Chasing the Shadow of God

Her eyes widened as Pete sat there in silence. Is this it? Is he ready to pop the question? Is it really happening now? It has been a really bumpy couple of years for them but they managed to make it this far. She has always been on the edge of the fence with thier relationship what with him being profoundly inconsistent with his emotions. She knows he loves her but there are times when she feel that he's got something else in his heart besides love for her. And recently it's been bothering her. But then she just recently realised that he might be just afraid of committing.

It was yesterday when he called her, wanting for them to talk. A serious talk. So she recons this might be it. There was never a very big recent problem they had so he can't be breaking up with her. And she doesn't really want to entertain that thought anyway. So she feels this is it. He is asking THE question.  And she already has an answer. More or less.

Pete sat there in silence. He kept thinking how he would say it to her. Will she say it upfront? But how does he know would she react? What if she reacts negatively? It might be the end of everything. Everything has been progressing quite perfectly from day 1. But at this stage, how can he be so sure, with all the complexity and improbabality of things? Adn if she reacts positively, is he really ready? Does she deserve this life that he will be giving to her?

Or does he have to tell her how it all happened? Start from day 1 and slowly retell what happened eversince. Until now. And then finally
tell her. At least she will consider the weight of their journey if anything else. But would it just be more painful to live everything, the good and the bad, then in the end just end up with her melting her heart out?

But Pete needs to say it now. Or it will just go on forever and ever in this state. This needs to progress no matter what the outcome might be.

So Pete broke his silence. And he decided that he will just say it up front. Whatever happens will happen.

"Annie. I have to tell you something."

Annie sat there in silence, eyes widening in anticipation.

"Annie. You are a  robot I created."

Her heart started melting.

Laundrytime

Agent Voltaire's laundry dump has been rotting on the corner of his apartment for almost one year now. His lone skin hanging on his virtually empty cabinet is the last one of his outfit. Unfortunately, he has another job early tomorrow morning. His target is the Prime Minister of the Visayan Republic. High profile. And the day after he has another one. The target is still unknown but is also a powerful person according to his barker.

He really need to get the laundry done. Good thing there's an express washer downstairs from his apartment. Zero evidence. Fast clean. Their ads say. Agent Voltaire smirks at their clever ad. Nowadays, people are not what they seem. Everyone has a second job. Everyone's day job is just a front for the dirty exploits they do after their 8 to 5 work hours.

The barker on the Jeepney terminal is the person giving him the targets.

The washers downstairs are erasers-- they clean up evidence of crimes, dispatches bodies etc.

The cigarette vendor is a CIA double agent.

The tricycle driver is a getaway driver.

The cellphone repair guy is a signal hacker and surveillance specialist.

The girl who sells sampaguita is an assassin-chemist specializing in natural poisons from the flower she sells.

This city is a cove of espionage, assassinations and false identities. Everyone has a dark story they don't want anyone to know about. A dirty story that does not need cleaning. A story that will destroy their entire lives once exposed to the world.

But the dirty will not remain dirty. Soon laundry time will come and no single bad deed will remain uncovered and unpunished.

Agent Voltaire dials the hotline for his laundry. The cellphone repair guy listens to the call and forwards it to the cigarette vendor. The next morning after that, the barker will be whispering something to the sampaguita vendor who will then give Agent Voltaire a lei of flowers as a gift. She will ride a tricycle to her apartment and then remove her skin and throw it to the 1 year-old dump she's got rotting on the corner.

Laundry time approaches yet again.

The Philosopher from Across the Stars

"It is the interaction of but two bodies that gave rise to the entire universe."

Thus said the philosopher from Cygnus X1, whose worldship is parked on Earth's Himalayan parking ranges at the moment.

"In the beginning was Darkness. In the beginning was light. But just that. Light and Dark. Nothing more nothing less.

But Darkness found Light and Light found darkness. And then the Great Explosion came about. And the entire universe was born right after. Did that answer your question?"

"Uhmm... I'm still not quite clear about it, saer." The person on the microphone said. "If everything came from the interaction of Light and Dark, then where did the Light and Dark came from?" There was a soft murmuring among the participants in the assembly hall.

"Ahh. Now you are asking something different. This is a scientific convention. Am I right?"

"Yes saer."

"Then what you are asking is not thematic to this gathering. For it is not something we will discuss in a room full of scientists like yourselves. But If you want answers then so be it. But don't blame if you won't believe it." The philosopehr paused for a while. "So in the beginning, god created..."

"Saer, if I may interrupt. You just said this is a scientific convention. If you are going to preach about god, and religion and those faith-based beliefs, then please just stop because everyone knows..."

"Ahh, but that's what I thought you would say. I will not talk about your religions, or beliefs. Those are things I know you would dismiss immediately and I would too, because they are not based on scientific facts. I'm talking about something else. You all know how knowledgeable our race is. We're far, far advanced than you are, technologically, mentally and in every aspect that you can think of. I have a huge pool of knowledge you can't even fathom how enormous. You're entire body of knowledge; scientific, philosophical, literary, religious, all of those compared to us are just like a baby uttering her first syllable. That's how primitive your minds are.

I'f I am going to tell you the literal explanation of the origin of things, It would be like you talking to a dog about algebra. What I am doing is replacing words unfathomable to you with words that are familiar and would translate satisfactorily in your very young minds. And you'll just have to believe that these are true." The philosopher paused again.

"So, as I was saying," the philosopher continued "...in the beginning god created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of god was hovering over the waters. And god said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."

Hungry? Jolliburp Delivers!

It's been an hour since I placed my order in Jolliburp Online. I still haven't received any call of confirmation from their call center whether they received my order or what. I'm getting hungry. And I'm bad when I get hungry.

I called their hotline to follow-up my order.

"Good evening! This is Jolliburb Delivery. May I ask for your full name please?" the agent on the other side of the phone said.

"My name is Stan. I placed an order online more than an hour ago but I still haven't received it."

"Ok sir. May I know the transaction number".

"Alright wait a sec." I checked my email for the transaction number I got from the automated response email. "It's 297938712."

"Please hold sir. I'll just verify."

"Okay. Please hurry up. I get bad when I'm hungry". I didn't get a response. Maybe she's already checking my order.

A few minutes later the agent returned to the phone.

"Sir, your order is already processing. Please wait for a few minutes."

"Alright. But please hurry. You don't want me getting hungry."

"Ok Sir thank you."

A few more minutes passed by. Then my phone rang.

"Hello."

"Good evening Sir! I'm from Jolliburp and I just like to confirm your order."

"OK." What! you're still just confirming my order?!?!. What the hell! I'm starting to get hungry.

The agent blabbered on and on about my order. Then confirmed my address for delivery. I just said yes.

"Sir, the order will arrive in 30 to 45 minutes. Are you willing to wait?"

Of course I am. After all those time waiting just to cancel last minute? "Yes. I'm willing. But please hurry. I'm getting hungry. And it's bad when I'm hungry."

"Ok sir. Thank you for calling Jolliburp."

Another 15 minutes passed. Still no delivery. And I'm officially hungry. This is bad.

