Graceland

Graceland

Jerry's behind was numb. His t-shirt was stuck to his back in a very unseemly way. The Tennessee summer sun was vicious and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into some shadow, lizardlike.
He forgot his discomfort instantly as he raised his eyes and saw the house standing set just back from the road. The white columns that guarded the front door looked luminous in the sunlight. It was somehow smaller than he thought it would be, but imbued with more presence than he expected. The place exuded a strange power. Imagined or real - Jerry wasn't sure. He wandered towards it, almost in a daze. To any onlooker he would have looked like a mindless ghoul, glassy eyed and shambling as he was.
As Jerry got about ten feet from the entrance of the house, he noticed that it had become strangely dark. He looked to the sky and saw that the moon was slowly sliding in front of the sun. He stood on the steps of the porch and watched as best as he could through cupped hands as the sun gradually disappeared and all that was left was the faintest outline of light behind the black disk in the sky.
Jerry began to feel strange. The air all around was flickering, as if there were a barrier of heat distortion all around him. He fell to his knees and felt nauseous, not sure if this was what extreme heat exhaustion felt like. He clamped his eyes closed, trying to ride out the feeling in his head. His eyes were prickling, all the blood in his body seemingly trying to fit into his head. As the feeling reached it's peak and Jerry felt as if he could truly take no more, it subsided. He blinked quickly and got up, realising now that he had sunk to his knees whilst in the throes of that horrible pain.
He rose sheepishly, fully expecting there to be people all around looking at him. Thinking that he was probably a crazy person or dying.
Jerry then saw that, in fact, there were no people around at all. No one from his coach was to be seen, nor any of the people that were here when Jerry had arrived. Rather than thinking to look for the disappeared people, this turn of events suited Jerry fine. Now he could have the house all to himself.
He turned, feeling fine again now, happy even. The front door was laid open before him, beckoning for him to come inside. Stepping into the reception hall, Jerry felt something that he reasoned was probably akin to religious ecstasy for god freaks. A trembling white power was running it's fingers over him, making his stomach fill with butterflies.

There was no one to greet him, so he wandered further into the hallway. Then, faintly, Jerry heard the tinkling of a piano. At first just high notes that floated on the air and made it hard to locate the source. Then came deep, thundering chords that cut a shuffling beat. Jerry could tell where the sound was coming from now and, following his ears, wandered off to the right and into a room that was almost all white. The fireplace that was the centrepiece of the room was lit. Yet when jerry passed by it, there was no discernible heat. At the far end of the room were a set of glass doors with colourful peacocks set in them. They were pulled over, nearly shut but left open a crack, so that Jerry could see a sliver of a piano and some hands moving quickly over the keys but couldn't see who was playing the thing.

The playing suddenly ceased. Jerry froze where he was, unsure what to do. He could see the outline of a person rising from the piano behind the glass. They came forwards toward the door. Jerry was on the verge of running. He wasn't sure why but he felt like he'd been caught doing something unseemly in being there. He was half turned and ready to bolt when the doors were thrown open.
'Oh my g...' Jerry froze. Jerry had seen enough imitators to know the difference. An imitation was just that. This was a regal presence. Jerry fell to his knees. 'I..'
Elvis strode towards the prostrate Jerry. 'Stand up, man. You're makin' me blush.' Elvis let out a little laugh and walked past Jerry as he climbed to his feet.
'I guess you wanna know how this is possible, huh?' Elvis spoke with his back to Jerry.
Jerry took a few steps closer to the... He wanted to think ghost but that seemed too outlandish. Jerry decided that he must have a brain tumour that was bringing on this hallucination and, probably, the spell on the porch.
He reached out a hand towards Elvis' back, as he was busying himself gyrating and singing some unintelligible song. Elvis span around fast, causing Jerry to almost jump out of his skin.
'Not so close, baby. HUH!' Elvis threw out a karate kick that missed Jerry's face by a few centimetres, he'd felt the breeze of the boot as it had flown past his head.
Elvis shrugged and laughed again. He gave Jerry a hearty slap on the arm, 'I'm just playin', man.'
Jerry definitely felt that. Brain tumour was seeming less and less likely which was both comforting and distressing to Jerry at the same time.
Elvis seated himself in a plush white armchair and held out his hand, offering Jerry a seat.
'I guess this is kind of freaky, huh?'
Jerry nodded, silent.
'It's kinda kooky, man, but hear me out. This here place is the astral plane.'
Jerry looked around the room, warily. 'Does that mean I'm dead?' He asked.
Elvis smiled, 'Nah, man. You ain't dead. Looky here, this place sorta lies on top of “reality”.' Elvis used air quotes to make his point.
'Through the design of this here house and employing the mystic arts of meditation...' Elvis made a strange sign in front of himself and stood up, surveying the room as he spoke, 'I was able to leave my corporeal self and come here. Total spiritual ascension, baby.'
Elvis smiled at Jerry, waiting for him to say something.
'But, and I'm not trying to be rude here, Mr. Presley...'
'Call me Elvis, man.'
'Okay, Elvis. How come you look so...'
'So thin and young?'
'Yes!' Jerry half shouted, thankful of not having to ask the question directly.
'I can choose how I look here. Who wants to be a bloated joke, huh?' Elvis turned away, looking a little hurt at his own words.

