The House Of Whoosher... ;-)

[Henrietta "India Ana" Jones]

India Ana watched the house as she recorded her book:

“The Whoosher house appears to have passed through time periods right before my very eyes. The wall seems to be the safety zone and only the area and objects within that area are affected. In each time period jumped into, the same exact people arrived and entered the house; forever. Well, they’re never seen to exit. Could they be trapped in other time periods? In other universes? In other dimensions? Some of the transformations of the house seemed other worldly. What could possibly be going on here?”

India Ana inhaled deeply. This situation was far more complicated than she’d imagined. No one would believe the truth of what she has witnessed. So, her book of lies would sell far better than the truth ever would.

“Could the people ever meet up with themselves? How strange to greet your other selves from past and future lives. Ha! They say two heads are better than one, but what if those two or more heads are of the same person?”

As India Ana sat atop her perch, dictating her book, the house grew old and worn and began to crumble. A flash of light blinded her for a brief moment before the house rolled back and tumbled off the cliff, crashing into the raging waters below. The house broke up in the waves and was soon joined by the grounds, trees, graveyard, and other buildings. All was washed out to sea. The only objects left standing were the wall, guardhouse and gates.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee jerked awake to find herself alone in the dining room. Dust covered everything, even the rotted food on the tables. A spider crawling across her plate jolted her into action, and she jumped to her feet, slamming her chair backward onto the floor. The commotion caused quite the clatter.

The noise resounded throughout the room and on into the hallway and other rooms. It reverberated throughout the whole house, growing and growing until the house began to tremble from the vibrations of it. Joxcee ran from the room, expecting to find herself in the hallway, but instead found herself in a small, cramped room. The room was cram packed with Mrs. Peacock and all the servants.

Joxcee stifled a scream, and coughed as it lodged in her throat, then did an about face. Before she could go back through the door, someone grabbed her by the arm, keeping her from leaving the room.

“Madam. You don’t want to be out there just now.” Mrs. Peacock said. The harshness of the woman’s voice held Joxcee to her spot.

Outside the door, Joxcee could hear crashing, and banging, and everything began to shake.

“Earthquake?” she asked.

“Worse.” said Mrs. Peacock.

“Worse?” said Joxcee.

“The house is at the end of its cycle. Once it is destroyed, it will go back to the beginning and start the process all over again.” Mrs. Peacock sniffed with boredom.

“O-kay.” Joxcee glanced from Mrs. Peacock to each face of the others. None of the faces showed fear. Actually, they pretty much seemed bored too. Like: Been there, done that. Hurry up; let’s get this show back on the road. “Does this often, does it?”

“We’ve lost count. We used to hope for a hero to break the curse, but we’ve long given up on that ever happening.” Mrs. Peacock let out a heavy sigh. “You’re different, I must say. We’ve never had any of the guests hole up with up here in the guardhouse before.”

Mrs. Peacock gave Joxcee the once over, then the twice over, and finally the thrice over. “You don’t look like hero material to me. I’m guessing you’re going to be a new servant. We’ve never had a live servant before, so this time around will be very interesting.”

“Oh?” Joxcee gasped for air. “Should I be worried?”

As Joxcee said those words, a bright light seeped in through the cracks in the door, growing brighter and brighter, until filling the room and blocking out any hope of vision. Somehow it even washed out the sound.

And then . . .

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

Joxcee awoke to the sounds of a door knocker. She yawned and stretched as the knocking continued. Her eyes were still so heavy, that she couldn’t open them. She yawned and stretched again. She began to slowly awaken her body by first wiggling her toes . . . then her feet . . . then her legs. She tightened the muscles in her calves and thighs. She then moved to her fingers and hands . . . then her arms and shoulders.

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

Bam . . . bam . . . bam . . .

As Joxcee took in a deep breath, she wondered where Mrs. Peacock might be. And then her eyes flew open in a flash. She glanced about her bedroom. Okay, how did I get here? Was it all just a dream?

“Madam,” Mrs. Peacock’s proper tone of voice came from the callbox in the wall next to the headboard of the bed. “You’re guests are starting to arrive.”

“My . . . what?” Joxcee sputtered for a moment. “What guests?”

“Madam, you need to press the talk button to chat with me.”

Joxcee leaned over and flipped the switch to talk. “What guests are you talking about? They already arrived. There are no new guests expected.”

“You’re forgetting. We’re on a new journey now. And you’re stuck here with us forever. Get down here and put some lead in their rears so we can end this ordeal before it all begins again.”

“Oh . . . well, okay then.” Joxcee flipped off the switch and sat pondering the situation. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think she had been talking to someone else. That certainly wasn’t the usually emotionless Mrs. Peacock. She herself wasn’t quite normal either. She was far calmer than she really had a right to be. She should be bouncing off the walls. She should be certifiably unglued.

“Don’t make me come up there and get you!”

Joxcee jumped to her feet and began to get dressed. This was to be her second go around . . . she did not wish for a third . . . or even a fourth. Eventually, somewhere in there, she would surely die. And apparently, death would not be a release.

[moonglum]

The Duesenberg glided along through the country lanes like a hockey puck on ice. Bertie laughed as the car narrowly missed the iron gates that had began to close behind him, and he gunned the engine for that final drive up to the house.
"Look Tilly, they've done a marvellous job with this one. The house even looks as if it's falling down. I bet the stairs creak too." He laughed again and brought the 'old girl' to a stop in front of the main building. Switching off the engine, he retrieved the card from his pocket.

'You are cordially invited to a weekend of: MURDER, MYSTERY and SUSPENSE.'

"Looks like it's going to be a fun weekend, darling."

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee paused at her door. This time she would look before she leapt. She pulled open the door and peeked out to see if the hallway was indeed on the other side. And it was. But she stepped out slowly anyways, waiting for the hallway to change into something else at any moment.

Are the others gone? she wondered. Did they too manage to find a hidey-hole and survive? If so, where were they now? Were the arriving guests them? Were they unaware this was the second go around? Ack! Was it even their second go around? What if it was the 102nd go around? Some fluke placed her in a hidey-hole that didn’t erase her memories this time. Would that be an advantage this go around, or a disadvantage? One thing was for sure, ‘No more wasteful meetings!’

Hmm. Were they at the beginning, middle, or end of this go around? Just how much time did they have? Doh. What if the end came at any time during the cycle? If that were the case, they had to assume time was running out, and soon.

Joxcee hit a cold spot in the hallway. Goosebumps rose up all over and every hair stood straight up.

“Boo!”

The hot breath on Joxcee’s left ear sent even more chills down her already icy spine, as she jumped to the right, slamming into the wall and sliding to the floor.

“Phalon?” Joxcee’s heart leapt out of her chest. This time from excitement at the prospect that Phalon just scared the baloney out of her yet again.

“Phalon!” Joxcee jumped to her feet, only to find the hallway void of anyone other than herself.

Could Phalon be here? On another plane of existence maybe? Could Phalon see her, but she not see Phalon?

“Phalon? Are you here?” Silence. “Can you hear me? Can you see me?” Silence.

Joxcee brushed herself off and headed down the stairs, to the foyer below. Who would be waiting for her down there? Would it be Scrappy? She was the first guest to arrive the last time. Maybe it would be Guru, with all his gadgets? Or Malory? Didn’t she have a special connection to the house? If so, why wouldn’t she still be here? Did the house get rid of her because she had a better chance of stopping the cycle?

Joxcee took a deep breath and held it for a brief second before descending the last flight of stairs. This would be it, the moment of truth. Who would she find mulling about in the library, putting on their nametags, checking out the itinerary and memorizing the map layout of the house. Like the map did any good, since the house moved rooms about at will. This place was worse than the Winchester House, with its maze of dead end hallways and odd, mismatched rooms.

“It’s déjà vu all over again, Joxcee.” She took in another deep breath. “You can do this, you can do this, you _can_ do this.”

[Henrietta "India Ana" Jones]

India Ana rewound the camcorder and played the scene back. The house crumbled and fell backward off the cliff, along with the whole acreage within the walls, into the ocean below. The waves broke up the large chunks and washed everything out to sea. Then the waves churned and swirled and foamed, becoming the white hole she had seen before. The vortex opened its mouth wider and wider as it rose upwards towards her and the walls.

A black opening formed within the mouth; this throat grew as large as the mouth and vile spewed forth from it. This vomit sprayed out into the space within the walls and solidified; forming into land, trees, buildings, and Whoosher House itself. Within seconds of this happening, people began arriving anew. Some were the same as those before, others were new, and many had not shown up yet. Were their souls redeemed? Were their reincarnations able to move on without repeating the pattern, or had these souls been captured or destroyed? What did the house need from these people? Was the house a friend, or an enemy? Was it the house itself causing this bizarre cycle, or some outside force? That was the mystery she would have to solve, or fabricate, whichever the case may be.

Honk, honk.