Another 15 minutes passed. I heard a knock on the door. I walk to the door and open it. I saw the delivery guy bent down picking up my orders from his carrying case. He lifts 2 paper bags from his carrying case then faces me.

Suddenly, the delivery guy's eyes widened. Then he dropped the two paper bags. He suddenly jerked backwards and bumps on the wall behind him, almost falling over. Then he sprints very, very fast down the hallway and into the exit stairways. I can hear him screaming from afar.

Good thing he dropped the bags. I'm really hungry. So I picked up the two bags with my four tentacles and shoved them both into my mouth, not even bothering to remove the bags. I can  feel the two bags bulging in my throat into my stomach. That was good!!! My 16 eyes circled in satisfaction.

After my meal, I just crawled my way inside my condo. I felt bad for the delivery guy. But I keep telling them, they wouldn't want me getting hungry.

Parrajeep

I waited for a parrajeepney with a route from Greenbelt 1, Earth-44 to Greenbelt 2, Earth-89. One came but it was full. I held on the steel bars on the door to hang but the driver stopped me.

'Bawal ho ang sabit. Pasok ho kayo, may isa pa.' [You are prohibited from hanging. Please come in, there's one seat left.]

I was grateful that there indeed was one small space left for one passenger. I squeezed my self into the seat. It was too narrow for me. Only one cheek of my butt is sitting on the seat. But the jeep has already started running so I have no choice but to endure.

Along the way, I felt too uncomfortable that I decided to get off.

'Boss, para na ho dyan.' [Boss, I'll get off here.] I recon we might be at Earth-56 by now but it doesn't matter. My leg muscles are cramping due to my impossible position. I have to get off. But the driver stopped me.

'Bawal ho bumaba dito. May ParraPolice'. [You are prohibited from getting off here. There are ParraPolice in the area.] So I endured.

At long last, we arrived at Earth-89. It was a great relief. The passengers started getting off. I follow suit. But the driver stopped me, to my irritation.

'Bawal ho kayo bumaba. Hindi pa kayo bayad.' [You are prohibited from getting off. You haven't paid yet.]

Death of the family

I will miss all of you. I will miss our fun times together. I will miss brother's noise. I will miss sister's nagging. I will miss father's advice and mother's concern.

I will miss our bonding. Our family time watching soaps on TV while eating popcorn. I will miss spending Christmas with you. I will miss our exchange gifts.

I will miss everything.

But it has to end here. You have to go. I have to let you go. I have to do this for myself. I have to be free. Free from all of you. You should not control me. You should not be dictating how I live my life.

So this is goodbye. After this I'll be free. And all of you will be gone. Stuffed in some gray box and buried somewhere in this forsaken room full of all my forsaken things. It's time.

I will miss you. But you have to go. Goodbye everyone. Goodbye my Sims Family. I had a great time playing with you.

The Waiting Shed at the Border of the Blackhole

"Going South?"

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"My gift." She said, while pointing to the thin, pink almost gelatinous antenna on her forehead. "They call these caldousil. It's like an advance nose in your race."

I looked at it with feigned amazement. I've never seen it in person but I have read about them before, sometime over the last 40 years during one of my Xenopology classes. 

"I'm Klathykksi. You can pronounce it Klat with your tongue." She offers her hand to shake. But I know she's not shaking hands. I've read it before. So I pull my hand out, spit on the back of my palm and slaps it to the palm of her outstretched hands. She seem quite surprised by what I did, her black eyeballs widened. But her eyes then start to close into a slit. She is feeling the spit with her hypersensitive skin.

She is a Krayohian. From the 178th quadrant of the Andromeda galaxy. Marine-based lifeform. Salt-based. The have highly enhanced senses of smell and feeling. But almost completely blind. Life span of 255 Earthian years. Only female exists. They reporoduce asexually via psychomitosis. 

I learned it all from college.

Our race is one of the weakest lifeforms in the universe. We don't have special organs or body parts. We did not evolve any extraordinary appendages. Even the lower lifeforms in our planet are more equipped with special organs than us. What we excelled in is learning how to use tools and using them to our advantage.

That's why the Earthian government decided that we should excel in knowledge. But not the knowledge to exceed the Wikians. Their mental prowess are far, far superior than us. Almost infinite brain capacity. What we did focused on is on the 'street  knowledge' of the universe. What things do we need to know to protect ourselves. How can we survive out there. 

You may think it's almost combative and competitive in nature. Learning how to survive by finding out things about other races. Learning other's weaknesses.

But it's how we survive. How our species will survive.

'Nice meeting, you. You have a nice life ahead of you.' The Krayohian greeted as a warpbus docks. 'And by the way, if you happen to pass by 178th, just spittulate and they will know that we are acquaintances. See yah!'

In that entire conversation I said exactly only 5 words. And yet I have forged an alliance between two races from different corners of the world. My mission here is accomplished.

Another warpbus arrives. Time to proceed to the next target.

DELAYED

"The flight to Earth-203 has been delayed".

The huge speakers on the altport blared.

"The flight to Earth-203 has been delayed".

The huge speakers repeated.

I looked at the giant Jumbotron and searched for my flight. EARTH-203 slid on the ticker. DELAYED followed it.

I't doesn't bother me really. I have all the time in the world, or at least in the world I'm going to. I had an x-deal with self-203 last year. He likes to be alone, (I believe he is a painter) and he needs to be in total solitude while doing his art. But he have many very cheerful relationships in that world. ANd relationships means noise and distraction.

Good thing, I happen to be a loner in this world. A lone wolf going wherever I wan't to, doing whatever I want to. But loneliness gets wearisome at times. Depression is my enemy here. And I have resolved to be in good terms with everyone I know now.

But I don't want to start from scratch, start rebuilding bonds. It's too tiresome. Hence the x-deal.

I'll live his life of endless ruckus. He'll live my life of infinite solitude. And I'm fine with that. I'm tired of being alone.

"The flight to Earth-203 will proceed in 0200 hours".

I saw my altplane materializing on the dropway. As soon as the door opened, I saw many people got off. Most of them looks familiar but different.

Then I saw myself getting off.

 I look so goddamn awful.

When he looked at me, I feel like he's thinking the same thing.

Ghostwriter

My name is Robert Berdugo.

Aka Obet.

A ghost writer. frustrated novelist, former obituary writer, now a travel/lifestyle columnist. 

If I tell you my job, you might say I'm very lucky. I write a column in one of the small press publishing in the country. You'll know it when you see it, a catchy tabloid title in shocking red font with a scantily clad woman on the front page. I write in the lifestyle section-- human profiles all around the country. That means I got to travel a lot. In the company's expense mind you. 

Lucky?

On the contrary. Have you heard of Mando Kalubig? How about Joaquin Mastino? Have you been to Palino? Or Catispal perhaps? Yes the last two are places still in the Philippines. And the two people? They are nobody.

