Thursday, June 2, 2011

More Than a Ghost Preview

This is a two chapter preview of my soon to be published novel, More Than a Ghost.

Enjoy!


More Than a Ghost


By Jose Ruiz


Copyright © Francisco Jose Ruiz 2011
All characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real people is purely intentional.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied or reproduced without the author‟s permission, except in the case of brief quotes.


To Angela
For your never ending inspiration


Chapter One, Kaitlin Blackwood


We crept through the graveyard, stopping every few feet to listen for the creature‟s moans. All was silent save for the spatter of rain drops, as we made our way over the dense grass, heading for the crypt where we‟d been told the creature lived.
  Kate reached the small stone building first, motioning for me to stay back and keep an eye out for an ambush. I didn‟t like letting her go in alone, but she had a point. This zombie was supposed to be pretty clever, and setting up an ambush was just the kind of thing it might do.
She pushed open the crypt door and stepped into the darkness. With a muttered word, fire sprung from her hand and hovered in front of her, its light revealing a small stone room with stairs leading downwards. For a moment Kate‟s footsteps echoed across the cold stone floor as she made her way down to the lower level of the crypt, until she was lost to my sight.
  I sent up a silent prayer to the Good Lord, asking him to keep an eye on her. Kate might not believe in God, but I certainly did and felt a lot happier if I knew he was watching out for her.
The downpour increased in fury, threatening to flood the whole graveyard, so I crouched behind a nearby headstone for the little shelter it would offer. I‟m not sure how long I waited there, at least several minutes, but it was then that I heard the sound. Amidst the pouring of the rain had been a distinctly different note, something that sounded out of place. I listened hard and heard it again, the steady flip-flop of footsteps.
  Carefully, so as not to be spotted, I raised my head to scan the area and saw a human figure shambling towards the crypt. Behind it was another, and behind that one, yet another, and another, and another, and another. There was a whole line of zombies headed for the crypt, all walking with that strange dragging step, so familiar to any horror buff.
  Leaping up from my hiding place I ran towards the entrance, nearly slipping on the wet grass.
“Kate!” I screamed out, but I doubt she heard me above the rain.
  A few zombies turned to look at me, but most of them continued their single-minded advance, obviously intent on catching unawares.
  Running and leaping over headstones, I made it within a few yards of the crypt entrance before my path was blocked by three of the tallest ones.
  They didn‟t look much like the zombies you see in movies, who always seemed like patchwork humans, covered in blood with several bits missing and the director‟s choice of either glowing eyes or claws. These ones were basically just dead bodies. Slightly decomposed in places, with one or two missing their eyes, but by and large they just looked like secondhand human beings.
  The one in the middle lunged towards me, but I easily stepped aside and dived between the other two, making it to the crypt‟s doorway. The movies at least had that part right. These guys were slow. The only real threat lay in their numbers and probable durability.
  Hurrying down the stairs, I found myself far beneath the earth and in total darkness, not even the merest glimmer of light.
  “Kate?” I quavered, hoping to find her before the zombies reached us. Silence greeted me. A dark, sucking silence that made it quite clear my words were the first spoken here in a long, long time.
  Slowly I walked forward with my hands outstretched, calling out Kate‟s name every few steps. I ran into a few walls, but soon found an opening that felt like some kind of tunnel. Something hard crunched under my foot, so I knelt down to feel for what it was.
  My fingers closed upon something smooth and hard, that felt like bone. And it wasn‟t the only one. I could feel several others on the ground, all around me. I put the bone back on the ground, and continued my search for Kate, calling her name as I walked, and feeling the occasional crunch of more bones beneath my feet.
  I soon became aware of a faint light ahead, illuminating the darkness and letting me see the walls of the passage. As I walked closer, picking up the pace now that I was sure not to run into anymore walls, the contents of the passageway became clear.
  Bones of all kinds littered the floor, and, in places, were stacked in small, vaguely triangle piles, with a wooden pole sticking out of the middle, a human skull attached to the end of each pole.