India Ana jumped out of her skin, nearly losing her camcorder in the process.

“Hey, Lady. You don’t wanna be going inside that house. I was told no one ever comes back out of it.”

India Ana glanced over her shoulder to see a bald man hanging his head out of a very expensive car. “I’m very well aware of that, but thank you.” She gave a friendly nod and watched as the car made a U-turn and sped back in the direction from whence it came, before returning her attention back to the camcorder.

[moonglum]

A servant answered the door and admitted them into a large hallway. "Good evening sir and madam. If you would care to follow me to the library, I'll see your luggage is taken up to your room." Opening a doorway he stepped to one side and announced the new arrivals.
"Lord Albert and Lady Matilda Rockingham."
Bertie and Tilly entered the library and looked around at the other guests. Exchanging a smile, they both acknowledged the same shared thought. Their compatriots certainly displayed a bohemian sense of style, if nothing else. A discreet cough at his side alerted Bertie to the fact that the servant was still hovering nearby.
"May I offer you some refreshment sir, madam?"
"Whiskey and Soda, please." Bertie turned to his wife and asked, "Anything for you darling?"

[vox]

Tilly stood by the huge open fireplace soaking in the heat from the roaring fire, and the atmosphere of her surroundings. The journey here had left her feeling chilly. Her husband, Bertie, had insisted on their riding with the top down, despite the rather inclement weather of late. As she sipped her Pimm's, Tilly studied the other occupants of the room. They certainly were a mixed bunch, she thought.”This Pimm's is lovely thank you Bertie” She began to wonder what she had let herself in for in agreeing to come to this place, but then as a dutiful loving wife, she'd go anywhere with her adorable Bertie!

[moonglum]

“How long doc?”
The pathologist looked up from the body as Sheriff Wilson entered the room.
“Oh, four hours, give or take.”
The Sheriff looked around the room. He was standing in one of the rooms in an old abandoned motel. The place had been closed down for about fifteen years now. His gaze took in the walls and ceiling, all now spattered with the sticky residue of slowly drying blood. Turning back to look at the body he said.
“What did this doc?”
Doctor Phillips had been a police pathologist all his professional life. Now in his sixtieth year he had never seen anything like this before. The body on the floor was that of a young woman in her twenties. She was dressed in just her underwear. Her clothes were neatly folded on a chair by the wall and on top of them sat her head.
“Not sure Ray. An axe maybe, or a sword. Whatever it was, it must have been damn sharp. Cut clean through the flesh and the bone. No splintering, no tears or jagged edges. Just a razor-clean cut. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
The chief looked again at the blood stains. “She must have been standing up when it happened, for the blood to get on the ceiling like that. And why did he pick up the head and place it on the chair.”
Doc Phillips looked up at him and replied. “He? You don't think it was a woman did this, then.”
Sheriff Wilson shook his head. “I don't think a woman did this doc, not unless she had superhuman strength that is.”

Sister Victoria hated the outside world. As she drove along the highway out of town, she thought about the men she met every day. The looks, the jeers and the jokes wore her down. It was the same every day. Her daily penance, for her past sins, she guessed. Every morning she drove the tired old Volvo to the market, to collect fresh fruit and vegetables. Not just collect, but beg for them first. The Convent of Mary Magdalene had very little money and what it had, needed to go a long, long way. Every penny counted.
“Christ, this fog is getting thicker.” She muttered, mentally admonishing herself for her cursing. As she peered through the wind-shield she thought the mist was unusual for this time of year, and it seemed to be getting darker. She thought she had better slow down a bit..........thud!
“What in god's name was that?” She thought, as something hit the side of the car. She pulled over and got out of the vehicle. As she did so, the fog began to dissipate, blown away as if by a non-existent breeze. Walking back she saw, what looked like a large bundle, lying by the road. As she drew nearer she realised it was a body. Kneeling down, she saw it was a young woman. Her ragged coat had ripped down the back and poking out through the tear, Sister Victoria saw, what looked like a wing!
“Holy Mary, mother of Christ. I've killed an angel!”


Jason slowly woke. He still could not see and he felt nausea beginning to build up in his throat, as his body spun slowly end over end. The spinning began to slow until, gradually, his body came to rest and he floated free in a warm, velvet-like blackness. Thoughts whirled around his mind. What just happened? Where am I? He held his hand up to his eyes for a second time and was relieved to see the outline of his fingers. As he clung to this slender grip on reality, his body dropped and he felt himself plummeting downwards. Wind rushed past his ears causing a loud whistle to drown his thoughts and exacerbate his fear............Crash!
His head and left shoulder smashed into something and his body flipped over before coming to an abrupt stop. So abrupt that it knocked the wind from his body and he slumped once more into unconsciousness.

Sheriff Ray Wilson sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the blood-stained floor. His hand gently stroked the coverlet. One of the first things he had noticed was the cleanliness of the room. The motel had been closed-up for many years, but this room had been cleaned recently. A new mattress and bed-linen on the bed, surfaces polished, carpet cleaned and window washed. A quiet, secluded love-nest had been painstakingly prepared. The car outside, hidden around the back out of sight of the road, was registered to a Geraldine Brantoff. This was confirmed by the identity card in the victim’s purse, lying open on the bed. Sheriff Wilson let his mind wander through a sea of 'what-ifs' and 'why-fors'.
The absence of any other fresh tyre tracks would seem to suggest that the victim had arrived alone and was waiting for her lover. So, what happened next? Her lover arrives on foot, carrying a damn great axe or sword? This place is miles from anywhere, standing alone on a highway. The time of death was about 3.00pm. That seemed to indicate they both arrived in broad daylight. Anyone walking along the highway carrying the suggested murder weapon, would surely have been noticed by a passing motorist. Then again, Geraldine and her lover could have arrived together in the one vehicle. He could have killed her and then walked off into the sunset. Wilson didn't like that theory. Her car, so she picks him up. 'Oh, hang on a minute darling, I just need to put this axe/sword in the trunk'! No, that boat didn't float for him.
The possibility that remained seemed the most plausible. The victim arrives alone with intention of meeting her lover, and a third party kills her. However, if that was the case then, what happened to the lover? No more tyre-tracks suggests he never arrived. What became of him?
“Chief!”
The voice on the police radio brought him back to world of the living.
“Sheriff Wilson, come in.”
Ray stood up and walked from the room, down the three steps to his squad car. Picking up the handset, he answered. “Sheriff Wilson here. What is it Murphy?”
“Sheriff, you'd better get up to Devils Curve. We've got another one.”

[moonglum]

Whispers reached her ears, as Aphemenie began to regain consciousness. A woman and a man, arguing outside the door, almost out of earshot.
“We cannot.” The woman’s voice was quiet, almost pleading. “She is still very weak.”
The man was plainly becoming frustrated. “Sister, you fail to realise what this can do for the abbey. People will flock here from all over the world. Pilgrimages will be made to witness this miracle.”
A second woman's voice, more authoritative and with barely disguised contempt.
“You would put her in a freak-show, Friar Jerome. For what? Personal glory, or the chance to turn a quick dollar?”
“How dare you Sister Margaret. This would be for the good of this abbey, which I remind you, includes your convent. You cannot deny, you would welcome the opportunity to swell our coffers, any more than would I.”

Pinpricks of light, stabbed at her eyes as she slowly opened her eyelids. The voices stopped. An unearthly quiet permeated the room and Aphemenie slowly turned her head, knowing he was there even before she saw him.
The old man smiled. He nodded towards the door. “They certainly make a good advertisement for being a non-believer, don't they?”
Aphemenie blinked and slowly shook her head, trying to clear the fogginess from her mind. “Where am I,” she whispered.
“You are in a small private hospital, I believe.” In answer to her look of incomprehension, he added. “A place where the injured are healed and cared for.”
They both looked towards the door, as it opened and a woman entered the room. “Oh, you are awake.”
Although Aphemenie had never seen her, she knew by her voice, that this was the soft spoken of the two women she had heard outside. The woman was dressed in a long brown robe that reached the ground, her head appeared to be entirely enclosed by a white head-covering, topped with a folded back black veil, leaving only her face visible. Aphemenie darted a look at the old man.
“It's al-right, my dear. The good sister can neither see nor hear me.”
Sister Victoria pulled up a chair and sat at the side of the bed. She took Aphemenie's hand in hers and lowered her head. “Please, I beg your forgiveness. You come to us bearing your message from Our Lord and I, in my clumsiness, try to run you down. I am so sorry, please forgive me.”
Forgetting herself for a moment, Aphemenie looked towards the old man and said, “What message? Who is she?”
“Who are you talking to?” Sister Victoria looked around the room. Then slowly, as realisation put two and two together, Sister Victoria came up with five and a look of terror stole across her face. With one word, “Oh,” she sank to her knees and shakily began to pray.
The old man laughed. “My dear, she believes you to be an Angel who, at this moment, is talking to God. Well she is almost right. You are talking to 'a god', I suppose.” And he laughed out loud again.


