ISSUE #9 (December 2020)
Written by Travis Hiltz and John Cheese |
‘CANDY AND CRISIS’
Featuring: Cain and Abel by Travis Hiltz!! A house, situated next to the graveyard, loomed up out of the night. The chill wind rattled the shutters and swirled around the dead leaves that lay, unraked, on the lawn. A narrow, uneven walkway lead up to heavy, wooden door, that waited, hungrily, expectantly, for someone to knock. Lights flickered, uninvitingly, in the windows. Shrouded in shadows, two figures sat, in high-backed Victorian chairs, waiting. There was a knock at the door. A plaintive, frantic knocking. After several moments, the figures arose from their chairs, and strode toward the door. The heavy, oaken door creaked sinisterly open and a form stood, leaning against the door frame to support itself. He was thin and athletic. His thin, aristocratic features were ivory white, as was the hair that fell past his shoulders. His black eyes were pupil-less. He was clad in a black bodysuit with a vertical, rainbow sash. I…am…Chroma…!” He gasped, struggling to keep himself standing. “I sing a...a song of warning! I sing of…the…hnn…the coming storm and the end of all things…!” The two forms stepped into the light. One was a short, portly man, in a threadbare, old-fashioned blue suit. He sported a full, black, ill-kept beard. The other man was taller, leaner, dressed in a bottle-green suit. His hair was brown and swept up in wings, that along with the prince-nez glasses perched on his nose, gave him the appearance of an ill-tempered owl. He too had a beard, his was brown and bristly, like a whisk broom had been glued to his chin. “I’m sorry,” The portly man said. “I didn’t quite catch all of that…?” “You must…listen!” Chroma said, before a coughing fit seized him. “My warning concerns the coming…the coming…of…!’ “Look,” The taller man snapped. “Do you want some candy or not?” Chroma gaped, wide-eyed at the duo, before beginning to visibly slump. With a sour ‘hmmph’, the tall bearded man pushed the door shut. “Cain!” The shorter man protested. “Tha-that was…uh…rude!” “Oh, please, brother!” Cain snapped, returning to his chair. He slumped, his long legs sprawled out, a large dingy, grey bowl, full of candy held in his lap. “You call that a costume! He looked like a glam rocker.” “Bu-bu-but, what about his…his uh…warning?” “Oh, it’s probably to do with one of those crisis thingees,” Cain tutted, helping himself to a piece of candy. “What…?” “Have a seat, Abel,” Cain muttered, unwrapping the piece of candy and tossing the wrapper into a shadowy corner. There was a ravenous chewing noise and then a burp. “Yes, but…!” His brother stammered. “Those crisis’ are…uh…um…!” “They’re a dime a dozen,” Cain said, dismissively. “We’re respectable…well, I am, at least. We don’t want to have anything to do with that riffraff.” Abel shuffled over and perched on the edge of his chair, frowning, worriedly. “Maybe the…um…crisis is why we haven’t gotten many trick or treaters…? I think…” “What have I told you about thinking…?” Cain said, pulling a hatchet from his inside jacket pocket. “No, no!” Abel said, flinching. “You promised!” Cain frowned thoughtfully, at his brother, then shrugged and tucked away the weapon. “Yes, yes, alright.” “No, you need to…uh…to say… say it.” Abel insisted, fidgeting anxiously. “Fine. I promise not to kill you on Halloween,” Cain said, hand on his heart. “And…?” “And on Christmas. Satisfied?” Abel’s answer was interrupted by another knock on the door. He looked hesitantly towards it, then back towards his brother. Cain rolled his eyes and handed his brother the bowl of candy. Opening the door, they found themselves facing an equally unusual duo. He was a large gorilla, barefoot, but wearing a business suit. Next to him was a statuesque woman with long, silver-blonde hair, in a minidress and white boots. “What are you two supposed to be?” Cain asked. “I mean, you’re obviously an ape, and she’s…? “An Angel….!” Abel breathed, smiling up at the tall, shapely woman and offering her the candy bowl. “You’re very sweet, but we aren’t trick or treaters,” She explained. “We’re private detectives and…oh, are those root beer barrels…?” “Yes, hel-help yourself,” Abel offered. “We…uh…have plenty…!” “Circus peanut?” Cain offered. “Yeah, anyway,” The