being wet ma’am. It’s a little damp outside.”
“Don’t worry about it puppy,” said Margo gently with a tired smile on her foxy face as she slid an empty cup in front of him. “Are you okay? You’re dressed a little, light, for the weather.”
“I’m okay ma’am,” said the stranger.
“There are, things, that bother me. Weather, no matter how bad, is not one of them. I truly appreciate your concern though. Thank you.”
Margo, the best waitress in the world, poured him a steaming cup of coffee. We don’t serve our coffee faucet warm like they do at those famous clown restaurants; we serve our Java lava hot. The stranger picked up, put that molten cup to his graveyard cold lips and drained it in the blink if an eye.
“Would you like another cup,” said Margo looking motherly concerned and spectator impressed at his fire-eating act, “a bite to eat?”
He looked with an unreadable expression, because of his ink-black glasses, at the grilled burgers and side order of fries that I had been just finished fixing for the ass-wipe deputy.
“No ma’am. I’ll pass on the food. You do serve a good cup of coffee though. I do thank you.”
The stranger then stuck his left hand into his wet pocket pulled out a single, soggy, five dollar bill, gently straightened it out and lay it on the counter. Coffee’s all you can drink for one dollar, a Giant Big dog Burger with the works four dollars. I’d have given him a free meal after seeing how nice he was to my bone tired Margo.
“Keep the change ma’am,” he said as he stood up to leave. “And again, thank you.”
“Thank you,” said Margo with a touch of fear in her sweet voice. “You know, you don’t have to go back out into that. I advise you not to go back out there into that. You’re more then welcome to stay here till the storm passes. That’s one of the reasons we’re open, you know, a safe haven. Hypothermia, drowning and getting struck by lightning have been known to, you know, kill people.”
“Again ma’am, thanks,” said the stranger with a ghost of a smile and an unreadable look in his eyes do to his ink-black sunglasses, “but no, I think I’d better move on. You have a good night, be safe and stay pretty.”
Deputy Morgan had been watching the stranger like a hungry pit bulldog watches a mongrel mutt that wanders into his yard. He got up and stepped between the stranger and the door.
“I’d like my coffee now!” he said to Margo with ice in his voice.
“Hey!” I said to Deputy Morgan. “You be nice to her!”
Deputy Morgan ignored me.
“Mister, you didn’t drive up!” said the deputy to the stranger as he hiked his gun belt up under his fat belly. “I would have seen your headlights through the front window. How did you get here?”
“I walked, sir,” said the stranger with cool politeness.
“Mister!” said Deputy Morgan with growing heat. “There’s not a home, farm, motel, or bar, or anybody or anything else within a twenty-mile radius of this place! That means you would have to had walked a long, long way to get here! It’s illegal to walk the interstate, and crazy, to walk the back roads, on a hell bent night like this! I want to know where you’re coming from?! I want to know where you’re going?! I want to know why you’re dressed for a hot, midnight summer stroll when it’s crazy, messed up out there in the dead of night?! I want to know if you’re a criminal, a crazy, suicidal or all of three?!
“But most of all I want to know who you are?! Let’s see some identification!”
It was then that the mother of all thunderclaps exploded somewhere out and up in the hell night. The monstrous detonation shook Glass Goblin something terribly wicked. It made everyone cringe, flinch, jump or scream. Everyone except the stranger, he was cool, as though he had not heard the explosion, or didn’t care.
“I haven’t done anything officer,” said the stranger. “And I don’t have any . . .”
“A monster is coming!” screamed the little boy at the window.
The little kid, fixated on what was happening out in the chaos night, had ignored the drama that was taking place behind him. He jumped up from his quivering, crouching position in front of the plate glass window like the devil himself was out there in the storm raped night. He threw the army blanket off, turned, and ran like a scalded ass puppy. The little kid’s sisters screeched, threw their blanket off and clutched their mother. The father reached down and grabbed his son by his shirttail as he raced past the family’s booth headed toward the back of the restaurant. The father, with both fat cheeks stuffed with his daughter’s cake after finishing off his hotdogs, looked down at his son like he was seeing him for the first time in his life. The kid continued to scream and tried to run out of his shirt and his father’s grasp. But alas he wasn’t going anywhere.
“A monster is coming!” wailed and flailed and screamed and hollered the little kid. “It’s big! It’s ugly! It’s going to kill us dead and then eat us all!”
Poor little kid jumped up and down hollering like a trapped little hobgoblin. Then the kid peed on himself. He was that scared, that terrified.
Suddenly the lights went out in Glass Goblin and every man, woman and child was shrouded in gloom and darkness. All turned with growing apprehension, everyone except the stranger who remained cool and calm. He looked out the big, plate glass window the little kid was screaming his little head off about and was trying to get away from. There was a green glow out there in the savage night, and it was getting bigger, brighter and closer.