Once Sheriff Wilson left the main highway, he followed the single track road as it wound its way up through a wooded area towards the cliff-top. Wilson had been the Sheriff here for about three years now, having left the big city and settling for the quieter pace of life that this small backwater offered. In all that time he had never ventured along this road before. As far as he remembered being told, the road dead-ended at a big old place out on the point. Almost on cue, and through a gap in the trees, he looked across the bay and saw the huge, imposing grey stone of Whoosher House, staring back at him through its lifeless dull windows. He pulled the car to a stop and for some reason he couldn't fathom, he found the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a shiver ran down his spine.


It was a particularly nasty hairpin bend, and it was called Devil's Curve for a reason. Situated midway between the main highway and the end of the road, the track, and it was little more than a track at this point, had a one hundred foot drop to the rocks below on one side. If you ran it too fast and lost the back-end, then you'd better have made a pact with the devil, because prayers to the almighty were not likely to save you. Ray pulled the car up behind a line of other vehicles and climbed out. He walked around the curve until he arrived at a cordoned off area among the trees. He stopped and looked down at the tyre tracks in the road. The surface showed distinct marks, veering off the road and into the trees. Ray walked along the road looking at the road surface. The car had obviously been coming from the house and looked as if it was well in control as it rounded the curve. Not travelling too fast, the car had traversed about two thirds of the curve when it had skidded to a stop. The skid was relatively short, reinforcing his opinion about the car's speed. Then the marks did something weird. They just took off, in a straight line, into the trees. From the end of the skid, there was no gentle curve as if the car set off and deliberately steered into the wood. No, all four wheels just took off at an angle of forty-five degrees and the car appeared to have broadsided into the trees, where it tried to wrap itself around the biggest oak tree that the sheriff had ever seen.

Wilson walked up to the car and was joined by Doc Phillips. Taking off his gloves, the doctor said.
“This one is a beauty. Time of death, about twelve hours ago, which puts it nearly two hours before the motel victim.” Phillips paused before continuing. “The head is on the driver seat and the body is on the other side of the tree.”
Ray looked in the side window and sure enough, the victim's head was sitting, the right way up, on the seat. Exactly in the middle and, more surprisingly to the former detective, not sitting in a pool of blood. In fact there was no sign of blood anywhere in the car. He looked sideways at the doctor and Phillips beckoned with his finger. The pair walked around the wreckage to the other side of the tree. Ray Wilson stopped dead in his tracks. Sitting against the bole of the tree, with his arms folded, was the headless corpse of a man.

[moonglum]

Note

Berrickford County was an average sized area of about 1500square miles. Its 230,000 population lived a relatively peaceful existence. The county town of Berrickford lay on the coast on one side of a vast bay. On the other side of the bay stood the old Whoosher house.

[moonglum]

“Get his wallet d**head.” The voice was guttural and slurred.
“I'm looking, idiot.” A pause, then. “crap, look at this.” A second voice exclaimed, as he pulled back the coat to reveal the weapons strapped to the still form lying in the dark alley.
The voices slowly pierced the darkness which held Jason captive. He tried to open his eyes. He managed to open his right eye, but that was sticking and clouded by a red mist. He felt hands pawing at him and instinctively lashed out with his right hand. His fist connected with soft flesh followed by bone. He felt and heard the bone snap and the pawing stopped.
“Bastard's broken my nose. “ The second voice yelped in pain.
Jason tried to roll away as booted feet kicked at his sides. He tried to raise his left arm. Why wouldn't his left arm work? As the vision in his right eye began to clear a bit more, he saw the toe-cap just before it connected with his head and, half rolling, he kicked his assailant in the groin The man doubled and groaned in pain. As the second man came at him, Jason pulled his needle gun from its holster and shot the man in the throat.
Now it was Jason's turn to groan as a wave of nausea swept over him and he turned his head aside to throw up, ignoring the first man as he limped off up the alley. Jason still couldn't open his left eye and his head was throbbing like a steam-hammer. He dragged himself backwards between a pair of dumpsters, until he could lean against the wall. He closed his one good eye and felt darkness crowding in on him again.
Jason suddenly came back to reality amid the sounds of running footsteps and shouting.
“There he is. Murderer. Murderer.”

“So, he was driving from the old Whoosher place, and what?” Ray stood in the road looking at the tyre-tracks once more.
“It's doubtful he was driving from the house.” Doc Phillips shook his head. “About thirty years ago, State changed the county boundaries. They effectively made Berrickford County smaller. The county line follows the edge of the old estate, so the estate is now in the next county. The owners at the time got fed up with people using the estate roads to cross from one county to another, so they had the gates on this side walled up. This road effectively now goes nowhere. Kids use it mostly, they drive up to the bluff to make out.”
“So what was he doing here? Where was he going to, or coming from?” This time it was the Sheriff’s turn to shake his head. “This makes no sense. Two decapitated bodies. Evidence which isn't there but should be, evidence which shouldn't be there, but is. Both of the murder scenes obviously staged, but for what ...ritual, effect, amusement?”
As the pair started walking slowly back towards the cars, the doctor said. “Ray, I'm out of my league here. I'm just a small town doctor who dabbles with police work. I haven't got the experience for something like this, and, if you'll forgive me for saying so, I don't believe you have either.”
Ray Wilson sighed. “I'm beginning to think you are right, doc.”

Aphemenie lifted her head off the pillow and groaned as she reached towards Sister Victoria's bowed shoulder. The bandages wrapping her injured side, pulled at her enclosed wing and made her wince.
“Who........who are you and where am I?”
The young nun raised her head and quietly said. “I am Sister Victoria, a novice here at The Convent of Mary Magdalene. You are in the Abbey infirmary.”
Aphemenie struggled to sit up, but the effort was too much and she slumped back into her pillow. “What happened to me,” she breathed.
Sister Victoria darted a look towards the corner of the room before lowering her eyes and replying.
“You were in an auto-mobile accident, injuring your ribs and a wing.”
Following the young woman’s gaze, Aphemenie also looked towards the old man, only to find he was no longer there. As tiredness swept over her, she whispered, “What is an automoblie?” before sleep embraced her once more.

The mob slowly advanced down the alley towards him. Jason had struggled upright amidst the garbage bins and was trying to examine his injuries. He looked up as they shouted and recognised the assailant he had injured earlier was leading the mob. Moving into open and away from the dumpsters, Jason pulled his gun from its shoulder holster. His left arm still felt numb and hung uselessly by his side. He levelled his weapon at the lead man and was about to squeeze the trigger.
“Drop the gun and put your hands in the air!”
The challenge made Jason turn. Standing some distance behind him were two men in blue uniforms. Both men had their weapons drawn and pointed in his direction. As he turned, his coat fell open to reveal Soulrazor hanging from his hip. Realisation slapped the officers into action, they moved apart to reduce their combined target area and the first cop shouted.
“Drop the gun or I will shoot.”
Jason thought the odds through in the blink of an eye. In his weakened state he might take one out, but the other was almost certain to kill him. He lowered his pistol and slowly bent to place it on the ground.
“Up against the wall, hands behind you, a**hole.”
Jason turned towards the wall as dizziness swept over him again and he pitched forward onto the ground.
The two officers approached cautiously, the first kicking Jason's pistol out of reach. He bent down, pulled Jason's hands behind his back and shackled the unconscious man's hands. Officer Dan Murphy pulled back Jason's coat and eyed the sword lying there.
“Pete, get on the radio. Tell the Sheriff we've caught the murdering bastard.”


1939 was a year fraught with tension. The war in Europe had just begun with a vengeance, and western eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the rising sun in the east. The attack on the USS Panay and the atrocities in Nanking almost two years earlier, had finally swung public opinion fully behind the voices calling for a halt to the Japanese expansion. As Sheriff Wilson got out of his car in the hospital car park, he looked up at the dark clouds and imagined, for an instant, that the hawks of war were already circling above his head.
He strode through the double entrance doors and turned left towards the isolation wards. The old asylum wing had been closed down some years before and the few remaining patients transferred to the state mental institution. Ray stopped before the doors of the first side ward and pressed the buzzer. The door was opened by a uniformed officer and as the Sheriff entered, he paused and waited, while the Officer locked the door behind him.
“Where is he, Dan.”
“He's in the last room on the right.” Officer Murphy pointed, as the pair started walking down the corridor. “The doctors are working on him now.”
“What injuries does he have?” Ray had been awake all night, impatiently waiting for the moment when he would be able to question this man.
“Dislocated and badly bruised left shoulder and a bad gash on the side of his head.”
The pair stopped outside the window looking into a side room. Through the wire-reinforced glass they observed two nurses and a doctor tending to their patient. On the bed, feet and right wrist hand-cuffed to the metal bed frame, lay a tall man. His long white hair, tangled and matted with red on one side, lay splayed out on the pillow. The left side of his face was bandaged and he lay still, apparently asleep. Ray watched him intently for a few moments before turning to his deputy.
“Is he sedated?”
“Yeah. He was unconscious when we brought him in and the doctors want to keep him that way. They saw the weapons we locked in the next room and it scared them to hell. They didn't want us in here at all, but I shouted your name at them till they gave in.” Dan Murphy laughed.
The door buzzer sounded and the pair turned away from the window.
“That will probably be Doc Phillips,” said Ray.
“S'okay, I got it.” Dan walked off down the corridor and the Sheriff returned his attention to the man on the bed.