  Now I was really starting to get scared and began to run, running towards the source of the light. I came out into a wide, circular room, the walls lined with little niches, a skull flanked by two candles inserted into each one. But the light that each candle shed seemed sickly, casting far too many shadows, especially near the stone pedestal, which was the main feature of the room.
Kate lay in front of it, unconscious and pinned to the ground by some kind of dog-like stone gargoyle. In front of them stood the master of this room…
  A tall and imposing figure, it stood at least six feet high, wearing black robes that were gently billowing as if in a slight breeze, despite the fact that the air was as still and old as the rest of the crypt.
  It swiveled its head to look at me and I saw the glint of eyes beneath its hood, like fireflies in a skulls eye sockets.
  “What doth thee want?” the figure asked, its voice a hiss of displeasure.
  “Uh, I‟d like it quite a bit if you let my friend go…”
  Those glittering eyes glanced briefly at Kate, and then back towards me, as if to make the point that I was interrupting something.
  “Leave,” it stated flatly, waving a hand towards the passage I‟d come through.
  I wasn‟t too thrilled about disagreeing with this creature, but I couldn‟t let it harm Kate.
  “As much as I would love to comply with your request, I fear that I can‟t leave Kate,” I said, stepping forward into the room, the candlelight flickering oddly across my translucent skin.
  The robed figure raised a gloved hand towards me, the fingers glowing with the beginnings of a spell. As I prepared myself to face whatever magic this creature had in store, holding up my ghostly fists in what I hoped was a threatening pose, the creatures eyes went wide with shock as it became apparent what I was.
  “Ye art little more than a spirit!” it said, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Why doth thee feel loyalty to this?” and it waved a disparaging hand towards Kate.
  “Because she‟s my friend.”
  “Thy kind have not friends. Thou art servants, to be used and disposed of as necessary.”
  I had to agree that the man (if he was one) had a point. Most ghosts are just minions of necromancers, or lost souls with no purpose and no meaning. As ghosts go, I was actually quite unique.
  “I‟m Kate‟s friend, and that‟s all there is to it. Tell that thing to get off of her, and we won‟t kill you.”
  The man (or necromancer, or whatever the blazes he was) just laughed at me. “Ye think thou can defeat me?”
  “Easily,” I lied, although, I knew it wasn‟t very convincing. I rarely lie, so I‟m not very good at it when I do.
  “I think not,” he said with a careless wave of his hand, unleashing a wave of force which pinned me to the ground.
  And that about seemed to be it as far as I was concerned. I couldn‟t move a muscle, and he now seemed to be coating a dagger with some kind of black, sticky liquid, carefully painting it on with his finger. The blade covered to his satisfaction, he then turned to face Kate, who was now conscious and swearing at him.
  “I did not expect… interruptions,” he said quietly, leaning down to slit her throat.
But as the dagger drew closer and I struggled vainly against his spell, Kate lashed out with a foot, catching him in the knee. There was a crack, and I heard him scream as he fell to the ground, clutching at his leg.
  Kate wasn‟t done yet though. She placed a hand against the gargoyle thing, which seemed a bit slow on the uptake, and unleashed an inferno of flame, a stream of deadly magical fire that sent the creature through the air till it hit a wall, landing in a molten heap of stone.
Slowly she got to her feet and walked over to the robed man, placing a boot on the back of his neck.
  “Call off your zombies, wherever they might be, and leave this place. Otherwise, I‟ll kill you,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
  “If thee kill me, then death shall be thine as well. For my brethren shall avenge my death, tearing thee limb from limb.”
  With a sigh, Kate snatched up the fallen dagger and plunged it into his neck.
  “Why must people be so mindless, Alfred. Don‟t you wish they would just surrender once in a while?”
  I stared in horror at the corpse. Kate can be quite ruthless when she wants to be.
  “Come on, Alfred. Quit gawping and let‟s get out of here. Maybe we can blow up a few zombies on the way out.”
  But I still stood looking at the corpse in fascination. The wound from the dagger was smoking…
  “Um, Kate?” What exactly do you think that dagger did to him?”
  “Killed him of course. That‟s a daggers job, Moron. It wouldn‟t be-“but then Kate stopped as she noticed it to. The corpse itself was beginning to smoke, soon melting away into ash. A sound echoed through the room, like a thousand iron gates slamming closed at once, and a red sphere of fire appeared above the pedestal, rapidly growing larger until it was taller than Kate.
  “Kate?” I said quietly. “Do you think you just completed whatever dark ritual that man had been preparing?”
  She frowned, and I knew I had my answer. Of course, I suppose the demonic red man stepping out of the flaming sphere was also a clue…