That's the problem. My editors send me to the dark unknown corners of the country to interview some unknown personality. They tell me the place, it's my job to find a person of interest. Which is quite difficult to do, to be honest. How do my editors determine the place? Beats me. I've raised this to them once or twice. I requested places like Boracay or Matabungkay at least but they only tell me to do the job or some one else would. I stopped questioning after that.

Now here I am sitting (or squatting) on a kanga (a wooden carriage) drawn by a smelly carabao under a scorching summer sun. Here, bathing in my own sweat, with 10 or more others, also sweating and emitting a stench of something from hell. My only solace as we rode on the moonlike crater-laden road is my ice cold mineral water (at least 3 hours ago) which I bought a million miles from here. Better hold on to this as the swerving kanga might make it fall out of my gri... oops. There it goes.

My assignment for today is a town called Ayungin. Its a small rice farming town on the edge of Nueva Ecija, 6 hours away from Manila. Which doesn't really mean that it's far, it just means we have to travel 2 hours on a cramped bus, 3 hours on a bumpy kanga and an hour on foot. It's that remote.

One thing I learned from my stint as an obit writer is that you get the purest, most raw emotions in the face of death. That's why when I arrive at any town, I only go to two places first; the graveyard and the funeral homes, depending on the time of day. When it is still early in the morning, I go to the graveyard. When it's about to get dark, I go to the funeral homes. After all my days as an obit writer, I'm still a whiny little coward.

The sun is still high up in the sky so I proceeded to the graveyard. As usual, it's very, very quite here. And as usual, it smells different. Not really a stench of rotting flesh like what you'd expect (it actually just smells like freshly cut grass and dishoveled dirt). But there seems to be an aroma of death and sorrow suffused with it. I don't know how one could smell death and sorrow but that's what I get from it. 

I immediately asked for the town's sepulturero (or gravedigger). Mang Temyong as they call him here. If I have my way I'll just write about every sepulturero in each town but I've already done two or three of those and my editors became quite nosy. Write about other people or we'll have someone else to write them, they would say.

Mang Temyong looks like your typical small town old man. He is thin, with wrinkly skin, hair still black but with white strands protruding on the edges. He coughs every few seconds but its a cough which doesn't look like a sickness, more like an acquired habit through the years. He also has this habit of inhaling very very deep and then making his nose move as if he smelled something bad. Maybe it's the smell of death and sorrow. Maybe one gets to know the smell if one stays long enough in places like these.

There's this imbalsamador (embalmer) who has a habit of pinching his nose every few seconds. Then he clears his throat as if he has something in his throat that he want to vomit. There's also this one who has a habit of blinking hard and a little longer than usual. Like he sees something and he want to unsee it. I guess that's what happen when you work in the face of death, you acquire unusual habits that make you seem like you are sensing something out of this world. Or maybe there is indeed something. Maybe Mang Temyong smells death, or that imbalsamador tastes death, and other guy sees death.

Anyway, I didn't come all the way here to think about all those things so I just went ahead to interview Mang Temyong. I already have a set of questions ready for this phase of my research.

When is the last death?

About how many attended?

How are the attendees related to the dead person?

Who is the noisiest crier?

Any noticeable characters during the funeral?

These are the questions I use everytime to find the person to interview. But these are just starters. I always find that the sepulturero or imbalsamador tells more things, juicier subjects, on their own. But from these five questions, I get all that I need. From here I get my story.

***

The moment Mang Temyong the grave digger answered my first question, I know that there something spooky going on this small town. I suddenly realized why Mang Temyong does those mannerisms like coughing involuntarily, frequent inhaling deeply and hands that jerk nervously. I've seen those in people trying to quit smoking after years of addiction. Those aren't mannerisms. Those are symptoms of withdrawal. 

When I asked Mang Temyong when is the last death, he didn't answer with a straight response. It's probably last week, the memory is still very vivid, no probably 2 weeks ago or a month perhaps. Or two. But it's very recent. Maybe 3 months ago. No, I think it was last year. 2 years latest. I asked him if he could show me the last lapida that he assembled. When I saw it, I felt goosebumps in my entire body. I asked him if he is sure this is the last. He seems confident. 

Juan Kalos 

Born: December 1, 1972 

Died: December 1, 1992. 

There are so many things wrong about this. First, the death was 20 years ago. So no one's ever died since then? According to Unicef, the Philippines has a death rate of 6% per year. I don't want to do the math but that figure there simply means there should be someone dead every year (not that I want to, I'm just saying the statistics). But here, nobody's died for 20 years! That's enough to be spooked of. Maybe the people just migrated after that, I don't know. But maybe that's just rationalizing something pretty unnatural.

Second wrong thing is that the person, Juan Kalos' death is 20 years after his birth, to the month and day. Now, how often does that happen? Not often. That's pretty creepy. Maybe it's just some extremely weird coincidence. Maybe I'm just rationalizing again.

The last wrong thing, and probably the scariest is this fact: today is November 30, 2012. Exactly 20 years after the last death, minus one day. I know nothing about the happenings in this town but let me set the facts straight (it makes me shudder just thinking about this): Juan Kalos died 20 years after his death. After his death no one has ever died for another 20 years. Tomorrow is the exact twentieth year. Which means something terrible is going to happen tomorrow, right here. Which means only one thing: I have my story.

***

It's just 3' o clock in the afternoon. I still have a lot of time before night falls in. So I went to the town hall to ask somethings. There's a woman in her late 40's sitting in one of the desks fanning furiously with a small cardboard which looks like some kind of an election paraphernalia for some politician. She's very pretty with her pearly white teeth and her sweet smiling lips -- the politician on the cardboard fan that is. The woman official saw me coming and she gave me her version of the politician's smile, albeit not as sweet.

After some introductions and some small talk here and there (I learned that she is named after Marimar the actress), I went straight to the juicy part. I asked if she was aware that there's no death for the last 20 years. She is aware. I asked her if it does not creep her out. Not really, she said. Have you been talking to Mang Temyong, she asked. Then she turned her back to open a cabinet of files and folders. She rummaged through the piles of papers looking for something. When she seem to finally find it, she exclaimed a loud A ha and faced me again.

She handed me a letter. On its heading, it read Baranggay Decree No. 455. As I started to read it, Aleng Mari, began to tell me the contents much to my relief since I don't want to read this long legal document. She tells me that 20 years ago, Juan Kalos died because of water poisoning. She tells me that the the toxic substances from the cemetery went its way to the water reservoir under the town. So the baranggay ordered to close the cemetery once and for all. They now bury their dead on the next town. 

What a bummer... And I thought there is something supernatural about it.

I asked about the death of Kalos, why it happened 20 years after his birth. Plain coincidence, she muttered. My mother died exactly while giving birth to me. My father died exactly 60 years after his birth. My uncle was born during an eclipse. My children were born exactly 2 years apart. How many more examples do you want?

My creepy conspiracy theory goes down the drain.

***

That night I went to the funeral homes. My creepy story did not pan out so I need to find something else. I just wasted half a day chasing a story which I thought would be something. Now I'm back to square one. Sad thing for me is that there is no funeral homes in this town. With the closing of the cemetery, the funeral homes also moved to the next town. But with existing competition there, they ultimately went bankrupt and out of business. I asked around if the former embalsamador still lived here, but to no avail. Some say he's dead. Some say he's moved to other places. Some say he went crazy and lived inside the forest as a hermit. Some say he is now an aswang. Small town stories.