ape said, frowning. “We’re looking for an address.” “You got lost and thought the house by the graveyard was the best place to ask…?” Cain mused, sarcastically. “Oh, you’ll go far in this business.” The ape frowned at him, but his attractive partner got directions from Abel, who waved after them as they walked away. Cain snatched the candy bowl back and returned to his chair, grumping. “What a waste of a night.” He muttered. “Don’t look at me like that, you morose beanbag!” “Like…uh…like what?” Abel asked, sitting down, but on the far edge of his chair, in case his brother forgot his pledge. “Like I’m some kind of unreasonable, old curmudgeon!” Cain snapped. “Because I’m not! I like Halloween. Who wouldn’t love a holiday where you are encouraged to scare children? It’s just…it’s…not as fun as it used to be. Kids these days…! Is it too much to ask to see one sheet with eye holes cut in it? Or a witches’ hat? A couple years back everyone wanted to dress up like a zombie…now, it’s all weird, esoteric outfits…! I mean, those three before Mister “I bring a message of doom’ stopped by…what were they supposed to be?” “Superheroes, I think…?” “Bah, not a one of them had a cape!” Cain grumbled. “And one was dressed in pink, with one of those fishbowl helmets! I tell you…!” “They said they were time travelers,” Abel said, absently, as he reached out to get a piece of candy. “From the…the…uh… future.” “Teen superheroes from the future…?” Cain scoffed. “See, that’s what I mean! Kids today!” “You think there’s really another crisis’ happening?” Abel asked, quickly snatching a piece of candy from the bowl, while his bother wasn’t looking. “Who knows?” Cain shrugged. “Who cares? You don’t want to get involved with them…nothing but trouble.” “They make me all anxious.” “What doesn’t?” “I mean, whu-what if part of my timeline gets erased…?” Abel fretted. “Hopefully, it’s the parts where I have to listen to you snivel like this,” His brother said. Knock! Knock! “Now, if there is a crisis going on,” Cain said, as the brothers moved towards the door. “It’ll be other universe versions of us and we’ll be sisters, or were adopted by the Kents or you’ll actually have taste in suits…!” “Trick or treat, darlings!” Coo’d the smiling, shapely woman on the front porch. Her hair and figure-hugging, lowcut dress were both midnight black, the generous amount of skin she was showing was ivory white and her lips blood red. “What’s shaking? Besides me, obviously? Hey, whiskbroom chin! Long time, no see!” “No!” Cain shouted, handing the bowl to his brother and rushing to slam the door closed. “Not again!” “Bu-bu-but, she…seemed nice,” Abel protested. “Nice! Last time she was here, she left me trapped in a cubbard and took over the house!” Cain fumed. “That hussy can go back to hosting old movies!” There was another knock. “If she thinks she’s getting any candy, let alone setting a single foot in MY house…!” Cain said, yanking the door open. “Look, go bother that lunkhead at the Tower of Shadows…oh…!” “Treat and trick!” The new arrival announced, happily. It was dressed in a dingy Superman costume, except the chest emblem was a large B. It had pasty white skin and its black hair was in need of a comb. “Uh….?” Abel mumbled, attempting to hide behind his brother. Bizarro reached into a pocket in its cape, pulled out two candy bars and dropped them in Cain’s bowl. “Unhappy Halloween!” It said, before flying off. “I’m about ready to give up on this night,” Cain muttered, listlessly closing the door and shaking his head. “Well, I…uh…maybe,” Abel started, before just shrugging and going back to sit down. “Um…maybe, it’s…the weather?” “What?” “Yes, there seems to be quite a bit of thunder,” Abel nodded, attempting to cheer up his brother. “Maybe that’s keeping the trick or treaters away?” Cain merely grunted and slumped down in his chair, arms crossed. Abel hopped out of his and hurried over to the nearest window. “Yes, it’s likely the weather.” He said, encouragingly. First, he drew aside the dusty, heavy curtains and peered out. He pulled them aside and wrestled the window open. There was a blast of shrieking wind and then a dozen ghostly forms came rushing in, and swirled frantically around Cain’s chair, like a miniature tornado, before Abel shoo’d