The old Volvo was, once more, returning home from market. As it cruised along, the sound of Judy Garland singing Over the Rainbow helped ease the young nun's journey. Sister Victoria suddenly shuddered and reflexively crossed herself. For the second time that day, she passed the spot where the accident had occurred and, almost at the same time, heard the news announcer on the radio say.

“We interrupt our programme to bring you breaking news. In a statement released just moments ago, the Abbot of Saint Joseph's Priory has claimed a miracle has occurred. Apparently, the Convent of Mary Magdalene has been visited by an angel....................'

“Oh...damn.” Sister Victoria gunned the engine and, this time, didn’t bother to admonish herself for her blasphemy.

[moonglum]

The Volvo drove through the gates and mayhem met the young nun's eyes. Vehicles were parked everywhere. The path leading up to the entrance steps was jammed with a clamouring throng of reporters and others. On the top step, the Abbot and Friar Jerome held court. Sister Victoria eased the car around the crowd and down the side of the convent, towards the rear entrance. She parked and, leaping from the front seat she ran through the back door and down the corridor. Taking the stairs two at a time, the nun climbed up to the second floor. She stopped on the top step and peeked around the corner. The corridor was clear. Composing herself, Victoria walked along the corridor and stopped outside the door to Aphemenie's room. The Sister was about to enter, when she heard voices coming from within.
“Jason is definitely here, then?” Aphemenie's voice sounded thin and tired.
“Yes. Although, like yourself, he has been injured and at present is also hospitalized. Furthermore, he is a guest, shall we say, of the local authorities.” A man's voice that Sister Victoria did not recognise. It had a soft, but authoritarian tone, and the nun imagined an elderly father-figure accompanying the voice.
“A guest?” Aphemenie asked.
“Apparently, there have been a number of murders. It appears your friend has been arrested and will probably be accused of committing them.”
“Murders?”
The word uttered by Aphemenie simultaneously echoed in the young nun's head. Murders? Friend? This did not sound like the words of an angel, or a discussion with the Lord. Sister Victoria steeled herself and thrust open the door, striding quickly into the room. She saw Aphemenie, still lying in her bed, and............no-one else.
“Who are you talking to?” She looked around the room.
Aphemenie sighed and closed her eyes. “No-one,” she murmured.
“I heard a man's voice.” The sister continued looking around the room as if, at any moment, the mysterious voice would materialise.

[moonglum]

She opened her cold, black eyes and blinked at the light of day. With a shudder, she sucked in lungful’s of air and began to stretch. She rolled, drawing her knees beneath her, into a kneeling position and sniffed the air. Rising to her feet she looked around her, listening intently. Then she heard it. In the distance, the approaching thunder of a diesel engine. Some way off, but closing. She set off at a run and, in the blink of an eye, she reached the road and stood there, waiting patiently.


The truck rounded the bend at the brow of the hill and began the descent into the valley below. It had been a long haul across country, but John Rhodes was on the final stretch. He was feeling all of his sixty years, from his tired eyes right down to his aching feet. Forty miles to Berrickford and he would be home. Home, even the word felt good. His wife Annie, and daughter Ella, would be pleased to see him. Both they, and John, hated being apart, but these long runs brought in the money. They had paid for Annie's operations and now, six years after her accident, she was just beginning to walk again. In her last phone call, she had sounded so upbeat, so happy.
“Penny for them, John!”
He turned and looked across at the young woman sitting next him. Sue Corrigan had broken down on her way home after visiting relatives, and John, recognising both her and the old Ford she had been nursing the last few years, had stopped and offered her a ride.
John smiled and said. “Sorry. Just thinking about........”
Look Out!”
Sue's yell forced John to jerk his attention back to the road. Standing in the middle of the road was a young, naked woman. John hit the brakes, hard. It was a combination of forty years of trucking and pure luck that kept the rig from jack-knifing. Thirty tons of solid steel skidded and finally shuddered to a halt, not twenty feet from the woman. For a few, long moments nothing happened. No one moved. John continued to grip the wheel, white knuckled and shaking. Then fear and panic quickly subsided, only to be replaced by anger and finally, rage. John flung the door open and jumped down to the road. He started towards the woman.
“You stupid.......” Words failed him for a moment. “What the hell do you think you are doing? You could have been killed!” He stopped in front of her and exasperation overcame him. She just stood there, smiling at him. Then, as he fumed inwardly, she slowly raised her hands up to cup his face. John stood immobile as her cold, black eyes smiled back at him. He opened his mouth to speak and, with frightening speed, she thrust both her thumbs deep into his eye sockets, through his eyeballs and into his brain. She stood there supporting John's twitching body until, finally, she dropped his lifeless corpse to the tarmac and looked up at the trucks wind shield.
As she walked slowly towards the rig, Sue Corrigan screamed.

[moonglum]

Jason slowly opened his right eye and quickly shut it again. The bright light pierced through to his brain and awoke the headache lying dormant in his skull. After a few moments, he tried again and this time succeeded in keeping his eye open. He was in, what appeared to be, a hospital. He tried to raise his left hand up to his face but found his left arm was encased in plaster and bandaged to his side. He couldn't move his other hand or his legs either. Jason started to struggle. He was manacled and strapped to the bed.
“Doctor, he's waking up!”
Jason turned his head and strained to see who the voice belonged to. A nurse entered his room through an open door on the right.
“Hello, you're awake then. How do you feel?” She smiled at him.
“Like crap. Where am I, and why am I strapped to this bed? Jason answered through clenched teeth, whilst still straining at his bonds.
“You are in hospital. You were.........”
“That's enough nurse.” A man in a white coat entered the room and cut the nurse off. “Now then young fella, how do you feel?” The doctor leaned over Jason and shone a light in his eye. Jason gritted his teeth.
“Why am I strapped down?”
“I am sure the police will explain everything to you very soon. In fact our local sheriff is waiting outside to talk to you.”
“Wonderful.” Jason groaned. “What happened to me?”
The doctor straightened up and turned towards the door. “As I said, young man, you'll have to save your questions for the police.”

Doc Phillips was feeling uncomfortable. He stared at the long, black blade lying on the table, and his focus was drawn down and into the surface of the sword. The darkness swirled and slowly cleared, revealing a clear night sky full of stars. The room and everything around the elderly physician, melted away and left him alone among the stars. One star in particular mesmerised him, as it slowly moved closer, towards him. As he stared, the star changed into a face. A glowing, red face with horns and a wide grinning mouth.
“Doc”
Sheriff Wilson's voice snapped the doctor back to the present.
“You ok, doc?”
“Oh, yes. I thought for a moment I saw................” Doctor Phillips shook his head. “I'm sorry Ray, it has been a long night. Right, where was I.” He turned his gaze back to the sword for a second. “He actually had that thing on his person?”
“Yes. The maniac was walking around with that blade hanging on his belt, like he was in some bad movie or something. Now doc, what did you find out?”
“Well the blood on his clothes is all his own. Furthermore there is no trace of his blood at the motel scene. His blood was all over the edge of one of the dumpsters in the alley, along with skin tissue that matches his.It looks like his injuries were sustained by falling from height and hitting the dumpster. The blade here had no traces of human blood on it, just some green substance that is similar to blood but is not! I don't know where you go from here Ray, but I seriously doubt that he is your man.”

[moonglum]

Aphemenie sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the commotion outside, and glared at the sister seated opposite her. She held her bandaged side and tried to steady her breathing. Her ribs hurt like hell.
“For god's sake, will someone please tell me where I am and what the hell is going on?” She growled and shot a glance at the corner of the room.
Sister Victoria drew in a breath and said. “You are not an angel, are you?”
“No, I'm not an angel. Whatever that is!”
“But, your wings! I thought.......”
Aphemenie sighed. “We all have wings where I come from. Look, I come from another place, another world. I don't pretend to understand it myself, but I am definitely not what you think I am.”
Sister Victoria's eyes widened. “You all have wings? Where is this place?”
It was at this point that Aphemenie lost her temper. Her hand stopped cradling her ribs and shot out to grab the young nun's shoulder. “What ...is...this....place....and.... what....do....you....want? Now, one of you, talk to me. Without any riddles.”
Victoria's eyes flicked around the room as she freed herself from Aphemenie's grasp. “Aha. I knew I heard another voice. Now where is he hiding?”
The old man sighed aloud and slowly materialised in his corner. “It seems I was mistaken. Apparently, the young lady can hear me!”