Without the embalsamador there's no one to ask for my valuable topic. And it's too dark to still go to the graveyard for the sepulturero. So much for my five-point questions.

***

I set my phone alarm clock to 6 AM. I want to start early so I could go home early. My plan of attack is this, I still go to the sepulturero to ask him my five questions. Maybe he'll tell some interesting stories and some fascinating characters. But as an alternative, I'll do it from another vantage point. I think that the Marimar baranggay official is an interesting character and I think I can do a write-up about her. A last resort really, but that's all I can afford at the moment. I'll have to go home tomorrow so I need to have a story by then.

Having set my strategy, I just went to sleep on the hard bamboo bed. Thank my editors they gave me some budget to rent a room even if it's just this small, dilapidated, stacked up shack which is a sad excuse for a house. 

My muses apparently felt pity for me, because that night I slept a dreamless sleep. The night is so quiet, like a graveyard.

***

I was awaken by the signal of my phone alarm clock. I sat up from my bed but it's still very dark. I checked my phone on the table and it says 6 AM. But it's too dark to be 6 AM, i thought to myself. Maybe it's that way around here. When I put down my phone on the table again I noticed a small sheet of paper. I picked it up. Somethings written. I illuminated it using my cellphone.

Today. None. Nothing. You. You.

A bunch of scribbled nonsense, I thought. But who would have left it here? 

I stood up and tried to find my way to the door using my phone as my flashlight. I was able to go outside. It really is very dark. The night sky is very dark. Starless. As i walk towards the town center, I realize there's no light from any of the houses in the town either. I can't see anything from here. 

I turned back to return to my rented shack. But it's pitchblack from my position. I illuminated the ground with my phone but the light never went a meter farther. I walk blindly somewhere, I don't know what direction. I started to call people. Hello. Anybody there. I began to feel frightened. Am I alone? Where are the others?

I began walking faster. Still calling out. 

I'm running. To where? I don't know. I'm sweating. But I feel cold.

I'm shouting out now. Crying for help. 

In my haste, I tripped face down. The pain shut me up. I had to clear my head.

I realize, Hey I have a cellphone in hand! So I dialled one of my editor's number. No signal. Crap. It's no use.

I realized I was still holding the piece of paper. Maybe it holds a clue. Maybe this is the answer. 

I looked at the written words again. Maybe these words are the answer. These five words.

Five words...

Today. 

None. 

Nothing. 

You. 

You.

When is the last death?

About how many attended?

How are the attendees related to the dead person?

Who is the noisiest crier?

Any noticeable characters during the funeral?

It's too quiet. Like a graveyard.

Tales from the Snowflake

This Earth is a tiny crystal on the snowflake of the multiverse. We are all living an alternate life, a parallel reality with another 'us' on another world on the other  side of the snowflake.

We are the stories they write. We are the parallel worlds. We are the imagined possibilities. This earth is what the beings on the other side tell tales about.

There, in the earth where computers were not invented. There they write with pens and papers about a world where magic square boxes can show moving images and can magically speak. There they write about us.

There, in the earth where telepathic communication technology flourished. There they mind-talk about a technologically backwards world who communicate with noise. They mind-talk about us.

We. Here. This world. Our reality is their fiction. We are all fiction in their heads.

Prawn Crackers

It started with a crackle. Then a spark. Suddenly the entire room is brimming with electromagnetic field lines glowing bright purple like the insides of a neon light. Oishi's body was engulfed with the psychedelic lights.

As he look around him, he found himself floating in the middle of his room. The ceilings and the walls are all radiating with blinding light.

The purple light started to creep into Oishi's feet. His limbs are now glowing as well. It crept towards his torso in a very steady pace. In another minute his whole body is glowing bright purple as he float and rotate like a satellite inside his room.

Moments later, a beam of light emanated from outside his window. The beam target his body. He was being pulled into the light, head first. Slowly, he floated towards the window until finally he was out. Suddenly, it went dark. The room is back in its normal arrangement. But Oishi is nowhere to be found.

The red indicator from the CCTV camera continued to blink.

A week later, the news headlines reported the  first ever alien abduction caught on camera. A month later,  with the new hard evidence they gathered, the Earth government revived the case against the Martians for illegal abduction on Earth's premises.

Tiny Cars and a Yellow Curtain

It's just 10 in the evening and I had 6 cups of coffee already. That would last me another half-hour at least. It's been 10 days -- two hundred and thirty nine hours and fifteen minutes to be exact -- since I last saw you.

'I'll see you on the next iteration,' you said, as you turn the lever to full throttle. In an instant, your time bubble vanished and what's left in its stead is a yellow whiff of smoke and some tiny sparks.

You said you'll send an indicator if you will arrive soon. Soon. I don't know how that concept applies now. Here I am waiting for sometime now. Anytime now, that is soon, for me. But you have the entire universal timeline to traverse. How long is 'soon' if you can outlive the universe itself? What is 'time' if you can come and go as you please?

'Just look at the things that make you safe, at this instant of time.' you had said before you left. 'Just look at them and you'll know when I'll arrive.

What makes me safe at this instant? Coffee? Well, it keeps me awake but not safe. My yellow curtains? Probably. It keeps me safe from perverts looking into the room with their powerful telescopes from across the building. (Yes, I'm that paranoid.). My 1:64 die cast cars on the drawer? They keep me sane, that's for sure.

Seventh cup. The waiting is killing me. I go out to the balcony. It sure is so bright tonight and noisy. Or is it just the coffee? From up here, the ground looks so near. It would be so easy to jump, except that I'm 19th floor high and I'm not insane. I feel nauseous all of a sudden.

I went inside. I closed the door and windows and just opened my orange curtains. When did I change curtains? And when did I start collecting 1:50 die cast cars?

A whiff of yellow smoke appeared in front of me. And some sparks.

Two Moons: Ikalimang Yugto

Technocidal Tendency


Ang susunod na liham ay encrypted Base-128.

Mahal kong talaarawan,

Ngayong araw ay sisimulan kung gumawa ng isang talaarawan. Bakit ngayon pa kamo? Kasi ngayon lang nagsisimula ang buhay ko. Magmula ng makilala ko siya, ay wala na akong ibang gustong gawin kundi makita siyang muli. Nagbago ang kulay ng mundo ko. Naging makulay. Ika nga ng matatanda, parang isang batang kakalabas lang sa clone vat. 

(Parang nagiging love letter…)

Hindi yun ang gusto kong ikwento sa yo. Alam mo naman siguro na meron na lang akong dalawang buwan. Ilang digicreds na ba ang nagastos ko ngayong araw? Malamang kulang dalawang buwan na nga lang ang meron ako. Anuman ang maiiwan kong pag-aari,  kung meron man ay mapunta sana sa pamilya ko na nasa langit na ngayon--sa kanilang Zepellin Mansion.