Jerry tried to think of something to say. 'But how did I get here?'
Elvis turned to face him and pointed out of the window. 'The eclipse, man. A configuration of this and that and some other bullshit.' Elvis chuckled, 'I had the swami talk me through it but I was caught up in some stuff at the time. Basically, a full lunar eclipse brings whoever is in the house at the time into this plane.You shoulda' seen this bunch of Japanese tourists back in eight-nine. Crazy, man.'
'Forever?' Jerry asked, half scared and half excited.
'Nah, man. Just for the duration.'
'How long is that?'
'Seven and a half minutes, man. You got seven and a half minutes with the King. What you wanna do?'
Jerry's mind was blank. His mind could not comprehend. Elvis jogged over to the corner and came back. He started picking out some chords and softly singing 'In the Ghetto'.
Jerry stood up and moved towards Elvis. He'd always hated that song, he felt it was disingenuous.
'You don't have to perform.' Jerry said, determined to let his real feelings out. Any fan could watch a performance or listen to a song. The one thing you could never do was just sit with them and see what they were really like. Jerry realised that this was perhaps even worse than demanding a performance but he sensed that Elvis was happy to not have to put on a show.

Elvis seemed to relax and strummed the guitar absent-mindedly for a while. 'Y'know, I've been here for a long time. When I had the idea of escapin' to this place, I thought “Man, that sounds like paradise.” Just me, no more shows or leeches or bullshit.'
'But...' He carried on, half in a trance, 'I didn't plan for the loneliness, man. I spent so long around people that I didn't think I could ever get lonely. Not like this.'
Jerry didn't really know what to say. He realised that if the only time Elvis would have company would be if they were caught up in the same bizarre set of circumstances that he'd found himself in - things weren't going to get any better.
'I think you've earned the rest.' was all Jerry could think of. As soon as it left his mouth it sounded so lacking and pathetic that he regretted it.
Elvis snapped out of his introspection and stood up. He propped the guitar against a chair and shook out his arms and legs, trying to chase off the blues that had beset him. A smile that seemed a little forced covered his face; 'Come on, man! We ain't got long, tell me about the world!.'

*

A few minutes passed and Jerry filled Elvis in the best he could on what had happened in the world in the last twenty or so years. Jerry's approach was scatter gun but Elvis delighted in every detail, his face lighting up at every piece of incredible advancement and falling at every example of inhumanity and war.
Elvis looked down at his watch. 'Shit, man. We only got a minute left.'
Jerry's heart sank. There was so much he wanted to do and say but time was his enemy and it had nearly won.
'Say...' Elvis intoned as he stood, a thoughtful look playing on his face. 'How about you look up the next time there's one of those there eclipses and you come on around again, huh?'
Elvis was almost childlike in his excitement at the idea. Jerry beamed a grin and replied; 'Sure, I'd really like that, Elvis.'
'Me too, Jerry. Me too.'
Elvis walked Jerry to the front door and brushed something from Jerry's shoulder. He looked Jerry up and down, making Jerry think of his Mother who did the same thing when he was a boy.
'You come back now, you hear? I'll be waiting for you.'
'I'll be here. I promise.' Jerry replied as he started to feel ill again, his head screaming and the air wavering before him.
'That's a promise now, man! A promise!' Elvis was shouting, his voice becoming more and more distant.
'A promise!' Jerry shouted, as loud as he could. The distance growing with each second. 'I Promise!' he screamed.
He opened his eyes and realised he was on his back, with two old women looking down on him. 'Who you making a promise to, Mister?' One of them asked.
'Elvis.' He replied.
They both looked a little bemused and helped him to his feet. He thanked them and went out into the sunlight, which now had an extra brilliance to it.