them back out the window and wrestled it shut. “Um…well, my…uh…,” He said, sitting back down, and using his hands to smooth down his hair. “Weather’s actually mild for this time of year.” There was a knock at the door, and Abel looked, expectantly at his brother. “Alright, let the torment continue,” Cain said, getting to his feet. Opening the door, they saw no one there. “Really?” Cain grumbled. “I suppose a trick is better than nothing…what?” Abel tugged at his brothers’ coat sleeve and the pointed down. The cadaverous form, of a man, clad in a dirt smeared suit, lay sprawled on their doorstep. It struggled to raise itself up. ‘Help…help me, please,” He gasped, his voice sounding raspy and harsh. “I woke up…in coffin…! Had to dig my….my way free, through six feet of earth…I saw your light….from…the…the cemetery…where am I…how…how did this happen…?” “Oh, now that’s much better!” Cain said, smiling at the thin, wild-eyed man. “You’re a little old to be trick or treating, but so nice to see this kind of effort put in. Help yourself. Take two!” The thin, slack-featured man starred at the brothers, and the offered candy bowl, horror melting into confusion. “No…you don’t…don’t understand!” He cried. “I…they buried me! My family…oh god…! “Now, you’re over doing it,” Cain tutted. He then tucked a coupler KitKat bars in the man’s breast pocket and closed the door. “Not bad,” He nodded, going back to his chair. “That fellow had the right spirit.” “I don’t know,” Abel said, frowning thoughtfully. “Seemed like he was trying to…umm… tell us something. Sounded like the beginning of a story…” “Doesn’t matter,” Cain said, munching on a piece of candy. “It’s our night off. Let him go bother Madam Xanadu if he wants narration.” Abel shrugged. At the next knock, Abel jumped up, and nervously reached for the bowl of candy. Cain handed it to his brother and then followed, as Abel answered the door. “Good evening, chil-children…Oh my!” The blue figure, standing in the doorway was blue, glowing faintly and naked. “What is wrong with you?” Cain demanded, sternly. “Put some pants on! We’re expecting children!” He reached past his brother and slammed the door. On the porch, Doctor Manhattan shrugged and teleported away. “I have really had enough,” Cain said, pacing in front of the chairs. “We just need to call it a night…maybe drag that old television set out of the dungeon and see if anyone is playing the Charlie Brown special…” Another knock, and both brothers turned to look at it. “Um…shu-should we?” Abel asked, nervously. “Oh, why not? I’m a glutton for punishment and you’re just a glutton!” Opening the door revealed a wooden framed scarecrow with a pumpkin head, dressed in ill-fitting overalls. A cigarette dangled from the corner of its carved mouth. “Speak of the great pumpkin…,” Cain muttered. “Hu-hell-hello, Mervyn,” Abel said. “Where’s your costume?” “Costume? Some of us ain’t got time for trick or treatin’,” The scarecrow replied, gruffly. “Some of us are workin’ stiffs and we don’t get to lounge around…huh, circus peanuts, they still make those?” “Is there a point to your little soliloquy?” Cain asked. “Yeah,” Merv Pumpkinhead nodded. “Wanted to give youse a heads up, I’m gonna have cleaning crews coming through. That big…whatta ya callit…rift in the sky has been dumping all kinds of stuff and things and people all over the place…” “What rift in the sky?” Abel asked, sticking his head out the door and looking up. “Oh, that one! How long has that been there?” “Jeez! We’ve only had super-types and all kinds of troublemakers and riffraff pouring out for the last couple…well, I’m not sure how long…time got reset, like three times and I got distracted when the amazons attacked…” “Yes, yes, well, I’m sure you have lots of sweeping up to,” Cain said, easing his brother back inside and pulling a wicked looking dagger out of his inside coat pocket. “And since, it seems Halloween has been declared over…” “Oi, anyone here call a cab?” All three looked as the British black cab pulled up to the house and a dark haired, working class man got out. “I supposed to pick up a friend of mine…?” He continued. “What?” Cain asked, tucking the dagger away. ‘Yes, yes, just a minute.” Cain went back inside, walked over to a narrow closet door, took out