(Nagiging last will and testament…)

Gusto ko pang mabuhay. Napakasarap mabuhay. Pero mukhang hindi ko maaafford yun ngayon. Nung kinwenta ko ang aking gastusin para sa dalawang buwan ay nakalimutan ko na ngayon taon din nga pala ang expiration date ng Fusion cell na nagpapatibok ng heartpump ng neural system ko. At kung walang neural system, mawawalan ako ng access sa Cyberstream. Mas mabuti pang mamatay na lang ako, kesa maging isang inbalido at kung mas malala pa ay baka maging isang burado.

Napagtanto ko ang lahat ng ito kahapon ng makilala ko siya. Pagsakay niya ng elevator. Nung sandaling yun biglang tumibok ang heartpump ko. Tugss. Tugss. Tugss. At nablanko na lang ako bigla. Hindi dahil sa kung ano mang emosyon, kundi dahil sa takot. Sa takot na biglang tumigil ang tibok. Tugss. Tugss. Tugss.

Kaya naman kung anong tindi na lamang ang kagustuhan ko na makita syang muli. Upang tuloy tuloy na tumibok ang puso ko. Dahil alam kong oras na tumigil ito, ay matatapos na ang lahat.

O aking talaarawan, marahil alam mo na kung gano kahalaga sa akin na makahanap ng trabaho sa loob ng dalawang buwan. Salamat sa iyong pakikinig. Ngayon, ipiprint ko ito sa isang carbon fiber sheet at dadalhin lagi kahit saan ako magpunta, para kung bigla akong maging isang burado ay mayroon pa din akong pagkakakilanlan sa mundong ito. Sana naman kahit itong liham na ito ay hindi mabura sa kasaysayan. Sana ay hindi ako makalimutan ng tuluyan.

(Ayan, suicide note na.)

Nagmamahal,
Ako

PS. Kung maging burado man ako at maging isang tila multo na lang na pagalagala sa Realspace ng walang access sa Cyberstream, kung sino man pong makakabasa nito, pakiusap, bisitahin nyo po ang cybergrave ko sa address na to: httpsq://112304.321.22312.77654019/G65%4#jkjdll.?cyber&hhgslong. Kahit isang pirang cyberrose ay ayos na po. Tatanawin yun na isang malaking utang na loob mula sa isang nagpapakumbabang nilalang na naoffline nang hindi pa nya panahon. 

PSS. Kung may extra creds at ontime pa kayo, baka gusto nyo din ituloy ang nilalaro kong Utotpia Online, o kaya pakainin si Spyke, ang aking Quantumpet,  o kaya ituloy ang aking Fantasy Doctor’s War. (Nasa cyber grave ko ang mga username at password).

Two Moons: Ikaapat na Yugto

Neurochemical Responses


Delta Wave Nanoimplant ka ba?
Bakit?
Kasi di ka maalis sa utak ko...

Ultrasonic Pacemaker ka ba?
Bakit?
Kasi ikaw ang nagpapatibok ng puso ko...

Silicate Corneal Lens ka ba?
Bakit?
Kasi ikaw ang nagbibigay ng kulay sa mundo ko...

May Audiodeficiency ka ba?
Bingi ka ba?

Bingi ka ba!!!?

HOY!!! Kanina pa kita tinatanong!!! Gusto mo bang ituloy ang interview o ano??? Kanina pka pa lutang a!!!


Ganun nga ang nangyari sa interview ko. Natapos dahil sa mga pickup lines. Sa puntong ito hindi na ko aasang makakapasok sa trabahong to. Nasira kasi ang diskarte ko dahil sa reseptyonist na yun.  Kung kanina, nagagandahan ako sa kanya, ngayon parang naiinis na ako. Sa tagal tagal ko na pinraktis ang mga isasagot ko, makakalimutan ko lang pala lahat. Syempre mas mahalaga pa din naman sa kin ang kabuhayan ko kesa sa walang kwentang babae na yun.

Dapat kasi pinagbabawal na nila yung mga receptionist na magaganda lalu na sa mga recruitment. Nakaka-distract kasi. Kung pwede lang ako maghain ng reklamo sa Sysadmin for Labor and Employment, ginawa ko na. Ang kaso lang,  ibabawas na naman yun sa digicred balance ko. Sa ibang araw na lang siguro pag nakabawi.

"Pwede ka nang bumaba, kapatid." sabi ng manager na nag-interview sakin. Kulang na lang itulak ako at itaboy palabas. Parang sobrang dismayado siya sakin.

Lumabas na lang ako ng kwarto at pumunta sa may elevator. "Ground Floor", sabi ko sa voice sensor ng elevator.

Siguro kelangan ko na ulit ayusin ang resume ko at magpasa sa ibang kumpanya. Sa puntong ito papasuikin ko na siguro maski anung trabaho kahit siguro e-Basurero-- oo nga't masyadong nakakaburaot ang pag-eempty ng mga Recycle Bins ng mga megaservers pero papatusin ko na din yun magkapera lang.

Minsan iniisip ko na din magbenta ng laman. Kung hindi nga lang ako takot sa scalpel. Balita ko mahal ngayon ang bentahan ng biceps sa may San Lazaro, umaabot daw ng 150 digicreds bawat guhit. Bwisit na araw talaga to.

Sa wakas may dumating na ding elevator pababa. Buti medyo maluwag ngayon, mga kwarenta lang ang laman. Nung paakyat ako mga limandaan and sakay kaya inabot ng mga ilang minuto bago makarating sa pupuntahan ko.

"Going down." anunsiyo ng elevator. Hay nako, pag-nakarating ako sa baba di ko alam kung anong gagawin ko sa receptionist na yun. Alam ko hindi naman nya kasalanan pero parang kelangan ko maglabas ng sama ng loob pagkatapos ng lahat nang nangyari sa kin. Sabi nga ni Saint Barney Stintson, yun ang Pyramid of Yelling.

"Eighteenth Floor", anunsiyo ulit ng elevator, may sasakay ata. Nakatungo lang ako sa kinatatayuan ko, nagngangalit ang ngipin.

"Sir. Sir." 

May narinig akong tumatawag. Pag taas ko ng tingin, nakita ko ang receptionist. Siya pala ang sumakay.

"Sir. Kumusta po ang interview nyo?"

Wala ako masabi. Nung nakita ko ang mukha niya na parang kumikinang sa fluorescent light ng elevator, parang naputol ang dila ko.

"Ah. Eh. Uhmm."

"Sir! Ano pong nangyari sa interview?" Tanong nya ulit. Lumapit pa siya ng bahagya sa kin kaya mas tanaw ko ang napakaganda niyang mukha.

Wala akong ibang maisip. Kaya ibinulalas ko na lang kung anong lalabas sa bibig ko.

"Delta Wave Nanoimplant ka ba?"



Ikalimang Yugto

Earthen Lights

The gods of heaven and earth in a violent game of tug-of-war.

That's what I think of when I see images of the northern lights. Which is partially true since the Aurora are formed by the ionization of atoms in the earth's higher atmosphere by the radiation from the sun (solar winds). Not exactly gods but the forces of the earth fighting the forces from the heavens.