The End

© Alex Williams 2011

Horrorscope

HorrorScope

Scooping up the mail and the paper, Charlie shuffled towards the kitchen. Seated at the table, he ripped the letters open, it was the same old mundane crap – bills he didn't need to concern himself with, a letter from his solicitor, one from his accountant. His accountant was making his monthly contact, telling Charlie how wealthy he was and how he only stood to become more wealthy with the passing of each day. He tossed all the letters into the bin and layed the paper on the table. Leafing through it, he took in all the miserable stuff – stabbings, mudslide, underage promiscuity up, etc and so forth. He fast forwarded to the back pages and in amongst the sport and the ads for devices that electrocute you into a suitable shape he found the horoscope.

Charlie wasn't normally one for the vague predictions of 'Mystic Les' but he looked past the gentle smile pasted on the 'psychic''s benign, fat face and scanned down to his own sign.

There it was – Aries, but instead of the usual promises of a better day or a meeting with a striking stranger there was just a blank box. All the other signs were given their usual run down but Aries was seemingly bereft of action today.

Charlie looked through the paper and found a number for the editorial department. Lacking anything better to be doing with his time, he rose and moved over to the phone, punched in the number. After a few rings a woman's chirpy voice came on the line.

'Hello, Greenham Informer, how can I help you?'

'Yes, hello, I was reading your paper just now and I noticed that the horoscope for Aries is blank.'

'Oooh, really? That is odd... Are you sure it's not there?'

A look of slight befuddlement crossed Charlie's face. ' Very sure, yes.'

'I don't know what to say, sir. Were you counting on it for something?'

'Well, no. But, It's just a bit odd.'

'I can have a clipping posted out to you if you'd like, sir. But it'd be out of date by the time it got to you.'

'No, no... That's okay, I was just seeing if you knew.'

'Ah, you see, I don't read the horoscopes. I tend to think that people who rely on them are a little bit weak and pathetic... No offense intended, sir.'

'None taken, I don't normally read them you see.'

'So, it won't really affect you then, will it? You'll be better of without it by the sound of you.' She said with a sudden clipped tone, seemingly tiring of the conversation.

'Uhh, I...'

'Goodbye, Sir.'

With that, the line went dead. Charlie looked at the phone for a second then wondered what he was looking for. Hanging it up, he turned and took another look at the missing text. Trying to Shrug it off, he climbed the stairs and jumped in the shower.

*

Pacing along the pavement, Charlie tried to decide what to do. To his left there was a rough hewn brick wall that buffered the pavement from a park. He stopped and peered over the wall, having to stand on tip toes to see over. The park was emerald green all over, exploding with spring life, daffodils were poking up at the bases of almost all the trees that ringed the circular path that followed the contours of the park. White and gold flowerheads lolled in the gentle breeze, making a nice contrast against the bark of the oaks and weeping willows. Charlie was amazed that he had never even been aware of this place, had never had the impetus to look over the wall and see what resided there. What he found odd was that the park seemed completely deserted - no kids, no silvertops milling around. He did notice a murder of crows cawing and occasionally fluttering around in sharp circles, which all seemed to be clinging to one tree – an old, creaky chestnut that had green moss slithering up one side. Charlie remembered that moss always grows on the North side of trees, something his Grandad has told him. Then he vaguely recalled that someone had once told him that this was a fallacy, in the smug way that people in possession of information unknown to you always do. He looked up and down the road and saw that no-one was around so decided to scale the wall. Placing his hand on top of the ancient looking wall, he heaved himself up, feeling little crumbs of old rock giving way and sprinkling to the ground. He swung his left leg over so he was sitting astride the wall and then threw his other leg over, letting himself fall in a semi-controlled manner.