Chapter Two, The Sons of Thanatos


The demon was huge. Not actually very tall, only a little taller than Kate‟s own five foot five, but packed with bulging muscles. It was basically human shaped, although so deformed with muscle that it was almost as wide as it was tall. Four ram‟s horns sprouted from its head, and spikes ran down its back. The demon‟s feet were webbed and its hands clawed, but most of all, it was angry.
  “Who summoned me?” it asked in a booming voice.”
  “I did!” I said quickly, beating Kate to the punch. I didn‟t want Kate to be this things target if it came down to a fight, and it would at least have some difficulty in killing me, since I am technically already dead.
  Its eyes narrowed as the creature glared at me. “You have one wish, mortal. After that, I‟ll kill you.”
  “Hey that‟s not how it‟s supposed to go!” Kate blurted out. “We summoned you, so you can‟t just kill us.”
  “So then you as well, are responsible for my summoning?” said the Demon, turning its eyes towards Kate.
  I put a hand over my eyes and groaned. Now it would be after both of us. If only Kate had kept her big mouth shut.
  “Of course I am, Fatty,” replied Kate with a definite lack of tact. “And I know how this goes. We‟ve summoned you, so you have to obey our command. Meaning, you can‟t just kill us. That‟s not how it works.”
  “Oh yes it is,” said the Demon, grinning unpleasantly. “You‟ve summoned me using the Ritual of Knives, so by the rules of the Nether Court, I must grant you one wish. After I have granted it, I can then do as I please, which in this case consists of killing those who disturbed my rest. Now what is your wish?”
  “I‟ll tell you my wish,” said Kate gritting her teeth in anger, “Why don‟t you take that dagger, and shove it up-“at this point I cut Kate off, realizing she was not doing anything to help our cause.
  “It‟s like this, Demon,” I said in as soothing a tone as I could manage. “We didn‟t mean to summon you, it was someone else who performed the ritual. We just accidently completed it by stabbing him with his dagger. So if you‟re willing to just let bygones by bygones, what do you say we just forgot the whole thing and you be on your way, eh?”
  “I think not,” said the Demon quietly, his claws extending a few inches with a sound like a sword being unsheathed.
  So, I decided to try for a different approach.
  “Look, Demon, we don‟t have to fight. Kate‟s an all-powerful necromancer, and could banish you in an instant. You don‟t want that to happen, so let‟s be friends, ok? My name‟s Alfred, by the way. What‟s yours?”
  The Demon looked nonplussed. Obviously the happy friends approach with a not so veiled threat wasn‟t the way to go.
  “My name,” it said in a growl, “is Malich. And if you don‟t make your wish now, I‟ll kill you both.”
  Kate‟s eyes narrowed, and I just knew that she was about to say something stupid. As she opened her mouth to speak, I said “Ok, I have the wish we‟d like you to grant.”
  Kate‟s eyes narrowed further, till they were mere slits of green eyed rage. She hated being interrupted even more than she hated obstinate demons.
  “Well?” said Malich brusquely. “What is your wish then?”
  “Get me a donut.”
  Both of them stared at me for several seconds.
  “What?” Kate finally said, just a little behind the demon‟s own thunderous query.
  “Get me a donut. I don‟t think that‟s too hard of a wish to grant. And not one of the cheapo ones, I want a donut from Dunkin‟s. One of the one‟s with those chocolaty sprinkles and the jam filling.”
  Kate broke into a grin as she realized what I was doing.
  “A donut for me too, chubby. One of the one‟s from that little place on the corner of First and Second, with the vanilla swirl dough.”
  Malich goggled at us. There was no other word for it. “You have the powers of a Demon before you, and all you want are donuts?” he asked incredulously.
  “Not just any donuts,” replied Kate, “but exquisite donuts. I and Alfred only go for the best after all. So be off, and go collect them like a good little demon.”
  The Demon‟s massive brow furrowed in thought, and I could see its lips moving as it thought. Demons are not known for their level of intelligence, but it soon came to realize that by the time it got back, we would no longer be here.
  “You can‟t do that!” he said at last, although doubt rode every word.
  “Oh yes we can!” replied Kate cheerfully. “As you yourself implied, a donut is a little enough thing to grant. Now go fetch them.”
  With a roar, Malich lunged towards Kate, one clawed arm aimed her throat. She didn‟t even flinch, as his claws stopped an inch from her throat. With a puzzled look, Malich tried another slash of his claws, but with the same result.
  “You can‟t kill me until you‟ve completed my wish,” said Kate, wearing an infuriatingly smug grin.