a large, old-fashioned key and unlocked it. The door swung open and a blonde man, in a scruffy trench coat, bound hand and foot , came tumbling out. Cain stepped aside, letting the blonde man fall to the floor with a thud. Cursing profusely through his gag, he glared up at the thin, bearded man. “Oh look, John, your rides here,” Cain chuckled, grabbing the man in the trench coat by the ankles and dragging him towards the front door. ‘If I wouldn’t put up with that gothic trollop taking over my house, I don’t know why you thought you’d fair better…!” “Oh dear…!” Abel mumbled, as Cain and his unwanted house guest went past. “Uh…?” The cabbie said. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. This ain’t even the weirdest thing I’ve seen happen to him.” Cain dumped the blonde man on the porch. The cabbie struggled to get him to his feet. “You want a hand, pal?” Merv Pumpkinhead asked. “Naw, I got him. Nice costume.” “Why do people keep saying that?” Merv grumbled, as he and the brothers watched the cabbie struggle to get the blonde man into his cab and then drive off. “Maybe you’re right,” Abel sighed, as he waved. “Halloween’s just not the same, these days.” Cain nodded sagely behind his brother, as he took a bottle marked ‘poison’ out of a coat pocket and sprinkled it over the candy bowl. “Here,” He said, with a sinister grin. “Have a malted milk ball. It’ll take your so-called mind off your troubles.” “Well,” Abel said, taking some candy. ‘At least we got to sp-spend some ti-time together without…um…you…uh…GACKKKK!” “And to all, a good night,” Cain smiled, closing the door. ‘THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN’ Featuring: Harvest by John Cheese!! Kansas, USA – 1912 Sophia Hudson turned in her sleep as the sounds of nocturnal goings on could be heard through the screen windows. Sleep did not come easy to the sixteen-year-old, for the last few days she had been afraid of her house; strange noises and strange feelings of unease gripped her sleep, even as her parents dismissed them as childish worry. Opening her dark brown eyes, Sophia sat up and ran her hand through her dark hair as she reached for the lantern on her bedside table. Phasing out the sounds of the grasshoppers and cicadas outside, Sophia thought she heard the sound of a dull thud come from her parent’s bedroom. As she reached for a tinderbox to light the lantern Sophia stopped, paranoia and common sense telling her that perhaps this wasn’t the wisest decision. Moments later she heard the sound of feet moving along the landing towards her room. Feigning sleep, Sophia watched with one open eye as the door to her room opened and a figure stood silhouetted by the darkness behind her. The figure was masculine, but it wasn’t her father, he was kind and social, but this figure was intimidating, almost predatory. The figure was also holding a wood axe, one whose blade was dripping with blood. Advancing on her, whispering in a language that Sophia didn’t quite recognise the figure went to reach down as if to wake her. At that moment, the ‘sleeping’ girl reacted lashing out with speed that the figure hadn’t anticipated, forcing him to withdraw his hand. Grabbing the lantern, Sophia rolled out the opposite side of the bed from the intruder, rushing to the window as the man went to block the exit to the door. Screaming for her mother and father, Sophia slipped out the house and down onto the porch, desperation causing her adrenaline to spike dampening the pain from the impact. Heading towards the end of the drive, Sophia heard a thud as the intruder dropped out of the same window, the axe in his hands. Despite her lead, the intruder began to close the gap between them as Sophia jinked left, climbing over the fence and rolling down the nearby railway embankment onto the tracks below. Adrenaline fading, pain growing, Sophia crawled a good thirty foot before the killer loomed over her, his ghoulish features sneering down at the young woman. “Please God no!” Sophia yelled as the man pulled a trio of railroad spikes out of his coat, stabbing the first one down into her left-hand shoulder. “Please no!” She continued to scream as the attacker went to stab the second spike down into her shoulder, embedding the spike down so hard it pinned Sophia down