*

Following the path, Charlie resolved to walk the length of the path around the park and see where it led. He noticed that pretty much all the trees looked about a thousand years old and could petrify into stone at some point soon. The centre of the park was a huge circular green, completely bereft of any swings or play areas of any kind. The only man made structure to be seen was a victorian looking pavillion at the far end of the green. It seemed to be backed right up to dense woodland, the limp branches of a row of weeping willows dangling from above, almost touching on the roof. Taking in the seclusion that seemed to reign, he imagined that a homeless could easily make a home here. Perhaps they already had, taking up residence in the pavillion and warding off any invaders with thick branches culled from the trees, ready to stove in the head of anyone who would intrude on this unknown reserve. Charlie moved on from this scare mongering thought and resolved to enjoy this piece of unexpected adventure and push on, maybe take a walk in the woodlands and see how far back they went.

As he approached the pavilion, Charlie was startled as a purple flame seemed to kick out of the ground in front of him. It let out a sound of ignited gas and disappeared. Stumbling back he muttered a cautious 'What the fuck...'

All of a sudden a cacaphony rang out in the sky above him and Charlie tilted his head to see a massed black shape scream past his eyes and settle in front of him. He watched as the crows, dozens of them, assembled on the spot where the flame had originated. They seemed to be digging at the ground and falling over each other, feathers being spat out into the air as the birds frantically undertook their manic task.

Charlie watched on in silence, unable to move or form a rational thought in his head as the pile of crows writhed and grew into a birdmass. The ground seemed to be spewing out more and more avian bodies, the grouping growing larger and larger, all the time the bird screams growing louder and louder. Were they mating? Or killing each other? Charlie couldn't work it out but neither could he tear his eyes away.

As he stood, still as the trees that surrounded him, the birds began to rise up, higher and higher until they were the same height as Charlie. He could make out various flashes of yellow where the occasional beady eye seemed to probe at him for a second. Soon, the crows were formed into the approximate shape of a man.

The mass raised an arm with the detached beak of a crow pointing at him like a finger. The beak opened and a boney finger protruded from the opening, aimed aquarely at Charlie.

'You.' The voice creaked and rasped at him.

'M-m-m-me?' Charlie's response stumbled out.

'Yes, You. You litle jerk.'

The man-bird began to shake and tremble, the feathers falling away in clumps, splashing to the ground and pluming upwards. Clothing was revealed underneath – an emerald green coat, Earth brown trousers and spit-shined black boots. The head was the last part to shed it's plumage, revealing a bone-white face. Both eyes were yellow and darted about madly, the nose was long and perfectly straight, the cheeks high and protruding.

The man shook his head, dislodging the last feathers that were stuck in his jaw length white hair.

'There. That's much better.' He went about dusting himself off as Charlie stood transfixed, unsure of the appropriate response to this particular situation.

'Go on then!' The man prodded.

'Go on what?' Charlie responded, finding it hard to hold the golden gaze of the thing in front of him.

'You know, the usual - “Oh my god, who are you?” “Am I going mad?!” Blah, blah, blah. It's what you people usually come out with, lacking imagination as you are.'

'Well... Who are you then?'

'Black Ivan's the name, Inter-dimensional mischief is the game.'

'Black Ivan? What kind of name is that?'

'What kind of name is it? It's a name I just made up is what it is, boy. I could call myself 'Bobby Bonjela' and you wouldn't know if I was telling the truth or not, would you? It's just a name, something to call me by. It's not that important in the grand scheme of things.'

Charlie stood silent, not really knowing what to say or do.

'Stuck for words, eh? Not unusual, I have that effect on a lot of people.'

'Listen, If this is some kind of 'street art' or whatever, I'm just telling you right now that I don't like it and I'm very scared.'

'Oh no, Charlie Boy. This isn't any “Beadle's About” bollocks. This is the real deal! Although, I did like his style...'

'How do you know my name?' Charlie blurted out.