“What in hell is going on?” said Deputy Morgan as he, in a manly way, unsnapped and clutched his holstered 9mm weapon.
The emergency lights kicked on.
“Everybody keep back and stay calm!” said Deputy Morgan, “I’ll investigate this! Scared kid probably sees an approaching truck!”
Deputy Morgan stalked up to the window and glared out into the storm savaged night. The green glow was getting closer and closer.
“Mama!” screamed Deputy Morgan as he reeled back from the window.
Deputy Morgan turned and with a horror stricken look on his face, ran like hell toward the back of the restaurant.
Before, it, crashed into the steel gate and shatterproof window, the rest of us saw what the kid and the deputy had seen. I was standing beside Margo. I grabbed her hand. She and I, like everyone else in Glass Goblin, except the stranger, fled to the back of the restaurant. The stranger just stood there and looked at a monster that was charging at us out of the hell night. The stranger was brave, crazy, or stupid. He began to back wearily away.
And what a monster it was that was coming strait at us from out of the demon riding storm. It may not have been the emperor of hell, but it was better then 99 percent of the pretenders. The thing knocked over several of the four-feet high steel and concrete pillions that were in front of Glass Goblin like they were bowling pins. He then crashed a black, bumpy, acid puss dripping, eyeless, mouthless, noiseless, earless head the size of a bull tyrannosaur rex’s head through the steel gate that covered the front of Glass Goblin and acted like it wasn’t there. It then crashed through the shatterproof glass window that covered the front of Glass Goblin and it acted like the glass wasn’t there either. Glass Goblin’s flesh of stone and skeleton of steel buckled when the rest of the monster’s huge body crashed into it. The thing looked like its mother had been gang raped by a king size crocodile, a king size octopus, a king size bat, a king size snake, a king size lobster and a king size spider. And its king size birth was the result. Its sixty-feet-long, fifteen-feet-high, eight-feet-wide, night slaughtering black body glowed a dirty-green. And it had a horrible stench. It smelled like a tropical killing ground of a thousand sun rotting human corpses. The smell was so foul, so corrupt that those who had eaten threw up, as they ran, those who hadn’t eaten, gagged as they ran. That was everybody except the stranger. The smell didn’t seem to affect him as he continued to back away with that stony unreadable expression on his face. As for the creature, it was dragging and flapping five black, razor edged, spikes tipped, bat-wings. Each wing was about the size and length of those on a single engine airplane. That monster, that thing, was bulling, staggering and flopping around like it didn’t have a clue on how to operate in Earth gravity. Everybody, except the stranger, was screaming, frightened, thoroughly terrified as that, monsters, that horror, that thing, bulled its way in destroying the front of Glass Goblin.
As I said, most of the people in the restaurant ran to the back of the restaurant. Wild Bill was the exception. In a panic, his eyes rolling around in his head, shrieking like a lunatic, he ran toward the unlocked front glass door. The door was located next to the shattered front plate glass window the monster was coming through.
Four, all pro linebackers could not have stopped Wild Bill. He was trying his damndest to escape and he was generating a hell of a lot of speed and power in doing so. But in hindsight it was a bad move, poor guy. He had about as much chance of escape as a snowflake in hell. Three-dozen black tentacle legs propelled that monster around. They ranged in length from ten to twenty-five-feet, between the thickness of an average man’s forearm up to the thickness of a strong man’s chest. The monster’s tentacle legs had claws, hooks, sharp pointy teeth like things and other evil looking weapons on them. The monster lashed out at Wild Bill with blurring speed with one of those damn tentacle legs. Wild Bill, who must have weighted about two hundred seventy pounds, was guillotined in half, in the blink of an eye at the waist. The monster then grabbed the two flopping, quivering body parts with two other tentacle legs that had claws. Those claws dripped a black, evil nasty puss that was melting everything it touched; wood, steel and glass. Damn those legs on that damn creature. They looked like some sort of macabre Swiss Army Knife. It looked like a cosmic god was drunk on black wine or stoned on white fell, or both, when he put those damn legs on that damn creature. Some of them were for spearing, slicing, dicing and carrying that evil ugly body around. I guess we were lucky we never found out what the rest of those legs were for, probably for raping and ravaging something to hell and back. Meanwhile, back in our house of horror the monster carried the two bloody, bones, guts and bone spewing body parts of Wild Bill back to the winged body. It then whipped its eight feet thick, thirty-feet-long black torso tail around from outside Glass Goblin. Its thrashing knocked out one of the building’s concrete and steel corners and foundations, tarring out the whole front of Glass Goblin, wrecking the place. Half a dozen toothless, gummy mouths opened up in the nasty torso tail. The mouths vomited blood-red stomach acid all over poor, dead Wild Bill. The tentacle legs tore and cut up the dissolving, stomach acid putrefied body parts. The black monster then stuffed them into the hungry, greedy, slobbering mouths.