  “Then kill you I will!” the Demon bellowed. “As soon as I collect your precious donuts, you‟ll die. And for this impetuous resistance, I‟ll kill you slowly…”
  With those chilling words, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and I found myself feeling somewhat skeptical about our plan. I voiced my concerns to Kate that it would only take Malich a short while to fetch our donuts, especially if he could teleport. She told me to put a sock in it, and that I had nothing to worry about.
  “There is no donut shop on the corner of First and Second, Alfred. Since he can‟t complete my wish until he gets a donut from this nonexistent shop, and since he can‟t return here until he has completed that wish, he‟ll never be able to come back. Meaning we can spend as long as we like getting out of here, only having to worry about the zombies which are presumably waiting outside.”
  So we made our way back through the crypt, Kate lighting the way with a glowing ball of flame until we reached the stairway. We ascended the stairs, coming out into the small stone building that made up the entirety of the crypt‟s upper level.
  Slowly, we walked out into the graveyard itself, both of Kate‟s hands glowing with flame as she readied fireballs to defend herself, fizzing and crackling in the rain. We hadn‟t gone but a few steps, when we saw the first zombie a few feet from us, standing like a soldier at attention.
Lightning flashed, briefly parting the rain soaked gloom and revealing the rest of the zombie horde. They had formed a large circle around us that was four zombies thick in some places, an impenetrable wall of undead might. They just stood there, a silent effigy of malice.
  “Why aren‟t they attacking?” I asked quietly.
  “How should I know?” Kate replied, not taking her eyes off them. “For that matter, you have to wonder why they didn‟t follow us…”
  “Because I ordered them not to,” whispered a malignant voice that sounded like the death rattle of a viper. And the strange thing about this whisper was that it could clearly be heard above the spattering of rain, as if its owner was standing right beside us. It sent a cold chill down my spine, but Kate was as unshakeable as always.
  “Who are you?” she asked, eyes searching for the speaker.
  “That is inconsequential. Thou hath killed Brother Madefius. However, I am willing to let thee live, if thee give me the dagger.”
  “Brother Madefius?” asked Kate, raising an eyebrow.
  “Yea, Brother Madefius of the Sons of Thanatos.”
  “Oh, a cult,” Kate muttered under her breath. “I hate cults. You mean Thanatos as in the Greek god of Death?” she asked in a slightly louder voice.
  “Yea. Produce the dagger, or meet thy fate.”
  “Learn to speak English first!” Kate yelled, “And stop acting like you‟re from the medieval ages, Moron, we‟re in modern day New York City in case you didn‟t realize.”
  I rolled my eyes at Kate‟s attitude towards the man who had us at his mercy. It was typical of her, but annoying all the same.
  A robed figure stepped forward, the zombies parting before him like waves upon a rock. As much as his appearance could be ascertained beneath the black robes, he was a duplicate of the man we‟d killed beneath the crypt.
  One hand clutched a wizard‟s staff, something you rarely saw these days. Staves as a rule were considered „old school‟ when it came to magic, and if you were to see one at all, it would be as a forgotten relic, tucked away in a corner somewhere. But this staff was the old kind, glowing faintly with pent up magical energy.
  “The dagger,” he said, and the wind and rain increased as if fueled by his anger.
  “And if we don‟t hand it over?” Kate asked, whispering out of the corner of her mouth that we were up against a weather mage.
  In answer he whipped his staff around in an arc, sending a gust of wind towards us
that knocked us off our feet. He waited for us to get up, and then spoke in that odd whispery voice.
  “I wish not to kill thee, whomever you might be, but you try my patience. Give me the dagger.”
  “Try this for patience,” Kate muttered, diving backwards into the safety of the crypt. It took me a moment to catch on, but I did just in time, making it through the doorway a second before the lightning struck.
  “Our goal was to escape the crypt, not go back in!” I shouted as we ran down the stairs. “This is not a good plan, Kate.”
  “Of course it is, Idiot. Weather mages are useless indoors. If we‟d stayed out there he would have picked us off with lightning in a matter of seconds.”
  “So then what are you planning to do when he sends the zombies after us?” I asked as we reached the bottom step and came out into the underground passageway.
  Kate ignored me, and turned to look up the stairs behind us. With a grim smile, she sent two streams of shadowy energy hurling into the ceiling behind us. Nothing happened for a minute, but then small cracks appeared, that quickly widened into deep fissures in the stone, until the whole ceiling caved in behind us.