'Oh, I know everything about you, Charlie. Little rich boy, started being nice to his well off artist auntie when he found out she had cancer. The only one from your family who bothered to go and see her because she liked girls and not boys. Now you're bored because you've got all the money you'll ever need but no friends and a family of shitheads who won't talk to you because they're jealous. Sound about right?'

Charlie hated to admit it out loud but Ivan had pretty much nailed him on every account.

'Yeah... That's about it.'

'See? I know you inside and out, Charleston.'

'So, what are you? Some kind of magician or something?'

'A magician?' This seemed to really amuse Black Ivan and he cackled at a pitch that made Charlie screw up his eyes and grit his teeth.

'A magician, he says! That's a real tickler, that is! No, my boy, I'm no mere magician. I do deal in what you might call magic but it's way beyond that kind of fantasy book description.'

'So, what are you then?' Charlie asked, becoming aware that he was irrestibly intrigued, despite the fear in his belly and throat.

'I'm a cosmic trickster. An inter-dimensional jester of sorts. I go around looking for people to have fun with, play a few games with them and see what happens.'

'The Horoscope... And the woman on the phone?'

Ivan coughed gently and held his thumband little finger up tohis head, intimating a phone.

“Hello, Greenham Informer, How can I help you?” the voice silked out of Ivan, crafting a perfect woman's voice, the voice Charlie had heard just this morning.

'See...' Ivan's voice was back to his own. 'sometimes you've got to give people a bit of a kick up the bum. A little of the old unexpected, grease their cogs for what's to come. Plus - I just plain enjoy messing with people's heads.'

'Oh, I see...Well... I don't appreciate it! And... And I'd rather you just stop all this now, before...'

Charlie felt indignation rising up in him, this man was mocking him and, despite his fear and better judgement, he tought it best to stand tall.

'Oh, “Don't appreciate it”, is it? Well, how do you appreciate... THIS!'

Ivan lunged forward and jabbed a boney index finger into Charlie's right eye, sending Charlie relling back, his hands clasped over his eye.

'Jesus Christ!' Charlie screamed out. 'What the hell did you do that for?!'

'Because I felt like it, Charlie Brown. I can do anything I want! I could turn all the streets to marmalade if I wanted to!' Ivan waved his arms in front of himself, as if illustrating his own grandeur. 'I could turn all the bridges in London into... Marmalade! If I so wanted.'

'You said Marmalade twice...' Charlie spat out as he blinked his eye and wiped away the involuntary tears streaming down one side of his face.

'Yeah, I got a bit over-excited then. The point is - I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. So don't get too snippy with me or I'll turn you into...'

'Marmalade?'

Black Ivan Lunged forward again and dealt a finger to Charlie's other eye. Charlie danced around in a circle, unable to articulate his pain and anger.

'Okay! Okay! Oh god, my eyes...'

'Well, alright then. Now we've got the relationship sorted here – All powerful, rakishly handsome spacelord and low down, foolish mortal, maybe we can get on with the business at hand.'

Charlie blinked hard, happy that he still retained his sight in both eyes.

'And what would that be?'

'I told you I like games, didn't I? Well, I've put three mystical bombs around the town and it's your job to disarm them.'

'Bombs? I don't know anything about disarming a bomb.' Charlie remonstrated with his hands out, but then realised it was probably futile and stood prostate, knowing he should just shut up and take in his bizarre instructions.

'These aren't bombs that explode, Charlie. Not in the traditional sense. If one of these bombs goes off, it's not just a little bang, it's your whole planet gone. A nice black hole to suck you all in and turn you all into spaghetti. All you need for two of them are these keys...'

Ivan produced two chunky golden keys from inside his jacket and, after dangling them tantilisingly for a few moments, dropped them into Charlie outstretched palms. Charlie looked down at them. They were about six inches long each and heavy. One had a huge emerald set in the hilt, the other a ruby.

'You'll have to use all your brains to find my little devices, then it's pretty simple – slide the key into the bomb and, hey presto, no more danger!'

'A black hole? Are you serious?' This time Charlie did wave his hands around, really hoping it would do something.

'Of course I'm serious! I don't kid around with things like this.'

'What about the third bomb? You didn't say how to disarm that one.'

'Ah, that's the special one. It's got an emotional trigger. If you pick it up and you ain't feeling the right emotion, then....'