to the ground. Sobbing Sophia felt the third spike stab through her shoulder and screwed her eyes shut as she felt hands run up her thighs. “Anyone, please help!” Sophia yelled as a last-ditch attempt to save herself as she felt her undergarments get pulled down and stuffed in her mouth. Silently screaming Sophia felt the ground rumble and opened her eyes as a train steamed past the decaying woman’s body tied to the opposite line, the formally white bed clothes stained brown with dried blood, a crushed skull from the head of the axe the source of the majority of the blood loss. It took her a few moments to realise that it was almost dawn, and that the body on the tracks was her own. “Please somebody help.” Sophia whispered as she felt two cold hands on her shoulders, causing her to panic as she was pushed back to her body. Looking over her shoulder Sophia failed to see who was guiding her as she touched the cold corpse, her body shuddering as she felt her rotting flesh move. Getting to her feet, Sophia staggered up the embankment, her footfalls killing the grass as she climbed up towards the house. Reaching the fence, Sophia saw the wood rot under her hands, her body strengthening as if she was sapping the strength out of the barrier. Not even bothering to question what had happened Sophia ran to the house and up to her parents’ room only to see their bodies, crush wounds from an axe to their bodies, their eyes closed suggesting that they had never woke, slaughtered in their sleep by the intruder. “Sad isn’t it, they still had years left to live.” A female voice whispered behind her causing Sophia to spin round as well as her rotting body could. There leaning against the wall was a woman with short red hair dressed in a traditional Slavic costume, a long-handled scythe slung over her shoulder. “Be calm Sophia, I am here to help you.” “Who are you?” Sophia asked as she looked around for any sign of the man who’d attacked her family. “I am Mokosh, the goddess of your ancestors.” The woman announced as she walked over and opened her arms to embrace Sophia. “I am the harvest goddess, and I heard your pleas, but sadly I could not arrive in time.” “I…I’m dead aren’t I.” Sophia stated, already knowing the answer. “You are, but that needn’t be the end.” Mokosh stated as she removed the scythe and placed it haft down onto the floor of the house. “You can avenge your parents, avenge all those who were taken by this monster and others.” “I shouldn’t, I want to take my place in heaven with my parents.” Sophia whimpered as she looked at the scythe, a cold anger stirring in her stomach. “There is no heaven for you I’m afraid.” Mokosh replied as she placed the scythe down on the ground. “That man was so evil that he left a mark on his victims, until he is slain and his victims avenged, then all who were killed by him are barred from heaven. There are a hundred lives taken by his hand, if he dies of natural causes then they will never rest.” “Then I need to…” Sophia gulped as she hovered her hand over the scythe. “Once he’s dead, I’ll be free.” “If that is your wish.” Mokosh told her as Sophia picked up the scythe and felt the cold anger fill her body. “You will be the harvest of blood, called to life by those seeking vengeance under the light of the moon.” She added as she faded away, leaving Sophia standing in her parent’s room dressed in blood stained clothing, her yellowing skin marked with Slavic symbols for rebirth and revenge. Hinterkifek Farm, Bavaria, Germany – 1922 Aged hands brought the mattock down on the sleeping child in the bassinet, a spray of blood washing over his face. Walking out of the child’s bedroom, the old man, his hair silvered and his clothes ragged entered the servant’s quarters and laid down next to the dead woman in the bunk. The two victims in the house were only one third of the household, the other four slain one by one as he lured them into the barn. The killer had missed the cries of the young women he’d slain, the feeling of power he had felt as he stole his victim’s axes and brought the blade down onto their skulls. He’d returned home to fight for the Kaiser, but after the war had ended he’d been treated as badly here as he had in America. As such it was time to ply his trade. “Paul Muller.” A