The truck swept past the city limit sign and showed no signs of slowing down. In fact, due to the slight downhill stretch of highway leading into town, the rig gained even more speed. The woman behind the wheel grinned as she pushed the pedal harder into the floor. She looked down at the blood on the front of the dress so recently worn by Sue Corrigan, and grinned. Her white, fang-like teeth showed through the dark red stain around her mouth, and her black, feline eyes, flashed in time with the passing of the staggered white lines on the highway in front. Her hand moved down until it found the brake lever. Inching it up a few notches, she watched in the mirror as the brakes began first to bind, then slowly begin to heat up. After a couple of minutes she smiled again as she saw sparks flashing from around the wheels.

[moonglum]

Officer Nolan sat in his patrol car, dozing. He had parked his car behind a clump of bushes, midway along the tree-lined avenue that led towards main-street. His duties that day, were the same as the preceding four days. Traffic duty. Park up and watch for speeding motorists. Give chase, pull over, explain the error of their ways to them and finally give them a ticket. Trouble was, there were not many boy-racers in Berrickford. The population of this small town were unusually law-abiding. Oh, there were one or two troublesome individuals, as in most towns, but normally only after three or four beers on a Saturday night. Even then it was mostly just rowdiness. Apart from the two recent incidents, it was all quiet and business as usual.
Which was why Officer Nolan suddenly sat bolt upright and blinked, hardly believing his eyes. He recognised the truck straight away. The tanker belonging to John Rhodes flashed past his patrol car and Nolan estimated its speed to be at least 70mph. As the policeman started his car and gave chase, he noticed two things on the tanker that froze his blood. The most obvious thing was that all the rear wheels on the tanker were ablaze, the tyres sending columns of thick black smoke trailing in the tankers wake, flames catching the paintwork on the rear of the tanker and highlighting the bold letters across the back. The second thing was the letters themselves. Six large letters, that spelled out the word................BUTANE.


“So, that is what happened, and how you come to be here.” An agitated Sister Victoria sat and looked down at her two thumbs, suddenly aware that she had clasped her hands and was wringing them in despair. “I am so sorry. If only I had been concentrating more on the road, instead of daydreaming.”
Aphemenie screwed up her eyes and raised her hand to massage her brow. The noise emanating from the courtyard wasn't helping. An incessant cacophony of voices, at times too loud, whilst at others, quieting down to an irritating buzzing murmur. “What is happening outside? All that noise?”
The Sister suddenly sat upright, her desperate mood slipping away as she scowled. “The Abbot and Friar Jerome decided that your arrival can only result in good publicity for the abbey. If the truth be known, it's more about money than anything else. They believe the influx of pilgrims will spread the word of the 'miracle' far and wide, and, if each is bearing alms, well so much the better”. Sister Victoria straightened her back and sighed. “They intend parading you in front of the press, like selling meat on the hoof at some cattle market!”
The old man looked at the young nun and said. “You seem to have a singularly cynical outlook, when it comes to the subject of your elders, young lady.”
Sister Victoria stood and folded her arms, she remained silent for a few moments. Then, with the air of someone who has reached a crossroads in their life and immediately chosen the path they wished to take, she said. “We must get you away from here, somewhere quiet, somewhere safe. I know a place. An old deserted house up on the bluff. The old Whoosher place!”.

[moonglum]

Sheriff Ray Wilson stood by the side of the hospital bed, and stared down at the bandaged face lying there. “You ready to answer a few questions?”
Jason stared right back at him, and smiled as he answered. “I can't help you. I don't know what's going on and, if the truth be told, I don't really care. I don't even know where I am. Where am I, by the way?”
Ray pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. He leaned forward and slowly, and with slow deliberation, he growled. ”Believe me when I say, you will answer my questions.”
Jason grinned at the sheriff and said. “Can I have my sword back, I feel kind of naked without it?” Actually, the grin belied the fact that he was puzzled. Since awakening in this place, Jason had been trying to mentally link with his blade but, for some reason unknown to him, he had failed every time.
“Yeah, right. You think I'm going to hand over that sword, just like that? What do you think I am, a fool?”
Jason's grin widened and, as he opened his mouth to answer, the sheriff forestalled him.
“Don't bother answering that. I should think …..........!”
The whole building seemed to shake and rock to its very foundations. Furniture fell over, windows shattered and ceilings fell. A fraction of a second later, the deafening roar of an explosion sent its shock wave through the building. The resulting concussion forced the air against their eardrums with such force that rendered further sound inaudible. The sheriff fell to his knees and, as the lights went out and his world collapsed about him, his last thought was 'What the hell was that?'

[moonglum]

“You can come out from under there now.”
Sister Victoria watched in the rear view mirror, as Aphemenie threw back the blanket and extricated herself from the foot-well in the rear of the Volvo. Their departure from the Abbey had gone largely unnoticed. Exiting down the stairs at the rear of the building, they left via the road leading to the north gate. From there, the young nun turned the vehicle onto the highway and drove north.
Aphemenie held her aching side as she made herself comfortable. She looked around, at the interior of the vehicle, at the scenery rushing past the windows, lost in awe at this strange means of transport. “Is it very far to this place?”
“Not very far, just over the county line. It's a big old house, been deserted for years as far as I know.”
Aphemenie turned her attention back to the other woman. “As far as you know? You mean you are not sure if it is inhabited or not.”
“Oh no, it is definitely deserted. I just meant that I wasn't sure for how long.”
They drove on in silence for some time and Aphemenie found herself dozing. The gentle rocking motion of the automoblie soon sent her into a deep sleep. As she slept, Aphemenie dreamed. She dreamed that she walked across a meadow towards a dark forest. In the blink of an eye, she found herself walking through the wood, brushing aside branches and leaves. Her progress slowed as the vegetation thickened around her. Very soon she was panicking and thrashing at the claustrophobic greenery as it pushed against her body, imbued with a life of its own. Aphemenie felt her legs weaken and give way as the forest forced her down to the ground, then, just as she was about to scream, she saw a tunnel open up in front of her. She crawled slowly through the, now lifeless, vegetation, towards the inviting sunlight. Her knees and elbows scraped across the ground for what seemed like an eternity until, suddenly, she was out of the wood and standing in the shade of the trees at the edge of the forest.
Aphemenie looked down a hill towards an area surrounded by a low wall. The area was filled with many standing stones. Some plain, some shaped and some quite ornate. Most were flat while others, were formed into various figures. All seemed to have a mound of earth, covered with grass, and in front of it, and each had some form of writing upon its surface. By the side of one of the mounds, a woman knelt and appeared to be crying. After a while, the woman rose and moved off. Aphemenie was just about to follow, when, from the corner of her eye, she saw a man leave the shadow of the trees to her left and walk down the hill towards the spot recently vacated by the woman. Realisation slowly dawned as Aphemenie recognised the lanky figure, with its long white hair falling about the man's shoulders.
“Jason!” Aphemenie shouted as she broke from the cover of the wood, and ran towards the man as he strode down the hill. She quickly reached him and stretched her hand out to grasp his shoulder. As she did so, she felt her body lurch and she opened her eyes and saw the scenery rushing past the windows of the automoblie once more.
“Sorry, these old roads are in need of repair. Did you enjoy your sleep?” said the young nun.
Aphemenie gazed ahead where, in the distance, she saw a large pair of iron gates. On either side of the gates, a high wall stretched away into the distance.

…..............................................................................................................


Jason floated high above the ground, in a sky dotted with hazy blue clouds. Every now and then, the clouds would part to reveal a rolling green landscape below, dotted with trees and shrubs. A sudden gust of wind pushed him along and he started to gather speed. His initial panic over suddenly falling to earth subsided, leaving a feeling of breathless elation. He began to experiment with his arms and legs. First twisting this way, then the other. Laughing, he soared upwards and then dived towards the earth, raising his body at the last moment and presenting a full frontal stance to act as an air brake. He slowed and finally, swivelling his body, touched the ground with one foot, then the other.
He stood in a meadow gently sloping down to a low walled graveyard. A kneeling figure, a woman, wept by a grave side. He had been here before. Yes. Many times. Hurriedly Jason strode over to the wall and vaulted over it. When he looked again, the woman had vanished. He walked over to the grave. This time the mound of earth had vanished and in its place, a freshly dug hole. Jason looked at the headstone and saw the inscription was almost illegible, worn nearly smooth by the elements. He began to kneel down to examine the faded words when, he heard her call.
“Jason!”
He straightened and looked across the wall, into the meadow towards a stand of trees. A man strode towards the graveyard from the direction of the trees and, running from his left he saw Aphemenie. Jason watched as she caught up to the man and reached her arm out towards him. As her hand touched his shoulder, she vanished! The figure continued on towards Jason as if nothing had occurred.
Jason watched and waited as the figure, head bowed so his features were unrecognisable, advanced down the hill. He leapt over the wall and approached Jason with a purposeful stride. The man stopped in front of Jason and slowly raised his head. Jason started with astonishment as his own face stared back at him. A wide grin formed on the stranger's lips as, suddenly, his arm shot out and pushed Jason backwards into the open grave. As tons of earth followed Jason into the black abyss, burying him alive, he heard the figure above laugh out loud.