'Boom, yeah, I get it.'

'Lovely Jubbly. That's about it then, really. I'll be around, keeping tabs on you and what not. You've got until sunset, Charlie. That's when the sun goes down for the last time.'

Charlie turned and began to ran, looking back once towards Ivan, who was standing in the same spot, just watching with a grin.

*

Bill Kong and Mr. Wong

A small story thing. 

Billy Kong and Mr. Wong

Billy Kong was a boy who lived a lonely life. Plagued by the languid inequities of men, he resolved from an early age to withdraw from what he privately referred to as ‘The race of the rats’. He would think of this one man quip and cackle silently inside his mind, his inner-laugh sounding life the effervescent bubbling of mountain sized, golden orbs bursting over an ocean of boiling lucozade.

Billy lived alone. He lived in a bungalow left to him by his Great-aunt Bestrode. She had passed away seven years previous. She finally succumbed to her bad ankle in the winter of ’76. He would wile away the days re-organising his collection of photographs of pavements and famous letter boxes. Some days he would go to the garden and do handstands on his neighbour’s lawn. His wide ankled trousers falling down about his knees, revealing his beautiful pale kneecaps, which were like two knobs of ebony butter on top of a cotton mountain. His neighbour, Len, didn’t care for these displays of zero-G acrobatics.
‘Get off my lawn you mad bloody steampunk!’ Len would cry out.
 ‘Not before you come round to my house and polish all my jelly spoons! You twice-airlifted electro-freak!’ came the inevitable retort.
Sometimes, to really get Len’s goat, Billy Kong would get out his squeaky pogo stick, and just spend all night jumping up and down in his garden. Len could hear the grim ballet of man and machine taking place outside but was powerless to act. Allergic, as he was, to moon pollen.

Billy might have gone on like this forever, locked in eternal struggle with that bugger Len. But he hadn’t counted on Mr. Wong. The kindliest man anyone could ever hope to meet. Some say he was found as a baby, clasped in the engorged petals of a giant lotus flower. Others said he flew down from the sky atop a meteor, screaming and cackling, lashing the celestial beast earthbound. Whatever his origins, that day fate had brought Billy Kong into his close dimensional space. Of all the billions to have existed, of all that had yet to exist. Of all the ages, of the thousands of years, the cultures, the civilisations, the parts of the earth. Fate had brought these two beings together at this moment, in this place. It was Kismet.
The day they met was a beautiful, sunny day. Sweet Solon had opened his legs and was giggling gaily as his golden sun-tears reigned down upon the faces of the peoples of the world. Billy was promenading about the town, exuberantly showing off his newest chip clasp. The ladies and gents of the town did applaud and yell, ‘Bravo Billy lad!’ and ‘By Bovis, He’s gone and done it again! What grace, what poise...’

Malcolm Crabstick

A short story I started that is still ongoing.

Malcolm Crabstick

Malcolm was sleeping soundly. He was dreaming of a pony show he'd seen once as a child. He remembered the name of the finest pony on show that day, 'Wiggum Mustardgas' was her name. A real black beauty she was.

Then came a violent rapping. Louder and louder it grew, rising to preposterous levels. Malcolm clutched his head and span around wildly in circles screaming 'Oh please god! Rid me of this turbulent noise!'

Then he awoke. He knew now that the knocking was someone at his front door, which had invaded his dream like an insect in the night.

He pulled the nets back from the bedroom window and looked down. There was an official sort of man standing on the doorstep. He was holding a clipboard. Malcolm stared down wild eyed at the strange man.

He opened the window and called out, 'Hello down there. Who are you please?'

The man looked up in surprise, but this soon gave way to a shit eating grin.

'Well Hello there, Mr. Crabstick. You are a tricky man to get hold of aren't you?'

Malcolm eyed the man with slanty eyes.

'It depends who wants me.'

'Ah, well then, I shall have to tell you that I am from the TV licensing board, Mr. Crabstick.' The man whipped out his ID and smirked again.

'Oh, I see... Well... I haven't got a TV, sorry.'

'You lying scum. We know you've got a bloody telly! It's time to pay up!'

'I never got any letters!'

'We sent you three letters. You've gone beyond the pail this time. You slimy reptoid, you!'