Just about everyone was petrified with fear, sick with revulsion, unable to move, in shock, as we cowered in the kitchen against the far, back wall, on the floor, under tables, crying, whimpering, wailing, whining and praying. The monster stopped for a minute. I believe it was the first time it had ever eaten a human. I believe it was deciding if it liked human flesh, bone and blood as it quivered all over. And I do believe poor Wild Bill was the best damn meal it had ever had in its miserable sorry life because it’s whole attitude changed. For suddenly it became eager, energized, greedy to kill us all and eat us all.
“Do something!” screamed Joe at Deputy Morgan who was hiding under a table, “before it kills us all!”
Deputy Morgan, who was one of the first to run, last to stop, seemed to suddenly remember that he was an officer of the law. Full of fear he peaked out from under a table, pulled his police issued eighteen shot automatic from his holster and with shaky hands started blazing away at the murderous thing. He didn’t kill it, didn’t even wound it. He did kill one of the truckers, Howard Moose Glen, who was hit in his head by a bullet that ricocheted off the evil beast’s hide and another bullet that wounded Mike, in his shoulder. Damn our sorry ass luck. The ugly mother had a bulletproof ass and now Deputy Morgan had gone and made it madder then it was before by shooting at it. With quicksilver speed the monster reached and grabbed, with three of those damn tentacle legs, Officer Morgan, yanked his fat ass out from under that table and lanced, sliced, cut and tore him to pieces. It then snatched the body parts back to its throbbing light killing black torso, threw up that red barbecue sauce vomit all over the dismembered body parts and stuffed the dead cop, his badge, his clothes, his shoes, his bullets and his gun into several greedy mouths.
“Out the back door!” shouted the stranger as he grabbed, picked up the two crying, petrified little girls in each arm and walked swiftly into the storeroom.
Now why didn’t I, or any of the rest of us, think of that? We didn’t think about it because we were too damn scared to think that’s why. We all ran into the gloomy storeroom. It was a good idea, but it just wasn’t our night to be lucky. You see, when the monster slammed into and wrecked Glass Goblin it knocked the restaurant off its foundation. The back door was made of solid steel to keep burglars out. And now it was jammed down into the concrete floor and the top and side cinder block and steel reinforced walls. It wouldn’t open. It wouldn’t budge one little bit. We were trapped. There was no escape, except through death.
The monster was coming. It had destroyed the restaurant, smashed through the kitchen, dismembered, dissolved and devoured Howard Moose Glen and was now destroying the brick wall to the storeroom that was between it and us.
“We’re all going to die!” screamed Apollo, a big, muscular truck driver. Then he fainted. So much for Apollo, the biggest and strongest among us going down like a man.
“No!” shouted the stranger.
He gently set the terrified little girls down and shoved them into their terrified mother’s waiting arms. He then began beating on the steel door with his fist as I desperately, hopelessly tried to pry it open with a little crowbar. The door would not budge.
“No!” screamed the stranger, the last among us to show fear.
He tore off his ink-black sunglasses and we saw his eyes. His eyes were red and glowing. My first impressions of him where right, There was something wrong with him. The stranger began to whine and growl and assault the solid steel door with his bare fist. The stranger began to change.
He changed into a werewolf.
I told you it was one hell of a night. We started out with one monster. We ended up with two. The werewolf was black, rail lean and mean looking. He ignored us who were trapped with him as he hammered and battered the steel door. He was intent on one thing, escape. He raised back a clawed hand that would have destroyed what was left of the wolf-battered door. One more of his Herculean blows would have knocked it off its hinges and out into the storm savaged night. A few more seconds the werewolf and the rest of us just didn’t have. The alien monster was now in the storeroom. It was practically on top of us. And damn if it was going to let some little, extra hairy human with long claws and pointy teeth keep it from good human eats. The alien monster lashed out with two of those tentacle legs, solid like steel beams when it wanted them to, pliant like steel whips when it wanted them to. It wrapped one of the tentacles around the werewolf’s arm that he was about to use to hammer the door and guillotined it the second razor sharp tentacle. It then snatched the arm, cut off at the werewolf’s elbow, back to the body with the other tentacle leg. It squirted that barbecue sauce like vomit on it and stuffed it into one of the hungry, slobbering mouths.
The cornered, bleeding, one-armed werewolf jumped and howled like the wounded, demented, trapped soul he was. He then turned and growled and glowered at the monster that had wounded it. Escape was forgotten. The werewolf was also a warhound, a hunter – a slayer.
The wounded, enraged werewolf charged the alien monster. The other world monster tried to get a grip on the berserk werewolf with half a dozen of its tentacle legs, but the werewolf was too strong, too fast, cornered and wounded. He broke one tentacle leg completely off with his remaining arm and bit off three with his fang filled mouth. The werewolf then slammed into the monster’s head and began to savage it with its one clawed hand and two clawed feet. Then the werewolf bit the monster, in his black head with its dirty-green glow, with his fangs. That was when the alien monster screamed.