…...........................................................................................................

One moment Jason was clawing in vain as an avalanche of cold, damp earth buried him alive; the next, the pressure on his body subsided and he snapped open his eyes. Warm, gritty, dust particles assailed his eyeballs. His sharp intake of breath as he snapped his eyes shut again, threw him into a coughing fit. The restraints, which just moments ago, had bound his arms and legs securely to the cot, had melted away. The cot had also disappeared, leaving him lying amid fallen masonry and rubble. He rolled onto his side, spitting out a mixture of saliva and brick-dust, in an attempt to clear his throat. Someone groaned, close by in the gloom, Jason could make out a pair of legs protruding from beneath what appeared to be a pile of rubble... It came back to him then. The sheriff had been questioning him, and …......what? The building had collapsed. Why? His brain began firing on all cylinders, as he rolled over and began crawling towards the policeman. Earthquake? Possibly! Explosion? 'Knowing my luck,' Jason mused. 'Probably!'
He reached the fallen officer and took in the scene. A chunk of concrete ceiling had fallen from above and wedged itself, one end on the floor and the other, jammed firmly in a window frame. Jason edged around the obstruction and peered behind. What he saw made him wince. The exposed end of a steel reinforcing rod had pierced the law-man's chest, effectively pinning him to the floor. His shirt was stained red, soaked through with his blood. His breathing was laboured, coming in short, rapid intakes of air that gurgled through the blood filling the dying man's lungs.
The sheriff saw Jason and tried to speak. When he did, it was slow and painful.
“Wha....t happened?”
“I don't know,” Jason whispered. He had a strong feeling he was about to find out though.

The Volvo came to a halt in front of the closed gates and Sister Victoria just sat, staring at the rusting metal bars.
“What's wrong?” Aphemenie sensed the apprehension mounting in the young woman.
“Oh. It's probably nothing. Someone has obviously been here though. It's just that, those gates have always been open. The hinges rusted solid.”

…....................................................................................................



Aphemenie leaned on the side of the car and watched the young novice, as she examined the ground. Other than their own vehicle, there were no tyre-tracks in the dirt road leading up to, or past, the iron gates. Straightening up, Sister Victoria looked at the gate themselves. There was no chain, padlock or any other apparent means of securing the two metal monoliths together. The sister put her hands against the cold metal and pushed. The gates swung easily, and noiselessly, inwards until they came to a stop parallel with the edges of the driveway.
“If I didn't know better, I would say we were expected!” Victoria eyed Aphemenie with the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Jason called to Soulrazor, but she wasn't listening. His fickle mistress often ignored his calls while she hunted. Her need for souls was immense. Her hunger insatiable. Now, after sleeping, lying dormant for a while, she had awoken and was once more, on the prowl.
But Jason needed her. He needed the sustenance that she gave him. He needed to feel her warmth in his hand, her fire seeping through his sinews, his blood boiling in his veins. The cry began deep in the back of his throat and travelled upwards, bypassing his mouth, until his very brain screamed for her. He……He……HE NEEDED HER! WHERE WAS SHE? He wriggled away from the dead body and crawled out from under the slab. The scrape of steel on concrete undoubtedly saved his life. As his head emerged into the open, the scrape, followed by a soft whooshing sound, kicked his reflexes into action. Jason pulled his head back and saw the iron bar hit the floor, inches from his face. His hand immediately reaching for his shoulder holster. He swore under his breath as he realised their absence left him vulnerable. Shuffling slowly back the way he’d come, he found himself once more, next to the sheriff’s dead form. In the darkness Jason fumbled at the man’s hip, searching for the officer’s pistol. His hand closed on the grip and he pulled the 38 free from its holster. Jason propped himself up against the wall, pointed the pistol through the debris in the direction he had entered, and waited.

[moonglum]

A huge, round, stone table dominated a pool of brilliant white light. The light did not fade gradually towards its edges. There were no shadows, no grey areas showing dimly lit corners or hints of furnishings. The light simply ceased and blackness fell like a curtain. On one side of the table, three hooded figures in black robes sat motionless. They scowled, staring silently at the figure seated opposite. The fourth figure was that of an old man. He wore a white robe, down the front of which flowed a long white beard.
“You have taken to wearing the white, I see.” The central figure smiled. A sickly, sweet smile that belied the venom beneath his words. “You have overstepped your bounds, old friend.”
Loki returned the barest hint of a smile and sighed. “I believe the bounds are mine to be stepped upon, over, or indeed, around. As to my attire, I am taken with the colour. It rather suits me don’t you think?”
The central figure stood up placing his fists, knuckles down on the table. He leaned forward and spat. “Do not toy with me Loki. He is mine, as you well know.”
The old man stared at the hooded figure and said. “What of the girl, Ronan? She bears no blame in this.”
The figure seated himself once more and shrugged his shoulders. “She chose to side with him when she aided him. She must now suffer the consequences of her actions.”
The old man sighed and, interlacing his fingers, he stared his accuser in the eye before he replied.
“I repeat, she has no part in your vengeance. Do not continue down this path Ronan, or I will be forced to stop you.”
Ronan laughed a hollow, mocking tone. “You are a fool, old man. What can you possibly do to us?”
With their laughter echoing in Loki’s ears, the three dark figures stood up from the table, turned and disappeared into the blackness. Overhead, thunder crashed and lightning began to split the darkness.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

“I think you need to come with me!”
Jason jerked his head up, automatically raising his gun hand from the floor. He must have drifted off to sleep, the effects of the medication still in his body, presumably. His hand shook slightly as he pointed the gun at the old man’s chest.
“Who are y...?” Jason stopped, suddenly aware that his surroundings had changed. He was in the same room, the sheriff’s body still lying next to him, but the rubble had disappeared and the room was exactly as it was before the explosion. The only differences, were this old man standing before him, arms folded and eyes bright with suppressed humour, and a young woman. The woman was standing, frozen like a statue, with her arms raised clutching a length of steel reinforcing rod. The front of her dress was stained with blood and there was a look of intense hatred in her eyes as they glared at Jason.
“I do not believe she has your best interests at heart. In fact I don’t think she likes you at all”. Loki laughed.
Jason cocked the hammer of the 38 and drew in a deep breath, noticing as he did so, an absence of any pain in his shoulder. As he slowly breathed out, his hand steadied and he softly repeated. “Who are you?”
“Ah yes, your earlier question. My name is Loki and I suppose you could regard me as a minor god. A princeling from the grand halls of Asgard, or the realm of Valhalla, whichever you prefer”. Loki glanced again at the young woman. “Do you know her?”
“Yes, she’s a changeling. They have been pursuing me for some time now. Although how they manage to cross between the realms is rather puzzling.” Jason stared at the old man for a moment before continuing, “So, I’ll forgo all the usual questions and just say; what do you want?”
Loki continued looking at the woman for some moments, and appeared not to have heard. Finally, he said in a thoughtful tone.
“A changeling, yes, I’ve heard of them. As to her being able to follow you, she probably had help.”
Loki shrugged and turned back to face Jason. “Now then young man, it seems a friend of yours may be in some danger.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

As the car reached the end of the drive, Aphemenie gasped. The vehicle came to a halt in front of a large, squat building. It was made almost entirely of a smooth, black substance, which both shone with a light that hurt her eyes while, at the same time, drawing her in until she felt like she was falling towards the stars.
With no will of her own, Aphemenie stepped out of the car and Sister Victoria clamped a firm grip on the back of her neck, propelling her forward towards a large open doorway.
“Come angel, I have some friends who are dying to meet you.” The young nun laughed as the pair stepped across the thresh-hold and were swallowed by the blackness.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The End Of All Songs

Loki and Jason left the room and stopped in the misty hallway. A humming in the air alerted Jason to her presence. As the humming drew closer, Jason raised his arm and as Soulrazor nestled her hilt into the warmth of his hand, the pair walked off into the dense gloom of the corridor. In what seemed like a mere heartbeat, they stepped into the light and stood before a pair of large stone doors. They stood wide open resembling nothing less than a huge gaping maw. With a sideways glance at Loki, Jason stepped forward and fell headlong into blackness. He tumbled over and over for what seemed like hours. Somewhere along the way Jason felt the familiar feeling of translation which usually accompanied his passing through a portal. A pinpoint of light in the distance grew rapidly as he hurtled towards it, finally arriving with a thud as his body hit cold, hard stone. Winded, he forced himself into a kneeling position and shakily stood up. Glaring white light blinded him for a moment as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He was alone on a familiar pinnacle of rock which, like a finger of accusation, pointed out into the blackness of the night. As his eyes became accustomed to the light he saw that it radiated from a tombstone standing in the middle of this plateau. He walked unsteadily towards it and stopped. A name was etched deeply into its rough surface.