Malcolm throught he saw the eyes of the man glow green for a brief second and a slight fork appear briefly in his tongue.

'Oh god please... please! How much do I owe you?'

'Oh, this has gone beyond money now. There's only one kind of payment you can make.'

'Anything! Just tell me what it is and you can have it!'

'We want your body!'

'My body?!' Malcolm covered his eyes with his hands. 'No! You can't have my body!'

'We're going to get it one way or another, matey!'

Malcolm pulled the window to and threw the nets back across. He pulled on some clothes and looked around the room desperately. 'There's only one way I can see out of this...' he muttered to himself.

He went over to the wardrobe and pulled the covers off of his homemade jetpack. He pulled the canvas straps across his front and fastened the chunky metal clasps. He moved from side to side, making sure the pack was secured properly. Pulling on his custom made helmet, he peeked out of the window and saw some burly men being directed by the TV liscensing man. They were going to smash the door in at any second.

Malcolm kicked the window open and stood perched on the windowsill.

'What the hell do you think your doing?!' Screamed the devil man outside.

'I'm getting away from you! You bloody maniac!'

'We'll see about that!'

Malcolm flicked on the fuel release and heard the high powered hiss of pure power emanate from behind him. He pressed down hard on the ignition button and felt the G's as he was propelled forwards.

The men below watched, mouths agape, as Malcolm spiralled madly through the sky.

'SO LONG, DOUCHEBAGS!' Malcom screamed as he flew away at two hundred miles per hour.

The TV licensing man unclipped a radio from his belt, 'Call in the attack choppers.'

He slid the radio back to his belt and stood staring at the sky.

*

As he weaved through the air, Malcolm took in the magnificent vista below and in front of him. The streets gave way to lusious country and the sky was mottled with cotton candy clouds. The sun was hiding playfully behind a cloud, only deigning to appear fitfully.

He was trying to think of a place to go, a safe place he could hide and figure this whole sticky mess out.

Lost in thought, he suddenly became aware of a 'fupping' noise growing behind him. He wheeled around mid air and floated facing towards the sound. He felt a jolt of electric adrenaline rush through his bodyparts as he clapped eyes on the choppers. They were armed to the teeth and had those scary decal's that are designed to make the helicopter look even more imposing than it already is.

Malcom didn't have any aggressive capabilities and so had only one option – to run away.

He span around and engaged the forward boosters on the jetpack. The choppers trailed him in hot persuit. A crackly voice came forth from one of the helicopters;

'There's no use in running, Crabstick! We're armed up the arse and more than willing to kill!'

Malcolm tried to ignore their talk and went for full power. His face was pulled back into a painful grimace as he accumulated speed.

The choppers gave chase and stayed on his tail. Faint tracers of light flashed passed him, he could hear the nose mounted machine gun of the chopper rasping away behind him.

A missile screamed past, missing him by an inch. He followed it as it flew past him and exploded amongst a flock of geese about a football pitch's length away to his right. Their feathers plumed outwards in a grand filigree of white and pink.

'This is it.' He thought. 'The hammer is finally going to come down on Malcolm Crabstick!'

He weaved to and fro, evading the bullets and missiles that tore past him.

'We've got you now!' screamed the voice from the helicopter. 'There's no use in run...JESUS CHRIST! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!'

Malcolm turned his head and saw what the pilot was so scared of. Between Malcolm and the choppers was a swirling green vortex. Malcolm came to a halt and stared into it. He floated closer, sure that he could see a figure at the centre of the languid spiral.

Malcolm could just make him out. He was about eight feet tall, pale and almost skeletal. He wore what looked like an undertaker's suit and a top hat pushed over to a jaunty angle.

'Who are you?' asked Malcolm in almost a whisper.

'Ahhheeeooo!' the man bellowed and slapped his knee. 'I'm Daddy Longlegs, boy! And I've come to take you to the reptoid dimension!'

Before Malcolm could respond, a bony hand shot towards him and pulled him into the vortex.

The chopper crews watched in utter amazement as the vortex closed down to pin size and dissapeared with a cheeky 'POP!' noise.

*

All around Malcolm was a swirling mass of light and colour. It really reminded him of '2001: A Space Odyssey'. First panels, then blobs, of multi-hued light flashed past him.