Yet one cannot see the divine grandeur of these lights from the images alone. One should see it with the naked eye to see its sublime beauty.

Not that I've seen it already. But I'm about to.

It may sound cliche but if there is one thing you have to see before you die, this is it. At least it is for me. In my college years, I spent almost four years studying the phenomena of gas ionization, of plasma, of these lights. I spent countless nights in the lab, with hundreds of volts, amperes of current, some expensive gases and an artificial vacuum just to create a square inch of these lights. Humans need a lot of valuable resources to recreate it in the lab. But nature still does it better.


This is my plan:

This year, at around October to December I'll book a flight to Norway or Canada or wherever country it would be best to view the Lights. I'll bring a camera, a videocam (my HD cellphone will do) and a sketch pad. I'll stay there for a week or two.

I'll take only three pictures of the lights.

The first displaying only the aurora in the sky.

The second one with trees, houses or anything with the horizon.

The third one with me in the frame.

I'll draw a sketch of the lights. I know it's impossible to really capture the magnificent moving lights but I'll do my best.

I'll take only one video-- a 30-second clip of the moving lights.

And that's it. I'll pack up in the morning and return home.

This blog (tales of decay) is a blog of stories. I posted this entry into this blog because this is still just an imaginary story. In a few months time, if this post disappeared here, it only means this story has come true. And it will be posted somewhere else. With pictures and a video.

Ghostwriter

My name is Robert Berdugo.

Aka Obet.

A ghost writer. frustrated novelist, former obituary writer, now a travel/lifestyle columnist. 

If I tell you my job, you might say I'm very lucky. I write a column in one of the small press publishing in the country. You'll know it when you see it, a catchy tabloid title in shocking red font with a scantily clad woman on the front page. I write in the lifestyle section-- human profiles all around the country. That means I got to travel a lot. In the company's expense mind you. 

Lucky?

On the contrary. Have you heard of Mando Kalubig? How about Joaquin Mastino? Have you been to Palino? Or Catispal perhaps? Yes the last two are places still in the Philippines. And the two people? They are nobody.

That's the problem. My editors send me to the dark unknown corners of the country to interview some unknown personality. They tell me the place, it's my job to find a person of interest. Which is quite difficult to do, to be honest. How do my editors determine the place? Beats me. I've raised this to them once or twice. I requested places like Boracay or Matabungkay at least but they only tell me to do the job or some one else would. I stopped questioning after that.

Now here I am sitting (or squatting) on a kanga (a wooden carriage) drawn by a smelly carabao under a scorching summer sun. Here, bathing in my own sweat, with 10 or more others, also sweating and emitting a stench of something from hell. My only solace as we rode on the moonlike crater-laden road is my ice cold mineral water (at least 3 hours ago) which I bought a million miles from here. Better hold on to this as the swerving kanga might make it fall out of my gri... oops. There it goes.

My assignment for today is a town called Ayungin. Its a small rice farming town on the edge of Nueva Ecija, 6 hours away from Manila. Which doesn't really mean that it's far, it just means we have to travel 2 hours on a cramped bus, 3 hours on a bumpy kanga and an hour on foot. It's that remote.

One thing I learned from my stint as an obit writer is that you get the purest, most raw emotions in the face of death. That's why when I arrive at any town, I only go to two places first; the graveyard and the funeral homes, depending on the time of day. When it is still early in the morning, I go to the graveyard. When it's about to get dark, I go to the funeral homes. After all my days as an obit writer, I'm still a whiny little coward.

The sun is still high up in the sky so I proceeded to the graveyard. As usual, it's very, very quite here. And as usual, it smells different. Not really a stench of rotting flesh like what you'd expect (it actually just smells like freshly cut grass and dishoveled dirt). But there seems to be an aroma of death and sorrow suffused with it. I don't know how one could smell death and sorrow but that's what I get from it. 

I immediately asked for the town's sepulturero (or gravedigger). Mang Temyong as they call him here. If I have my way I'll just write about every sepulturero in each town but I've already done two or three of those and my editors became quite nosy. Write about other people or we'll have someone else to write them, they would say.

Mang Temyong looks like your typical small town old man. He is thin, with wrinkly skin, hair still black but with white strands protruding on the edges. He coughs every few seconds but its a cough which doesn't look like a sickness, more like an acquired habit through the years. He also has this habit of inhaling very very deep and then making his nose move as if he smelled something bad. Maybe it's the smell of death and sorrow. Maybe one gets to know the smell if one stays long enough in places like these.

There's this imbalsamador (embalmer) who has a habit of pinching his nose every few seconds. Then he clears his throat as if he has something in his throat that he want to vomit. There's also this one who has a habit of blinking hard and a little longer than usual. Like he sees something and he want to unsee it. I guess that's what happen when you work in the face of death, you acquire unusual habits that make you seem like you are sensing something out of this world. Or maybe there is indeed something. Maybe Mang Temyong smells death, or that imbalsamador tastes death, and other guy sees death.

Anyway, I didn't come all the way here to think about all those things so I just went ahead to interview Mang Temyong. I already have a set of questions ready for this phase of my research.

When is the last death?

About how many attended?

How are the attendees related to the dead person?

Who is the noisiest crier?

Any noticeable characters during the funeral?

These are the questions I use everytime to find the person to interview. But these are just starters. I always find that the sepulturero or imbalsamador tells more things, juicier subjects, on their own. But from these five questions, I get all that I need. From here I get my story.

***

The moment Mang Temyong the grave digger answered my first question, I know that there something spooky going on this small town. I suddenly realized why Mang Temyong does those mannerisms like coughing involuntarily, frequent inhaling deeply and hands that jerk nervously. I've seen those in people trying to quit smoking after years of addiction. Those aren't mannerisms. Those are symptoms of withdrawal. 

When I asked Mang Temyong when is the last death, he didn't answer with a straight response. It's probably last week, the memory is still very vivid, no probably 2 weeks ago or a month perhaps. Or two. But it's very recent. Maybe 3 months ago. No, I think it was last year. 2 years latest. I asked him if he could show me the last lapida that he assembled. When I saw it, I felt goosebumps in my entire body. I asked him if he is sure this is the last. He seems confident. 

Juan Kalos 

Born: December 1, 1972 

Died: December 1, 1992. 

There are so many things wrong about this. First, the death was 20 years ago. So no one's ever died since then? According to Unicef, the Philippines has a death rate of 6% per year. I don't want to do the math but that figure there simply means there should be someone dead every year (not that I want to, I'm just saying the statistics). But here, nobody's died for 20 years! That's enough to be spooked of. Maybe the people just migrated after that, I don't know. But maybe that's just rationalizing something pretty unnatural.

Second wrong thing is that the person, Juan Kalos' death is 20 years after his birth, to the month and day. Now, how often does that happen? Not often. That's pretty creepy. Maybe it's just some extremely weird coincidence. Maybe I'm just rationalizing again.