Jason Korde

For Eternity

“We grow weary of this game, mortal.”
The voice made Jason turn around. Standing behind him were three robed figures, their hooded faces hidden from sight.
“You’re right.” Jason replied as he pulled his needle-gun from its holster. He shot the two figures on either side and watched as they disappeared in clouds of black smoke, their empty robes falling to the floor. Dropping his pistol, he pulled Soulrazor free of her scabbard and threw her at the remaining figure. The sword pierced the robe and went straight through, this garment following its predecessors to lie in a heap upon the stone floor. Soulrazor flew on, describing an arc which eventually brought her full circle back towards her master, hilt first. Jason held his hand up to receive his trusty blade. At the last minute she suddenly turned end for end and, point first, drove herself into and through, his body.
Jason felt the coldness of her steel, like being speared with a huge icicle. Then he gasped as he felt the very marrow being sucked from his bones. Finally, as Soulrazor lifted his body from the floor, he felt the cloying, smothering blackness engulf him forever.

[moonglum]

A New Song

Light. Bright light. Light so bright it burnt his eyes through closed lids.
He rolled over, away from the window, spitting the dryness of night onto the sheets. Slowly opening his eyes, he blurrily took in his surroundings.
Something nagged at the back of his mind. What?
The room eventually began to reveal itself. An emperor-sized Versailles curved bed. Large enough for three. Large enough to play, then, find a quiet corner and sleep undisturbed. Next to the bed, a silver Toulouse 2 drawer night-stand, on top of which stood a Miriam crystal table lamp.
Something nagged at the back of his mind. What?
Over by the door, a large Regency mirrored French wardrobe. As his eyes scanned around the room, he noticed a French 19th century walnut veneered bureau, on the opposite wall. The names sprang unbidden into his mind. Something still nagged......................then. At last he realised. The one thing that eluded him. Who was he?

............................................................................................................................

Standing at the window, white knuckles pressed against the painted sill, he stared out over a three-sided courtyard. The open side looked out onto fields which seemed to stretch for miles. From where he stood, the house itself appeared to be quite large. Old too, if he was any judge. This thought brought him back to the problem at hand. With a sigh, he turned away from the window and sat down at the bureau. Picking up the white card, he stared at it once more. It was an invitation, gilded around it's edges with black lettering. He stared at the name, not knowing if it was his or not.

To

Mr. Jason Korde

You are cordially invited to a weekend of Murder, Mystery and Suspense.

To be held on February 31st at Whoosher House.

Arrival time at your convenience.

RSVP

He read the card again. Not only did he not recognise the name, he was damned sure there were not thirty-one days in February either. Oh well, time to find out what was going on. He stood and walked over to the wardrobe. He had explored the room earlier and found a hidden door leading to an on-suite bathroom. He had washed the sleep from his body and gone in search of clothes. In the wardrobe he found shirts, underclothes, trousers, jackets and a frock-coat. He dressed in a white shirt, with deep lapels and a ruff all the way down the centre, a pair of black bell-bottomed trousers, and now, the deep russet coloured frock coat. He looked at his reflection in the wardrobes mirrored door and sighed. He did not recognise the face that stared back at him. Apparently his name was Jason Korde, but the name rang no bells. He was prepared to swear on oath that, he had never heard it before, and yet, it could be! After all, he didn't know who he was, did he?
….........................................................................................................................

Standing before the window once more, he stared out over the forecourt, over a small cottage in the distance, past a small graveyard, past trees and across fields. It seemed things were changing. This vista was certainly different since the last time he looked outside.
'The multiverse is in a state of flux'.
He felt a faint stirring in the back of his mind. A womans voice in his head. One he knew well but could not place. A faceless voice that called to him across.......what? Time, space! Instintively, his hand moved towards his hip in a grasping motion. He felt mild surprise as his fingers closed on thin air. He sighed, clearly in disappointment, but over what, he didn't know. He turned back towards the bureau and again picked up the invitation. Turning it over in his hands, he could still find no clue, either in the wording or the presentation. As he stared at it's whiteness, it's bold, traditional arabic font, the words began to blur for a moment before regaining clarity once more. He blinked to clear his vision and, when he looked again, the name had vanished. It was now merely an open invitation. Tucking the card into his pocket he turned towards the door. He had delayed long enough. There were answers elsewhere. He needed to find them!

….........................................................................................................................

Softly closing the door behind him, he glanced briefly to his left at the window at the end of the corridor, then, turned right towards the head of the stairs. There wer several other rooms on his route and he walked quietly, listening at each door as he passed. Nothing, not a single sound or murmur. Were they all empty? Should he try a handle? See if any were occupied. What if they were? What if someone was home? He felt a wave of panic begin to build inside, his breathing quickened and, as he reached the top of the stairs, dizziness made his vision blur and his head began to spin. He reached out for the bannister as his legs began to fold under him. His hand missed the safety of the handrail, and he tumbled forwards, landing in a heap at the foot of the stairs. As blackness claimed him once more, he saw them. Like wraiths they slid through the walls, to glare down at him.All the women he had known. The women he had loved, the women he had hurt, the women he had lied to and the women he had killed. All of them. Each face mocking him as their glares slowly turned to masks of horror. As consciousness left him, one face floated to the fore and whispered, 'Jason, leave this place'.

….........................................................................................................................

'Jason?' The name was unfamiliar to him, and yet, at the same time he felt a comfort in hearing it spoken. The blackness slowly turned to grey. First by pinpoints of light pricking at his eyeballs, then, like peering through a misty forest, thin bands of murky grey slowly teasing their way between his lashes. As his eyelids fully opened he groaned and tried sitting up. Head thumping, he succeeded in propping himself on his elbows. Slowly he looked around and wondered where the house had gone. He was lying alone in the sand. A desert? He didn't know. The grey mist prevented him from seeing very far in any direction. As he tried to peer through the curtain of grey, he felt the light touch of a hand rest upon his shoulder. Spinning his head round, he let dizziness battle with the the thumping in his head until, finally, both subsided and he found himself staring into eyes of an old woman. He didn’t recognise her, and it must have showed, for she smiled at the obvious discomfort in his eyes.
“The answers to your three questions are, Yes, No and Eurayle”. She whispered, then laughed. It was a laugh that made him shudder, a wheezing cackle of sound, emanating not from the throat, but deeper than that. He raised himself to a sitting position and said. “Have we met?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Then I must know you”.
“No”. She was now laughing again.
He thought for a moment and then said, “There really is no need for a third question, is there?”
She thrust out her hand to grasp his and laughingly said, “Eurayle.”
Despite the strangeness of the situation, he smiled at her obvious joy and found himself laughing along with the old woman.
Eurayle drew a deep breath and, in a more serious tone, she said. “Do you remember anything at all?”
“No, nothing.” He replied.

….........................................................................................................................

[moonglum]

The Eternal Soldier

“You have died and been reborn a thousand times.” Eurayle told him. “Each incarnation different to the one before. Each body different and each character a blank parchment upon which to scribble a new story.”
“Then we do know each other!” He looked her in the eyes and continued. “Surely?”
Eurayle sucked in a deep breath and replied. “Whilst it is true that I have known some of your incarnations, your previous selves if you like, I have not met them all. Since you are the latest, I certainly have not met you before.”
“How and why are you here then, wherever here is?” He stopped for a moment, before continuing.
“It does seem fortuitous that you happen to be here, just as I arrive, claiming to know of me.”
Eurayle sat down in the sand beside him, before replying. “Firstly, here, is a kind of limbo. It is a place to stop, think, regroup and prepare for your next journey. You cannot remain here however. There will be time for discussion, but precious little else. Secondly, you and I are linked. Our lives are intertwined. You have a birthmark that you should not possess. Your family were marked for a transgression committed thousands of years ago, on a realm that no longer exists. Also, I am here because you called. Your spirit called out to me and guided me, or another like me here. You need me to help you remember. You have lost more than mere memories. There is a part of you that exists in another form. It varies from realm to realm. In some it will be a weapon, usually a sword, in others it could be a companion, or sometimes both. It is your nemesis and your destiny in one. It will call to you, then hide. It is both frustration and ecstacy in one. It is your penance, your cross to bear.”
He sat there silently for a while, finally turning to look at her and asking. “Who am I?”