He tried to call out but found he could not speak. The speed at which he was travelling made it hard for him to move his head but he could move just enough to see this man, this 'Daddy Longlegs', holding his hand and seemingly guiding them through this psychadelic lightscape.

'Don't strain too hard, boy.'

Malcolm looked at this creature but was mute.

'Don't want you bustin' a vein! We got plans for you!' With that, Daddy Longlegs burst into an icy cackle and Malcolm blacked out.

*

'Hey. Wake up, Boy! We's arrived at our destination!'

Malcolm struggled to open his eyes as light flooded in and wrapped it's spindly fingers around his aching brain.

'Where am I?' Malcolm muttered.

'I done told you before! This is the reptoid dimension!'

Malcolm struggled to his feet and, putting a hand over his eyes, gazed out on the scene before him.

The world was desert like with a shocking purple sky. Green flashes danced across the sky sporadically. There were plants and trees dotted hither and thither – squat plants covered in vicious black barbs. Some were like luminous green pumpkins, but these had little orange puffs of flowers along the vegetable crests of the plant.

'Why am I here?' Malcolm asked.

'Ah! The ten million dollar question! You's here because we need soldiers!'

'Soldiers for what?'

'What else do you need soldiers for, dummy?! We's at war!' Malcolm stumbled back, his mouth agape in a ghostly fashion. Daddy Longlegs danced over to him.

'You ain't scared is you boy?'

Malcolm clenched his jaw and growled his response; 'Mister, Malcolm Crabstick isn't afraid of anything!'

Longlegs' mouth contorted into a wicked grin and he let out a yowl skywards.

'That's the spirit, boy! Let's get going! You gots to meet the rest of the team!'

With that, Daddy Longlegs began to dance a path through the desert, Malcolm stoically following.

*

Malcolm stood before the group and had to try hard not to let his eyeballs fall from their sockets. It had been explained to him that he was part of an elite team, handpicked from millions of dimensions in order to help protect this planet from the malevolent clutches of Seabrox- the fiendish inter-dimensional war baron.

There were a few groups milling about the bunker Malcolm found himself in. There were about fifty entities he estimated, as far as he could see there were only two humans present – including himself.

A gaseous being floated towards him and spoke in a a sickening tone, at which Malcolm visibly recoiled.

The being proffered something and motioned for him to place it in his ear. Malcolm complied and, after a few seconds of high pitched noises, was able to understand the thing before him.

'Greetings! I am Maize Snakk.'

'I'm Malcolm Crabstick.' Malcolm held out a hand but realised his school boy error and withdrew it quickly.

'What planet are you from?' asked Maize.

'Earth. What about you?'

'I am from Planet Rape.'

'Planet... Rape?'

'Yes! Planet Rape, in the Rudeclark cluster.'

'That's... nice.' replied Malcolm, unsure how to proceed. He was spared blushes by the approach of the other human he had seen. The man was tall and insanely muscular, clad only in a loincloth and big, furry boots. At his side was a massive, fuck off sword and he had a huge axe slung over his back. The man held out his hand; 'My name is Steele. Who be you?'

'I'm Malcolm.'

With that, Malcolm offered his twig-like arm up into Steele's bear paw mitt. Steele held Malcolm's hand firmly - perhaps a little too hard, as if he were trying to show his immediately apparent strength.

Malcolm smiled and laughed nervously but there was no escaping. Steele's wild eyes were boring into Malcolm's mind and filling it with a mad haze.

'What is this man doing to me?!' Screamed Malcolm inside his mind, unable to issue sound from his mouth.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the ordeal ended.

'I had to test you.' Said Steele.

'Test me for what?' asked Malcolm, testily.

'I had to make sure your heart was pure and strong. That your nuts be salty and true!'

'Did I pass?'

'Aye, lad! Thee passed well! There not be a stouter man in these lands than thee! Except maybe... ME?!'

Steele boomed and laughed heartily. He slapped Malcolm on the back quite hard. Malcolm laughed, then the gas man laughed and they all looked at each other with tears of joy in their eyes, faces twisted into mad forms as they yowled and cried.

*

Tbc.