Forward: This short series occurs before the narratives of Jane and Evangelina. Yeppers, they are occurring on the same Earth. What I am attempting to do is create various timelines to explore in my little stories. I hope the reader will see that what I’m dealing with here is a theme focused on how difficult it would be to survive a true invasion of the strange and novel. We humans like to think we see perfectly, however, as research finds, we evolved to make out where the fitness points (apples, rabbits, pears) are in the environment, not to see “the truth,” and certainly not to see where fourth-dimensional beings are appearing.
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One year before the odd crystal ships began appearing in the skies of Earth, Dr. Andrei J. Graham tapped his fingers on the bar down at Pig Skins one Friday afternoon in October. He didn’t need to tap his fingers, but he liked to. It was five. Miller time, and Will Thomas, bar keep to kings and queens, knew that Prof. Death had slunk down the hill from the university, crossed the street, and assumed position. Back to that goddamned tapping. Well, two years ago, Will–a senior–took Andrei’s “Myth and Death” class for fun. He sat right up front. Best seats in town. He did that because Andrei was known for his lively presentations. Overall, Will was a guy who liked the strange and aberrant just like Dr. Graham. Over the course of the semester, Will and Andrei hit it off well until one Friday when Andrei’s computer slideshow glitched, and as the good professor scrambled to coax technology to do his bidding, Will absently began tapping on his desk. The resulting scowl from Andrei froze Will on the spot, basilisk style.
Good times. Good times. Will still received an “A” on his final paper. An assay on “The Illusion of Death in the Bhagavad Gita, or How to Love the End.” To add to the oddness, Will scored a human skull replica before finals. Found it on Begley’s online. Andrei gave the nod, and Will plunked the skull on his desk next to his tattered notebook. Nervous laughter from the “normies” behind him, but as the semester drew short, acceptance of the Reaper as an unexpected source of diversion became the new norm.
“Look, doc,” Will said, making his way down the bar, parking his pen on top of his right ear like a proper bar tender, “we are fresh out of Grave Digger IPA. Failed delivery.”
“What the freaking frak,” Andrei moaned, imitating a sophomore being assigned a classic Victorian novel after signing up for a course on “A History of the Victorian Novel.”
“Want to cry? Here’s a rag. Sop it up.” Will grinned, acting like a hardened professor sick and tired of whiny college brats.
“Krishna was right: `Exterminate all the brutes!’”
“Look you,” Will grinned wider, soaking up the dry humor before the rush of thirsty college imps, “that’s not Krishna! You’d have to go up the Congo to read that message, Mr!”
“Make it two shots of red-eye,” Andrei said, putting on his best John Wayne.
The entrance to the bar opened, causing a little golden bell to sound off. Word was that the bar was once a used bookstore. The bell was a relic. Andrei found it quaint. It caused eyes to gravitate to the door to see who the hell was coming to play. Not bad for an age glued to their phones.
Will,” said Tom Hendricks, rushing through the door, “you have to see this. You got a moment?” Andrei glanced at Tom. Just Bio-Tom. A ragged grad student in botany who had street cred. As a freshman would say, “dude has the bud.” Yes, word was that Tom operated on the dark web as a vendor named Mr. Crowley. A known seller who slung some really potent weed. So far, the Crowley handle protected him from a bust. Andrei wondered how long that would hold out.
Will nodded, rubbed the bar as he walked its length to the far end. “What’s going on?”
Tom plunked down a small baby-food jar. “Know what that is?”
Will gandered carefully, unwilling to touch the jar. Fingerprints and all that. It took him a moment to lock onto a definition of what he might be seeing. “Some type of jelly?”
“Agreed, looks like grandma’s best strawberry jelly,” Tom said, settling in on his elbows. “Thing is, we found it growing in puddles on a large mushroom hood in an abandoned house. The old place is full of this substance.” His eyes wide, Tom nodded.
“Poisonous as hell?” Will wagered.
“Quite the opposite. I gave it a quick analysis with my home kit I use to find out how good the acid is on acid blotters stupid reprobates sell online. This putty, this jelly tested off the charts. I’m talking undiscovered species. I’m talking career making species. I’m a made man now, and I’m only getting started. If you want in, we are making a midnight run with a few jars. Can you get off?”
“Fuck no. Jeff and his wife are in Sandals, fall vacay and all that. I can’t go,” Will smiled, “besides Stacey and I have to break in a new girl. It’s going to be a rough night already. So, off the charts, you say? Career making, you say? Who the hell do you think you are? Johnny Depp?”
“Off the charts,” Tom nodded, plastering back his curly mop, arching a brow for extra umph.
“I have just the man for you. Take Dr. Death.”
“I don’t really know him. Never took his class.”
“Well, let’s bust your cherry, young Tom. Follow.”
Tom was pleased to find Dr. Death to be so amiable and happy to hear him out. Nodding slowly, smiling, Andrei did his best. Sure, psychedelics. Andrei once had a Tom-like roomie who grew magic mushrooms in a series of fish tanks. Ten gallons each. Sometimes on weekends they’d do nothing but listen to Pink Floyd, eat shrooms, and of course order the archetypal pizza every college student ordered on weekends. Serious movies like Dirty Harry were hilarious under the power of the mighty fungus. They also made Sunday afternoons in the college library bearable and somehow galactic at the same time. Good luck writing a paper on those babies.
Andrei rotated the jar, peering in curiously. If he didn’t know better, the stuff seemed to move of its own accord sometimes. Illusion. Had to be. “So what we have in essence is a two-story home left on its own in a stretch of Ozark pine forest. Only way in is a bramble-filled trail that parallels a rut-filled road dominated by fallen trees. And more of this stuff is just sitting around? Well, sir, I think we can safely say I’ll go. You have a light source, right?”
“Of course,” Tom grinned.
“Cops invited?”
“I’m not a total virgin in the world,” Tom laughed.
“That,” Andrei said wryly, “is what she said.”
–end of Part I
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Easter Egg Notes: The Bhagavad Gita, “Heart of Darkness,” (Congo reference) and The Blob in the jar are some of my favorite pieces of lit and horror culture. I usually try to involve elements of all three in these little stories. I still aim to write a perfect world-destroying blob story, and I’m getting close. The problem with such an entity is it becomes larger with each meal (sort of a metaphor for gluttony). Anyway, so, yeah.