The last wrong thing, and probably the scariest is this fact: today is November 30, 2012. Exactly 20 years after the last death, minus one day. I know nothing about the happenings in this town but let me set the facts straight (it makes me shudder just thinking about this): Juan Kalos died 20 years after his death. After his death no one has ever died for another 20 years. Tomorrow is the exact twentieth year. Which means something terrible is going to happen tomorrow, right here. Which means only one thing: I have my story.

***

It's just 3' o clock in the afternoon. I still have a lot of time before night falls in. So I went to the town hall to ask somethings. There's a woman in her late 40's sitting in one of the desks fanning furiously with a small cardboard which looks like some kind of an election paraphernalia for some politician. She's very pretty with her pearly white teeth and her sweet smiling lips -- the politician on the cardboard fan that is. The woman official saw me coming and she gave me her version of the politician's smile, albeit not as sweet.

After some introductions and some small talk here and there (I learned that she is named after Marimar the actress), I went straight to the juicy part. I asked if she was aware that there's no death for the last 20 years. She is aware. I asked her if it does not creep her out. Not really, she said. Have you been talking to Mang Temyong, she asked. Then she turned her back to open a cabinet of files and folders. She rummaged through the piles of papers looking for something. When she seem to finally find it, she exclaimed a loud A ha and faced me again.

She handed me a letter. On its heading, it read Baranggay Decree No. 455. As I started to read it, Aleng Mari, began to tell me the contents much to my relief since I don't want to read this long legal document. She tells me that 20 years ago, Juan Kalos died because of water poisoning. She tells me that the the toxic substances from the cemetery went its way to the water reservoir under the town. So the baranggay ordered to close the cemetery once and for all. They now bury their dead on the next town. 

What a bummer... And I thought there is something supernatural about it.

I asked about the death of Kalos, why it happened 20 years after his birth. Plain coincidence, she muttered. My mother died exactly while giving birth to me. My father died exactly 60 years after his birth. My uncle was born during an eclipse. My children were born exactly 2 years apart. How many more examples do you want?

My creepy conspiracy theory goes down the drain.

***

That night I went to the funeral homes. My creepy story did not pan out so I need to find something else. I just wasted half a day chasing a story which I thought would be something. Now I'm back to square one. Sad thing for me is that there is no funeral homes in this town. With the closing of the cemetery, the funeral homes also moved to the next town. But with existing competition there, they ultimately went bankrupt and out of business. I asked around if the former embalsamador still lived here, but to no avail. Some say he's dead. Some say he's moved to other places. Some say he went crazy and lived inside the forest as a hermit. Some say he is now an aswang. Small town stories.

Without the embalsamador there's no one to ask for my valuable topic. And it's too dark to still go to the graveyard for the sepulturero. So much for my five-point questions.

***

I set my phone alarm clock to 6 AM. I want to start early so I could go home early. My plan of attack is this, I still go to the sepulturero to ask him my five questions. Maybe he'll tell some interesting stories and some fascinating characters. But as an alternative, I'll do it from another vantage point. I think that the Marimar baranggay official is an interesting character and I think I can do a write-up about her. A last resort really, but that's all I can afford at the moment. I'll have to go home tomorrow so I need to have a story by then.

Having set my strategy, I just went to sleep on the hard bamboo bed. Thank my editors they gave me some budget to rent a room even if it's just this small, dilapidated, stacked up shack which is a sad excuse for a house. 

My muses apparently felt pity for me, because that night I slept a dreamless sleep. The night is so quiet, like a graveyard.

***

I was awaken by the signal of my phone alarm clock. I sat up from my bed but it's still very dark. I checked my phone on the table and it says 6 AM. But it's too dark to be 6 AM, i thought to myself. Maybe it's that way around here. When I put down my phone on the table again I noticed a small sheet of paper. I picked it up. Somethings written. I illuminated it using my cellphone.

Today. None. Nothing. You. You.

A bunch of scribbled nonsense, I thought. But who would have left it here? 

I stood up and tried to find my way to the door using my phone as my flashlight. I was able to go outside. It really is very dark. The night sky is very dark. Starless. As i walk towards the town center, I realize there's no light from any of the houses in the town either. I can't see anything from here. 

I turned back to return to my rented shack. But it's pitchblack from my position. I illuminated the ground with my phone but the light never went a meter farther. I walk blindly somewhere, I don't know what direction. I started to call people. Hello. Anybody there. I began to feel frightened. Am I alone? Where are the others?

I began walking faster. Still calling out. 

I'm running. To where? I don't know. I'm sweating. But I feel cold.

I'm shouting out now. Crying for help. 

In my haste, I tripped face down. The pain shut me up. I had to clear my head.

I realize, Hey I have a cellphone in hand! So I dialled one of my editor's number. No signal. Crap. It's no use.

I realized I was still holding the piece of paper. Maybe it holds a clue. Maybe this is the answer. 

I looked at the written words again. Maybe these words are the answer. These five words.

Five words...

Today. 

None. 

Nothing. 

You. 

You.

When is the last death?

About how many attended?

How are the attendees related to the dead person?

Who is the noisiest crier?

Any noticeable characters during the funeral?

It's too quiet. Like a graveyard.

Lyrid

She looks normal. She talks normal. And she acts normal.

But there is something about her that isn't quite right. It's as if she's not of this world to tell it simply. It might be the way she bat her eyes like it was a few microseconds too fast. Or probably the words come out her mouth as if there's always an extra syllable fragment at the end of her every sentence.

"I'm Lara.. I'll be your therapist for today..Please follow me to the room.."

She has a perfect petite figure. And she walks in a very alluring gait. But still something's not quite right. It could be that her curves seem to follow a certain mathematical equation. Or that her strides seem to trace an unknown pattern in the ground. I don't know. I just can't put my head around it.

I followed her to a small but tidy room with a lazy boy seat at the center, There is a small table on the corner with bottles which I reckon are perfumes, oils and lotions. There's a TV hanging on the wall just in front of the chair.

"Please sit here,," Lara said, with that voice pitch that seems just a few fraction of a frequency higher.

I sat down and relaxed my back. The tv is playing the nightly news. It appears that the Lyrid meteor shower will happen tonight. The news program is about to report the details when Lara turned it off.

I just closed my eyes.

I simply sat there for a few minutes. I hear sounds of bottles opening and closing and of liquids flowing. I hear her rubbing her hands. There's that sound again, Like her hands rubbing produces an intereference with the vibrational frequencies of my brain.

I hear her walk towards the back of my seat. As soon as her fingertips touched the skin of my forehead, I felt a strange shuddering sensation from my stomach. As she presses her fingers into my temples, the sensations became stronger. It feels like my whole self is being turned inside-out-- not my flesh but my soul.

I can't describe it into words.

It's beyond words.

I don't how much time has passed when she said it's finished. It seems like an eternity of something. But it also feels like I was just sitting her for a few seconds. I'm lost. She has took me into an existential dungeon puzzle of the mind which is impossible to decipher and escape from.

I walked to the reception to get my things and the receipt. The receptionist smiles politely. I stepped out of the door still in a state of daze. Lara did something to me which is not of this world. She did something. But I can't figure it out.