[moonglum]

The cavern beneath the building was bathed in a dim yellowish light emanating from hundreds of quartz-like stones set in the ground. They were set in a pattern which began at the entrance and wound its way, almost haphazardly, but with a deceptive and subtle precision, towards a stone altar at the far end. The alter was shaped like a cross and the surface sloped down slightly towards its longer end. Lying upon the altar, tied with strands of barbed wire to iron rings, Aphemenie struggled against her restraints and winced each time the barbs pierced deeper into her flesh. She tried to scream, but the gag clamped across her mouth kept her silent. Ceasing her struggles, she drew a sharp nasal breath and turned her head to look to her right. Sister Victoria, naked, writhed in ecstasy as she was seduced by a figure in a black robe. She moaned, almost silently, as the figure ran his hands down her body. Aphemenie turned her head to look away and studied the far wall. Then with a strength of will drawn from deep inside, she shut out the noises and images, and let her mind find sanctuary.
Despite her predicament, Aphemenie must have dozed, for she was suddenly awaked by a scraping sound next to her ear. Opening her eyes and turning to look, she saw the young nun, now clothed in her habit, standing by her side. Victoria held a jewelled dagger in her hand, which she gently scraped on the stone alongside Aphemenie's head.
Sister Victoria laughed and whispered, “Now, my angel, we need something from you!”

[moonglum]

Eurayle studied her hands in silence for a few moments before answering. “You have had many names through the ages. What you choose to call yourself this time is really for you to decide, once you regain your memory.”
The man smiled. “An answer with no answers.”
“I assure you I am not being deliberately cryptic, it's the way things must be.” She bristled.
He studied his clasped hands for a moment, before asking “And, how do I go about regaining my memories?”
Eurayle smiled and replied. “You must return to the house. The house is the key. It exists on all the planes of the multiverse. It may be a different shape or have a different configuration of rooms, but it will always be there, somewhere. Below the house is a series of caverns, they intersect with their counterparts in the other realms. In one, you will find a pattern on the floor, it may be etched in the stone, it may be drawn in the dust. You must find it and walk along it. You must not deviate and you must not waver.” Eurayle paused, before continuing. “For if you do, you will be lost.”
She took a deep breath and with a last smile she touched his forehead with her forefinger and consciousness left him once more.
“Are you all right sir?” The words came floating to his ears as his eyes slowly opened. He looked around to get his bearings. He was lying at the foot of the staircase in the house where he had first awoken.
“You appear to have had a fall.”

[moonglum]

With an audible sigh, Mrs. Peacock repeated herself. “Are you all right sir?”
He looked up at a tall, matronly figure, who extended her hand to help him up. Her British accent had an air of arrogance as she returned his gaze with disdain.
“I must have tripped on the stair”, he said, as he stood and looked into her eyes. He blinked and, for a brief moment, he thought of peacock feathers. She took his elbow and guided him towards a door on the left. “Sit down in the library for a moment while you gather your wits”, she said, rather haughtily. They entered the room and she led him to a leather chesterfield sofa, where he gratefully sat down.
“Can I get you anything sir, a glass of water perhaps?” She asked.
“No, thank you”, he replied, “I just need a moment to think.” Not for the first time, he wondered how he knew the names of things and how he knew what a British accent sounded like, with such large gaps in his memory. “I hope you don't find this too strange, it's just that I'm a little disorientated. Do you know me? Can you tell me who I am?” He asked.
“Certainly sir, you are a guest of the owners. Along with the other guests in the dining room, you were invited here for a weekend of entertainment. Now, are you sure I can't get you anything?”
He shook his head and thought, yet more answers with no information.
“Very well sir, I'll leave you for a while,” and, with her nose in the air, she turned and left the room.

[moonglum]

As his gaze idly took in the room, he thought back over the events of the last few hours. The woman, Eurayle, clearly knew him or at the very least knew of him. Why then, would she give him no clear answers. Her words, “It is the way things must be!”, filled him with dread. Was he not his own master, could he not determine his own destiny? He laid his head back on the sofa and with a sigh, closed his eyes. Images. He remembered images. Women. The faces of women floated again in his mind. “Leave this place!” One face becoming clearer. He knew her. Every line, every curve on that face. Her smile, her eyes. Her name was............!
“I say old chap, are you alright?”
Her image vanished as his eyes snapped open and he found himself looking at a slim built man standing in the doorway. The man was dressed in a check double-breasted suit and as he walked forward he extended his hand.
“Bertie Rockingham, old man. Pleased to meet you.” Bertie said as he grasped the man's hand and shook it vigorously. “And whom do I have the honour of addressing?”
The man drew his hand back and smiled. “That is indeed a very perplexing question, and when I find out, I'll certainly let you know!”
Bertie stared at this strange man for a moment, before replying. “I do hope that you are pulling my leg, old chap.”
“I assure you I am serious. I have obviously had some sort of accident or trauma because I can't remember anything before I awoke a few hours ago.”
Bertie continued his scrutiny of the man's face. He certainly looked, and acted, sincere enough. His eyes stared back and his gaze did not waver. Although, thought Bertie, there was a haunted look in the man's eyes that left him feeling cold. In fact, the longer stared at those eyes, the more he felt himself being mesmerised by......something. The spell was broken abruptly by a discreet cough and both men turned their gaze towards the doorway. A woman stood there, a glass in one hand and the other on the door frame.
“Bertie darling, I see you've made a friend. Do introduce us, my love.” Lady Matilda slurred her speech ever so slightly as she tipsily entered the room.

[moonglum]

Tilly sat on the end of the sofa and held the mans hand in her own. “You poor man. How very disconcerting for you. You have no memories at all?”
He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I have had flashbacks. Faces mainly, women's faces.”
Tilly leaned forward and studied the back of his hand. “Do you recognise any of these faces?”
He glanced sideways at her face and realised this woman was not what she seemed. Her speech was no longer slurred and she held herself steady. He thought she affected an air of dittsiness, maybe, to lull a person into thinking she was not as intelligent as she obviously was. While all along she observed with a critical and discerning eye. He shook his head, this was crazy he thought, he didn't know this woman or this man.
“Recognise. No. One or two seem familiar, that's all.” He avoided her eyes as she turned to look at him. Instead, he looked up at the man standing by her side and said. “I need to find the cellars. Are you familiar with the layout of this house?”

[moonglum]

“Afraid not old chap.” Bertie sat opposite the pair and smiled at his wife. He wondered if this was all part of the 'weekend'. He looked once more at his wife. She was studying the man sitting next to her, playing her 'let's get to know you and find out what makes you tick', game. He turned his attention back to the man and was about to speak when, Tilly beat him to it.
“Why would you need to find the cellars?” She asked.
Should he tell them of his meeting with the woman Eurayle? No, he thought, they probably would not understand. He wasn't really sure he understood. At the very least he doubted they would believe his talk of other planes of existence.
“I have a strong feeling there is something down there I must find,” he finally said.
With an air of determination and purpose, Tilly straightened her back and stood up and, as she made for the door, she announced.
“Then young man, you shall have companionship on your quest. Come along Bertie, let us find these cellars together.”

[moonglum]

Aphemenie bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth only to feel it disappear in a swirl of black smoke. Sister Victoria leaned closer. “It's all done with mirrors, little one.” She laughed aloud and the sound made Aphemenie cringe.
“Why are you doing this to me,” Aphemenie whispered.
“My master is waiting for someone and you, my precious dove, are the lure to bring him here.”
Aphemenie strained to look past the nun and saw a blackness swirling in and out of shape behind her. One moment it appeared to be an ogre, then a large dark leopard, then a man, then shapeless again. She shuddered as the wisps of darkness began to enfold the nun and as the ebony mist descended on her mouth again, she lapsed again into unconsciousness.

[moonglum]

Images swirled in her dreams as Aphemenie lay unconscious on the cold stone slab. The faces of family and loved ones danced around in her mind until finally disappearing, one by one, leaving just the image of the old man she had seen by her bed in the convent.
“Do not be alarmed, I am real enough. At least for the moment.” He smiled
Aphemenie found her voice and said, “What is happening to me. Why are they doing this?”
The image moved closer and sighed. “It is nothing you have done, my dear, other than befriend their enemy. I know this is no comfort, but it is not you they want, it is Jason.”
“He lives?” She whispered. “Where is he?”
“Yes, he lives, but not as you remember him. Indeed, not as he remembers, also!”
“Help me!” In her dreams she struggled against her bonds, oblivious to the images of blood gushing from her wrists and neck.
“In truth, I cannot intercede in this realm. Try to stay calm. Have you tried to use your witch-dreams?” He asked.
She was becoming more and more agitated now. ”They will not work for me. It seems you cannot 'intercede' on any realm. What use are you?”
The old man sighed again. “Try to stay calm, he will come.”
Aphemenie shook her head and screamed, “HELP ME.”

[moonglum]

The tombstone had vanished and the sword, lying alone on the stone plateau, was radiating a blackness so deep, a person could be forgiven for thinking it was the doorway to hell. Every now and then, a bright whiteness flashed briefly, almost as if a struggle raged within the blade.