Till the day I die I will regret that the werewolf did not let the alien monster kill us all and eat us all. For you see there are things far worse then being torn to pieces and devoured by a monster. The black monster’s scream was like no scream ever heard in our reality. It was a mental scream that knocked every man and woman in that storeroom to his or her knees, stomach or back. The three children were knocked unconscious. Through tears of pure agony squeezed through eyes fussed shut with mind poisoning pain we all saw who, what, and where the other world monster came from.
His-her-its name was Rerascccucc. He-she-it was an intelligent being from a race called tredcassxcgr. He-she-it had three, different, sexes. The third sex was used in inner species mental battles. The winner dominated and dictated which sex the loser would use in coupling, carrying to term and birthing the offsprings. He-she-it was from another dimension, another reality located at the end of time, space and forever. A super bolt of energy, the mother of all thunderclaps, the same one we heard that scared most of us half to death just before Rerascccucc’s arrival, had torn a hole in the fabric between dimensions. It was then that he-she-it came through to our plain of existence, our reality. In some ways tredcassxcgrs’ are more intelligent than mankind, in other ways less. In every way more predatory, more blood thirsty, more war like and much more savage. The reason was because tredcassxcgrs’ ids, egos, from birth to death were molded by an immortal being who knew not empathy, who knew not mercy, who had no concept what so ever of love.
Rerascccucc came from the end of time, space and forever. The alien realm was boxed in by six stars whose total mass was twice the mass of Sol, Earth’s home star. The star cluster was one-fourth the size of Earth’s solar system. Rerascccucc’s homeworld was one of a hundred life-nurturing planets that ranged from an Earth size moon too twice Earth’s mass. All the planets wandered through the star cluster in a Goldie Locks Zone, not too hot, not too cold. There were mountain ranges on some of those planets that made the Himalayan range look like a speed bunk and trenches on others that made Challenger Deep look like a road side ditch.
The close orbit stars nurtured the imprisoned planets with life nurturing light, heat and water. More then one billion species ranging from microscopic to one-twentieth the size of Earth’s moon lived above, on, under and throughout the alien reality. The diverse lifeforms, which inhabited those worlds and sub-worlds, were born, lived, fought, ate, were eaten and died within atmospheres that went from extremes of barely breathable air to oxygen rich. On some of those alien worlds were oceans ten times the size of Earth that were teaming with life. Some of those oceans were more than a hundred miles deep. There were jungle worlds five times the size of Earth. Some of those jungles, teaming with life, had more surface space then Earth’s entire surface. There were jungles on those planets that had plants that were higher then Mt. Everest and deeper then the Marianne Trench.
Tredcassxcgrs are seven billion strong and a minority. On their home world tredcassxcgrs, the dominant species, hunted, killed and devoured other species, some intelligent, some not, without remorse or empathy. I saw more, much more, things of heavenly beauty and things out of the deepest, darkest bowels of hell.
Flat on my back, feeling like I’d been vomited up by the devil, my mind and soul, returned to this world, this reality. Bleeding out of my noise I saw Rerascccucc fight with all his-her-its might to get the werewolf off his-her-its head. He-she-it shook, slashed, wrestled and pummeled the werewolf with his-her-its body, wings and tentacle legs. Glass Goblin was destroyed. The miracle was that most of us survived.
The werewolf lost an arm in his first contact with Rerascccucc, but its evil, its savagery, its were, had intensified to the point where Rerascccucc could not stop the man-wolf. The werewolf clung to the tredcassxcgr doing horrible damage to he-she-its head with tooth and claw. A black liquid, one of several, with the velocity of a fire hose squirted from one of Rerascccucc’s head wounds. The fat father of the family, using his bulk to shield his wife and children, took the full blast and was drenched from head to toe in the evil stuff. He screamed in agony as he rolled around on the floor as though he were on fire. Then he stiffened and went still. He was dead. Within seconds his three hundred fifty-pound body dissolved into a puddle of black tar like substance.
The werewolf broke through Rerascccucc’s armored skull. Like a snake he slithered inside the black head. It was then that the tredcassxcgr gave up the fight. He-she-it backed its split wide open, black blood covered ass out of Glass Goblin’s ruins, on a dozen tentacle legs, all that it had left, faster than I could have run.
I staggered to my feet, and almost passed out from the mind shattering pain in my head put there by Rerascccucc. Somehow I made my way to Margo and fell to my knees before her.