I got on a cab waiting on the sidewalk. The driver asked where to and I answered him 'home'. On the radio, there is still the news about that meteor shower. The shower, the newscaster said will appear to originate from the section in the sky near the constellation Lyra.

I looked at the reciept I got from the reception to check if Lara has a number which I could contact just in case. They seem to have made a typo error, They printed her name with a 'y'.

Quick post - March

I apologize for the delay in my posts. I've been quite busy this month.

But March will not pass without me creating another post in my blog. But what to write? What happened worth posting this month?

I guess I could start from the beginning of the month -- the day the zombies began scratching our gates with their bonified hands.

We never expected the horde to arrive for another week or two. It was a complete surprise. The networks are down at the time so there were no communication with other town-forts. The nearest lighthouse emitted then a very short ambigous burst of the distress spotlight. No one from our town really noticed. We would later learn that someone did notice but did not escalate it.

We used all our defense mechanisms againts the zombie attack--fireballs, napalms, oil bombs. But they were just too many. With each zombie we kill, ten more would come forward over its body.

On the second day, the gates began to give away. Our leaders realize it's time to go.

...

I'll have to continue this story some other day. I think our caravan is moving again. They might shutdown the modems soon.

I'll write again later if I have the chance.

The Saint and the Crusader

2012. Year of the Apocalypse.

The World's greatest detective finds his skill somewhat inappropriate. For what would explain all these phenomenon that he is witnessing right now? A young girl not affected by gunshot. A certainly dead old man brought back to life. A man floating in mid-air with no support. What could explain these things? Certainly not logic. Thus the detective is helpless. He is now facing villains beyond logic and reason. Towards the supernatural.

The detective keeps an open-mind. He has something up his sleeve exaactly for times like these. He packs his Acidic Holy Water. A set of Cross Batarangs. And a Titanium spike crafted with wood from the Holy Cross. He brings The Rosary-- passed on through many generations-- originating from Mary Magdalene herself. He wears the Blessed Cape-- made from the cloth of the Shroud of Turin. Thus the detetive is now in full divine gear. The Dark Crusader is unleashed.

Gotham Cathedral
11:45 PM

A gathering of feral beings create a dark aura in this supposedly holy place. A werewolf, a vampire and a warlock in the holiest of holies-- resting in the altars and the tabernacle and the pedestal of the saints. A pact is being made. A dark trinity.

From afar a faint laughter can be heard. The three creatures became alert as the laughter intensifies. Louder and louder it gets until.. Bam! The cathedral door swings open.

Against the faint moonlight, the silhouette of a skinny man wearing a long suit can be seen. His arms hang on the side. He is holding a switch blade on each hand, blood dripping all over. The man exudes a murderous aura. And then he laughs.

The ominous silhouette enters. It walks towards the holiest of holies towards the trinity now standing and quite vigilant. Slowly the laughing man  approaches. His purple suit becomes illuminated by the light of the altar candles. And as he comes closer he smiles-- or maybe he has been smiling all this time.

He leans his smiling face to one of the candles in front of the three. He makes another broader smile as he open his mouth and whispers...

"Kill me now or I will kill you all."

The Cathedral clock strikes 12. The clockbells rings. A bell for each hour.

The twelfth strike. The Jokers head lay on the aisle floor. His body lurches forward to the candles. The vampire picks up the severed head. The werewolf carries the body. The warlock gets the white tablecloth covering the tabernacle. And all three walks to the cathedral's catacombs. They walk within dark alleys and low tunnels. They walk past open coffins and ruined tombstones. Until they reach an empty catacomb.

The warlock spreads the cloth on the ground. The werewolf and the vampire puts the head and the body on the cloth. They wrapped him carefully and tightly. Then the three carry the corpse inside the cave and puts it down in the center. They go out and roll the covering stone, closing the cave indefinitely.



The Cathedral Catacombs
11:45 pm
3 days later

The vampire is dead - for the second time. Titanium spike on the heart. And a lot of bruises all over his body. His limp body hangs in the chandelier upside-down-- just the way he likes it. For some reason, the Dark Crusader feels pity -- maybe because of a probable affinity to the creature or maybe just plain pity.

The werewolf is dead. Not by a silver bullet but by a broken neck. No villain is too strong for a good headlock and neck break-- the Crusader has proven that time and again. Add to that a good combination of tranquilizers, flashbombs, some sleeping gas and the good old batarang and no enemy is safe.

The warlock is proving to be much more difficult. With its combination of magical potions, hypnotic and illusionary tactics and the power to summon the occult, the warlock is certainly gaining the upperhand. The Crusader is now trapped in the confessional. The warlock has enchanted it to be unbreakable for a short time. At least long enough for his next move.

The warlock wounds himself and sprinkles his blood on the floor. He takes a small vial from his pocket and sprikle the contents along with the blood. With a few chants, the blood begins to glow. The ground beneath it begins to grumble. At the same time the confessional loses its enchantment. The Crusader breaks the confessional wall and all like paper. He emerges in front of the bloody ground.

The ground begins to break apart. It swells up and starts to form a figure. A humanoid figure starts to rises. Covered in white with a few drops of read on the neck area, it continues to rise with its head bowed down very low. It continued to rise until it is floating in thin air.

The warlock chants another set and then shouts the last words.

"Prince of crime. Duke of death. Saint of malice."
"Arise!"

And then the figure raises his head and looks at the warlock with a smile.

The warlock knelt down as if to pray.

"Saint of Malice. I pray to thee. Get rid of my enemies. Let the suffering end."

The Saint of Malice rotated his head all the way around without moving his body still while floating in the air. And there in its white-robed glory, the Joker, the Saint of Malice faces the Batman, the Dark Crusader under the faint light of the moon and the prying eyes of God's images.

After that gloom acquiantance, the Joker rotates his body in a large circular motion. His blades, still in his hand reaches the warlocks neck. The warlock's body drops forward, with his head going the opposite.

The Joker's body is now in its proper orientation, facing Batman. Its body is now bathed ny an uncanny light from the cathedral windows. His face glorified by the lights of the large chandeliers. He bows down his head to meet the Crusader eye to eye. The Joker makes a biger smile as he opens his mouth and whisper.

"Batman".

"Forgive them."

"For they do not know what they're doing."

He ended with a maniacal laugh. He looks up the ceiling while still laughing and starts to rise agin. He rose higher and higher while laughing. Until he breaks the glass roofs of the cathedral and was finally floating up towards the open sky.

The glass showers the Batman with tiny crystals like snow on winter.

The clock strikes 12.

Sleep, O Feral One

The rabid city is sleeping. She had a rough night. Her entire body is aching and pulsing, with clumps of stale blood wanting to explode from the veins where they cling. Her head is spinning with images of alternating dark and light, each repetition leaving a painful afterimage in her mind.

New Year Syndrome-- that's her psychiatrist's diagnosis. He said some more details but she doesn't understand any of it. She doesn't really care. All she wants is a year of peaceful, dreamless sleep-- something she hasn't done for a while now.