voice whispered, causing theman to jolt upright. Almost nobody knew who he was, and those often didn’t care one single bit about him. * Paul Muller is widely believed to be the ‘Man from the Train’ a serial killer believed to be responsible for the deaths of over a hundred people in the 1800s and early 1900s in Canada and the USA. “Paul.” The voice whispered, as Paul got up and left the room, heading downstairs to the kitchen and out through the snow to the barn, the four bodies of the Gruber family lying in the hay. Looking down, Paul saw that the youngest girl, Vitoria was still alive despite her wounds, pulling her hair out from the stress. “Ssh.” Paul whispered as he reached to pull down her underwear, the girl screaming as she shifted slightly in the hopes of salvation. <Call me Vitoria> A female voice whispered as Paul loomed over the girl. <Call Harvest as the moon shines>. She ordered. With a whimper, Vitoria murmured “Ernte” under her breath. Up in the rafter, a figure shifted and Vitoria screamed as she saw a woman, her yellow skin branded with symbols dressed in a hooded robe, one stained in dry blood, a long-handled scythe slung over her shoulder. “Ssh.” Paul told her, as the figure dropped to the floor, her form looming over the mass murderer. Placing the blade of the scythe against Paul’s throat, the woman gently pulled the criminal back away from Vitoria. “Do you remember me Paul?” The woman asked as Paul turned around to look at his assailant, no fear on his face. “How you stole my father’s axe, killed him and my mother and then had your way with me.” “There have been so many.” Paul answered as he focused on three railroad spikes stabbed into the woman’s shoulder. “But that make’s you unique, you’re the Hudson girl, I remember you, stoking terror in you for days before I made my move.” “I’m Harvest now, and I, we, have been waiting for you to kill again for so long.” Sophia replied as she took a step back, allowing Paul to pick up his mattock. “Death couldn’t stop us.” She told him, as Paul swung the mattock at her, the blade striking her face, the iron head rusting as it made contact with her skin. “Interesting.” Paul stated, as he dropped the mattock and swung at Harvest, using skills he had picked up when serving in the Imperial German Army to overpower British shock-troopers. While not particularly hard to learn, after a few punches, Paul noticed that Harvest had picked up on the style as if she had been trained alongside him. More worryingly with each blow, Paul forgot everything he knew about the fighting style, until eventually he was knocked on his back, the scythe stabbing through his heart, leaving a deep but clean wound. “Die a hundred deaths over the next few days.” Harvest stated as she removed her blade, blood dripping off the scythe. “Feel the pain of every victim you’ve taken in peace and in war in those days. Suffer silently knowing that no man can help you, will help you. Be as a spectre, unseen and unable to touch those that dwell in life…” She stopped as Paul began to laugh, an unnerving sound that caused Harvest to feel like she had seconds before she had been killed by this devil of a man. “What is so funny? You are dying and hell bound.” “You Harvest, you’re what amuses me.” Paul stated as he got to his feet, a manic look in his eye and a rictus grin on his face. “You have confirmed that life exists after death. I will return, and every life I take will be on your shoulders. You killed a man, but from death I will rise a god caked in the b…” With a hiss Harvest swung her scythe, slicing through Paul’s neck cutting out his words, his body collapsing as his arms flapped looking for what he had lost. Looking to the entrance of the barn, Sophia saw Mokosh standing there, her hand outstretched ready to take back her scythe. “Then I’ll be waiting.” Sophia replied as she turned and walked out of the entrance of the barn, leaving Paul behind, silently counting the hours that she’d granted the murderer, a smirking smile on her face as she thought of over a hundred deaths being visited on the man before his soul was released to its eternal damnation. Paul wasn’t going to come back from that, and now she had a purpose, to punish all men and women like him until justice was finally served. |