I kissed Margo on her quivering lips as she sat on the floor gripping both her hands in her head, eyes closed, noise bleeding. I knew her poor head was caught in a torturous vice of pain. I knew because I was experiencing a similar near brain attack. I grabbed a couple of packs of tablecloths, put them on the floor and gently eased Margo down on her back and her head on the table clothes for a pillow. I then used a clean apron, that I kept stuffed in a back pocket, to staunch Margo’s bleeding noise.
“Margo baby, hang in there.”
“My head,” she cried. “It’s killing me! It’s killing me!”
“Shh baby I know,” I said as I gently took her in my arms. “I know. Everything is going to be okay. Just lay still and hang in there. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t go,” she said as I laid her back down.
“I’ll be back my precious. I promise. I love you.”
“I love you,” she cried.
I kissed Margo on her lips. I then staggered, in great pain, to my feet and looked around. The adults either sat or lay on the floor moaning or silent, in great mental pain. The children were still unconscious. Somehow I found the phone in the wreckage. It was dead. I then did a foolish thing. I staggered out of Glass Goblin’s wreckage into the night.
The storm had gone elsewhere in time and space. I learned the storm would land on other life nurturing worlds – with yet another tredcassxcgr embedded in it to kick other alien’s poor, sorry asses.
Closed coffin black clouds raced across a full, blood red moon. Across the dark road in front of destroyed Glass Goblin lay Rerascccucc, in a cold pasture. Rerascccucc head was a butchered wreck. The creature’s body and wings were not moving. Only a few of his-her-its tentacle legs, dead reflexes, churned and wiggled feebly in the cold night air. I could sense that Rerascccucc was dead. His-her-its black soul had ghosted away from its ugly body, I hope to burn forever in some alien hell.
A section of Rerascccucc’s chest armor exploded outward. Out of the black, foul corruption climbed one beat up, chewed up werewolf. He was dragging behind him, with his remaining hand, a big, black, man heavy glob with pipes and hoses that dripped black, poisonous blood. I believed the thing was Rerascccucc’s heart. The werewolf stood on top of his dead foe. He hoisted the dead monster’s massive organ above his head. He then hurled it off the body to the ground below with so much force that it disintegrated. The werewolf then turned his black-blood coated muzzle with its moon white fangs to the cold, blood-red moon and howled in triumph. After his primal victory call he looked down and around and saw me. My blood ran cold as I looked, for the second and last time, into his red, satanic eyes.
The werewolf leaped off the dead monster, and charged. I back-pedaled, tripped over some storm generated trash and fell flat on my back. The hell hound was on top of me in an instant. His rabid, steel jaws were gaped wide. I threw up my left arm as he went for my throat. He bit down shattering it. But then, as I screamed in pain and looked into the eyes of death, the werewolf froze. He began to quiver and shake all over. In great pain I slithered out from under my convulsing, would be murderer and staggered to my feet. As I watched, the werewolf changed back into human form.
“Where’s my arm?” said the stranger softly as he lay on his back and looked quietly, at his bleeding stump. “It’s gone. Still, it doesn’t hurt half as bad as my head.”
He looked up at the last of the blood moon that winked out behind a black cloud. He then looked over at the dead monster.
“I can’t remember what happens to me in my demon form, but by the look of things I must have been in one hell of a fight with that, whatever the hell it is, or was.”
He looked at my bleeding, shattered arm in a knowing way.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but not as sorry as you’re going to be. Good luck . . .”
He closed his blood red eyes, laid his head back, quivered softly, sighed and then died.
We never did find out who he was, where he was coming from, or where he was going. An hour after he, and the tredcassxcgr were dead, their bodies, bones and all, dissolved into a black pond of tar like substance.
# # #
That was a year ago. Nothing will grow where the two monsters fell, died and melted. Glass Goblin was completely destroyed that night. The owner of the restaurant, Mrs. Angela Rothwell Sinclair, a rich, old widow was traumatized and horrified after she heard what happened that night. She had the wreck torn down. She refused to have the place rebuilt. Mrs. Sinclair treated her employees like family. She had top of the line insurance thus Margo, Joe and my out of court, multi million dollar settlements, for injuries, pain and suffering, meant that none of us would have to work again. Mrs. Sinclair didn’t have to but because she was a Christian and a caring woman gave, out her deep pockets. She gave the murdered father, his family, the injured and murdered truckers, their families, as well as the fallen policeman and his family also received multi million dollar settlements. She made sure those who died were given the best funerals and burial plots money could buy. Mrs. Sinclair made sure all the survivors of that night, physical and mental injuries were taken care of by the best doctors money could buy.
But as I said before, there are things worse then being slaughtered and eaten; things no amount of care, money and time can heal. The two sisters, Tomalina and Tiffany Wainright that were hit with Rerascccucc’s mental blast that night, were knocked into a coma for a month. I was afraid to, I didn’t want to, but for some reason beyond my control I was compelled to visit their little brother Timmy Wainright who was in a high security wing of one of the best hospitals in the state.
Rerascccucc’s mental blast knocked Timmy Wainright, at the time he was five-years-old, into a permanent coma. He had been in a vegetative state for three-years when I finally went and visited him. Dr. Reynolds, Timmy’s primary care provider, led me in to see the kid. There was a sickly, dirty-green glow in Timmy’s eyes. There was a rancid, near vomit provoking smell in the room. It smelled like Rerascccucc. A light murdering black, foot-long, pencil lead thin, hair thick follicle was wrapped around and embedded in the kid’s little neck. The eyeless, mouth less tip seemed to track my movements. The thing was alive. It moved around like a predatory snake. Timmy had not spoken, that is, he had not spoken until he saw me.
“Little human,” said Timmy in a voice that was extremely old, wise and alien as he looked directly into my eyes. “I own and possess the body of this infant. My name is Death. I am your new god. I have been calling for you to come and see me and you have ignored me! For that I must punish you!”
“Where is Timmy?” I said ignoring the skin crawling and back of the neck, hair raising threat.
“His soul I keep as one of my minor pets in my realm at the end of time and space,” said the alien called Death. “He is chained at my immortal feet. Once he is battle trained, so that he can defend himself, I will let his spirit roam unsupervised about my fortress.”
“You can’t do that!” I said to the body snatcher. “His body and soul do not belong to you! You are wrong to have enslaved him! We humans are free spirits! We belong to no one!”
“I do what I want, to whom I want, whenever I want, as long as I want! My every wish, my every command, is god law! Once your race was free, now you all belong to me! It would serve your puny, insignificant little existence to remember that I, am a god! Show me total respect!”
“Okay, okay, Death, sir,” I said as the alien possessed kid stared at me in a sinister, vile way. “I apologize. So, who are you? Forgive my ignorance, but, what are you?”
“I will give you a little history of who I am, what I am.” said he who possessed the body of Timmy. “Around the time that your puny, insignificant little planet was being formed, one hundred gods, and the one goddess, who shall go unnamed, climbed up out of the molten, primordial clay in my realm-dimension or what you call solar system. Though constant wars, among ourselves, there is now only the god Slaughter, the one goddess, who shall go unnamed, and myself.”
“Mr. Death, sir, how did you come across Timmy?”
“I am creator and god of a dozen races of intelligent beings. I call one of those races’ bladerocks. They are my second best warriors. They aren’t very intelligent, about equal to you humans. They are carnivorous apes. Each weighs one ton and stands eight-feet-tall. They have the feeding habits of your planet’s starving piranhas and the disposition of your planet’s Tasmanian Devils. Fifty-percent of their body weight is armor plating. Forty-percent is muscle. Ten-percent is brain. They have in their muzzle’s thirty, foot long fangs. They have on each hand and foot ten claws of steel.
“An army of my bladerocks, one hundred million strong, were battling Slaughter’s armies on a disputed, war ravaged planet at the boundaries of his and my territory. After my forces won, half of them fell in battle, they found Timmy’s tiny what you would call, soul, wandering lost and alone crying for his mother on the planet’s battle-wrecked surface. They realized that he was an infant, no threat to them and unlike anything they had ever seen. A rare treasure. They captured him, retreated from the wrecked battle-planet and brought him to me. I rewarded them for a battle won by slaughtering and feasting on one thousand of their newborn.
“It was a simple matter for me to track Timmy’s spirit back to your small, insignificant little planet located in your puny little galaxy at the edge of the forever’.”
“The human race will not tolerate evil such as you!” I said with false bravery. “We will fight you! We will defeat you!”
“Little human,” said Death in the stolen body of soul lost Timmy. “Your disrespect irks me. You fail to understand that I am a god. For the moment I will overlook your stupidity because of your race’s low intelligence. I am not remotely impressed with you, little humans. I have forgotten more about the thirteen universes than your puny, insignificant little race knows about this one, insignificant, little universe. As for your battle savvy, you have none. Your weapons are crude and primitive. To me they are the equivalent of sticks and stones. I can eat hot war minerals that burn in one of my armories and fart anti fire. One of my gas eruptions would make the detonation of you little human’s entire nuclear arsenal feel like a warm breeze. That single fart could snuff out all life on your sorry little rock of a planet.
“But, I am not here to war with the likes of you. Your race is as beneath me as rats are beneath you. Exterminating insignificant little lifeforms such as you is a sport I tired of countless millions of years ago.”
“Mr. Death, sir,” I said as I asked the question I dreaded and when answered will haunt me till I draw my final breathe. “What do you want? Why are you here?”
“Werewolves! They are the reason I am here. I was impressed, which is a rare emotion in my immortal life, that one them killed one of my tredcassxcgrs in combat. Tredcassxcgrs are, or were, my best slayers, my number one fighters. It takes an exceptional monster to slay one of them. I created them to be my personal bodyguards and scouts. But, I am, if nothing else, practical. I am always on the lookout for better killers, better instruments of death. I cast, ever so often, about the length of your micro-lifespan, out on the chaos winds of the forevers’, my strongest and most savage tredcassxcgrs. With my god’s eye, I see, most of the time with boredom, rarely with interest, how my scouts, attack and are attacked, fight, kill and in this rare instance, are killed.”
“Are you telling me that storm was not natural?! That you created it to send Rerascccucc here to kill us?!”
“You’re smarter then you look, little human. Yes I created a rift in time, space and the thirteen forevers from my stupendous reality to your poor excuse of a reality to send a tredcassxcgrs, a high captain among his race, through to see if any of you could fight.
“I have harvested thirteen thousand men warring in an area of your planet you call the Congo. It was a simple matter for me to turn them all into werewolves and send them back to my dimension. I have sent them down into, Slaughter’s fortress, or heart of darkness, on what you little humans call, a suicide mission. I have commanded them to come to me. If just one werewolf is able to fight his way up out of that hell realm, something no other marauders have ever done, come to my god foot, kiss it, then die, then I will have found a warrior supreme.
“I will then turn your entire race, all seven billion five hundred million of you, into werewolves and take you all and your little planet, back to my dimension. My plan is simple. I will then dump your planet, full of werewolf, down inside Slaughter’s twenty-five-planet territory-realm. While his forces are busy killing you and you are busy killing his forces I shall throw my entire army ninety billion strong against him and destroy him once and for all.
“After I have slain Slaughter, captured his planets, captured, enslaved, or destroyed the remnants of his races, I win the right to breed with the lone goddess, who shall remain unnamed, of my realm. I will then father a new race of gods.”
“Mr. Death, sir, that sounds like a hell of a lot of trouble to go through just to get some pussy. I’m curious, what is that rope thing, wrapped around Timmy’s neck?”
“What is your tiny mind up to little human? Are you searching for weakness in me? A way to defeat me? I am invincible to a small, insignificant lifeforms such as you. As for the rope thing wrapped around the infant’s neck, it allows me to see, hear and speak in your dimension. My god-body is back in my dimension, at the core of my impregnable fortress. My fortress is the size of your moon, one of twenty-eight planets that I am lord and master over. I live down in my fortress encased in a suit of living, invulnerable armor. Even if the warriors of your race, soldiers you call them, could get to my dimension, which is impossible for a species as primitive as yours, they would not have a clue on how to break into my living fortress, which eats fission, fusion and everything else that attempts to cross it boundaries. My living armor, which I never take off, allows me to walk on the surfaces of suns and not be harmed. Not to mention getting through my billions of battle hardened troops who live on my planets that surround my fortress and defend me against my enemies. One and all would gladly kill for me, die for me, their creator, their god.
“Bottom line, it is impossible for you and your kind to find or kill me. I am invulnerable to anything you, little humans, can do to me.”
“If we kill the thing wrapped around Timmy’s neck, it will kill you!”
“No. That’s not possible. What, you call the black snake thing wrapped around Timmy’s neck, is one of a million living hairs that cover my god body, back in my reality, down in my three thousand miles deep fortress, beneath my mile-deep armor. The single strand of hair you see and communicate with is only a microscopic part of me in your reality. To kill it would be like destroying a strand of your hair. And what do you mean about we? I have more agents then you could imagine among you little feeble minded humans. Everyone in this hospital including the doctor standing next to you are under my complete mental control. Every world leader and renegade leader are under my complete control. One and all would kill for me, or die for me which I expect nothing less of from my slaves.
“Remember, little human, I know where your planet is, you do not know where I am. Now, your little race’s only hope of survival is that at least one werewolf escapes from Slaughter’s territory. If none escape, I will write your race off as a loss. I will then unleash one of my black dreams upon you. My, nightmare, will kill your entire race.”
“Why would you do that?!” I said. “As you said yourself, we are no threat to you!”
“True. And that is the way it shall remain. I shall either enslave your race and have you killed in battle, or destroy your race to insure you do not fall into Slaughter’s claws and he use you against me. For all I know he has somehow, someway tracked me to this puny little planet located at the ends of the thirteen forevers. For all I know he already has spies here watching, waiting. Once there were one hundred gods, now there are two. The, other, is every bit as smart, every bit as strong, every bit as ruthless as I. If I let you live, he may take advantage of it and use you in some evil, nefarious way against me.
“I have not lived four billion years by being kind, loving and benevolent. Gods such as they were killed. I know because I murdered, devoured many of them and their territories.
“The only reason I called you here, little human, is to probe your mind, to see if you could be of any use to me, you are not. To see if you knew anything, you do not. Now, I must punish you for not coming when I first summoned you. Eliminate you because you know too much. The reward for those who disobey me always has been and always will be death. You . . . are to commit suicide. You are dismissed. Go . . . and die!”
“You heard him!” I said to Dr. Reynolds who had been standing quietly next to me. “We have to do something! We have to stop him!”
“What are you talking about?” said Dr. Reynolds as he looked at me with a dirty-green glow in his eyes. “While I have been standing here watching, you have been talking to Timmy as though he can hear you. Timmy is in a coma, has been in a coma and shall remain in a coma.”
“Didn’t you hear what he just said?!” I screamed. “He’s going to kill the entire human race or enslave and then kill the entire human race!”
“Who?!” said Dr. Reynolds as he looked at me in an unsettling way with that dirty-green look in his eyes.
He touched a button at his waist. Two big, male nurses came into the room. They had dirty-green glows in their eyes.
“Why . . . why . . .”
“Sir,” said Dr. Reynolds. “Again I repeat, my patient has not spoken since you entered this hospital room. I let you see Timmy because I thought you might be able to help, get a response out of him since you were there when he fell into his vegetative state. Obviously I was wrong.”
“But . . .”
“Sir,” said Dr. Reynolds, “you have one of three choices. You can be a guess in our psyche ward. You can be a guess at the police station. You can leave!”
“But what about that string wrapped around and is sticking out of Timmy’s neck?”
“There is no string wrapped around Timmy’s neck,” said Dr. Reynolds.
In desperation I reached for the hair follicle of a god. One of the male nurse’s clamped his hand painfully down on my wrist before I could touch it. I looked up into his eyes. The dirty-green glow in his eyes was now very intense, very angry. The other nurse grabbed my other arm. There were angry, dirty-green glows in his eyes.
“It’s against hospital policy,” said Dr. Reynolds with a cryptic look on his face and an angry, dirty-green glows in his eyes, “for any non hospital personnel to touch, molest, or injure a patient in our care.”
I looked one last time at the glooming god Death in the body of poor Timmy. The two nurses, or guards, then physically, painfully escorted me out of the hospital.
It was the last time I saw Timmy.
I was sick down in my soul. And a haunting thought gnawed at the back of my mind, if, Death, were a god – then I’d hate to meet a devil.
# # #
We survivors of that night at Glass Goblin are all in really bad shape. Rerascccucc’s physic scream, the dirty beast, poisoned our minds. We get the most horrific headaches. No painkillers, no matter how powerful, stop them. Mike Toth, Ralf Porter and Toby Orteze nicknamed Apollo, three of the truckers, and Mrs. Loise Wainright, mother of the three children, couldn’t stand the mind flailing migraines, they all committed suicide. The last two truckers, Ruben Sinclair and Willy Fontain, turned into drink the blood of their victims, serial, homicidal maniacs. Swat police shoot both truckers to death in the midst of their separate, bloody rampages. Joe’s in an asylum in a padded cell, in a straight jacket, wearing a diaper, drooling, crying and screaming, his mind gone. Timmy’s two older sisters, Tomalina and Tiffany, were given lobotomies. They now sit in a hospital holding each other’s hand with smiles on their cute, brain dead faces.
# # #
“With this ring I do thee wed,” I then put a two-caret diamond and white gold wedding ring on my dead beloved’s finger, bent over her casket – and kissed her on her cold, dead, lips. Margo, my love, my precious, died during childbirth.
# # #
Our son survived childbirth. At four-months-old he can: walk, is the size of a four-year-old, has the motor skills of a twelve-year-old, has the mental development, knowledge and awareness of a twenty-one-year-old. His eyes are; black with a dirty-green glow in them. He can talk, but he never talks to me. Late at night I hear him talking. He is talking to, I believe, the god Death. His conversations frighten me. My son frightens me.
Last night I triple deadbolts locked my son’s bedroom door. This morning when I unlocked the door he was gone. Somehow, someway he bypassed the room’s alarm system. Somehow he bent the window bars open, climbed eleven floors down the building to the ground, or he flew away. I’m afraid to file a missing person’s report. If I told the authorities a quarter of what I know they would not believe me and lock me up for child endangerment, or worse. There are probably agents of Death among them. I’m sure I am being watched. My son is probably on some nefarious undertaking for Death. I am afraid my son is a herald of doom. I hope I never see him again.
# # #
Dried blood is under my fingernails. Bits of human flesh are stuck between my teeth. My mouth tastes of bitter human blood. I vomit black blood. My diarrhea is crimson and never ending. I feel one of those monster headaches coming. I put a 50. caliber revolver in my mouth with a single silver bullet in it. The way I see it, better to go to a hell I know, then wait for one I have seen and truly fear to the bottom of my damned soul. I spin the cylinder. It stops. I pull the trigger. The hammer falls on an empty chamber. From behind black war- clouds a dozen alien moons and planets appear. I begin to change into a werewolf. I spin the cylinder. It stops. I pull the tri . . .