  “I think that takes care of the zombie problem,” Kate said smugly, summoning a ball of fire to her hand so we could see.
  “Well, I suppose you‟re right, Kate. However, there‟s one problem that you overlooked.”
  “Oh? And what might that be?”
  “Now we‟re both trapped in a bone filled crypt that‟s at least a hundred feet beneath the earth. You know you‟re not any good at earth magic, so how do you intend to get us out of here?”
  “I suppose the answer will come to me,” she said with a sniff, setting off down the tunnel.
  “Kate! Don‟t you realize we have a limited supply of air down here?” I said hurrying after her.
  “Naturally. But we‟ll be long gone before then. And you certainly don‟t have anything to worry about, already being dead.”
  “Yes, but spending years trapped in a crypt because the only person who could get me out suffocated, doesn‟t sound like much fun…”
  “Quit your whining, Alfred,” she said curtly as we walked past the piles of bones. I tried not to look at them. The mere thought of what must have taken place to produce so many bones made me sick, especially since some of them looked quite fresh.
  We soon arrived at the candle room where we‟d summoned the demon. Kate reached down for the dagger which was still lying where we‟d left it, and, glancing briefly at it as if wondering what was so special about it, stuck it in one of the inner pockets of her robe.
  “Help me look for a way out, Alfred. The Brothers of Thanatos took great pains to set this place up. The bone piles, the candles, the altar, really they spared no expense when it came to creepy occult knick-knacks. No one goes to that much trouble and leaves only one easily blocked entrance, so I assume there must be a secret passage in here.”
  I winced upon hearing Kate refer to the piles of bones, evidence of untold horrors
inflicted upon human beings, as „knick-knacks‟. But I also knew it wouldn‟t do any good to argue the point with her, so I began searching the room, starting at the entryway and working my way right while Kate went left.
  “I think there might be a door back here, Kate,” I said, after finding an odd indentation in part of the wall. “Help me search for a lever or something to open it.”
  “Stand aside, Alfred, and I‟ll soon have it open,” Kate replied, moving up beside me.
  “Kate, I hardly think it will be easy to find. The switch or whatever could be anything.”
  Hearing no reply, I turned to look at her and realized both her hands were glowing with flames. I leapt sideways at the same instant she unleashed her spells, blowing a wide hole through the wall and revealing the secret passage.
  “You could have killed me!” I shouted, staring at her in shock.
  “Don‟t fuss, Alfred. I knew you would get out of the way. You‟re already dead anyways, so it couldn‟t have done that much harm.”
  Kate casually stepped over the rubble of the former hidden doorway, and sidled up the thin passageway. I followed a moment later, more than slightly annoyed at her careless attitude concerning my own safety. Although you can‟t kill a ghost, you can destroy one, utterly erasing it from existence. And one of the best ways to do that is with magic.
  Kate and I walked for several minutes through the cave like tunnel, the walls steadily growing narrower. We at last came to a small metal door, which Kate blew apart with another well-aimed fireball and found ourselves in a large, smooth-walled corridor, the floor covered by a few inches of water. It was like being inside a giant pipe. I soon realized why the word pipe had come to mind, when I saw a metal ladder against one wall that was leading up through a manhole. We‟d come out into the sewers…


Want to read more? Look for the upcoming story More Than a Ghost in the www.amazon.com Kindle Store!

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Tis a pity she's a whelk stall owners daughter.

This is my first attempt at a romance, so please bear with me reader on this little experiment, which may or may not turn out well. Enjoy the wackiness :)


Tis a pity she's a whelk stall owners daughter

It began one loathsome day, in the middle of Frank street, London. Marabell Brixley, daughter of the renowned Mr. Brixley, a well known seller of whelks (a kind of sea snail), was in love.

But not just with anyone. She was in love with Matt Ferguson, adventurer and all around scoundrel. The son of a coal merchant, Ferguson had traveled round the world. He'd swam with the crocs in the Nile, flew over the Andes via hang-glider, and battled cannibalistic natives in the jungle. Ferguson had done it all, and flown home to good old London with his loot, using it to buy a good sized mansion.

And soon enough, he'd met Marabell. The two had clicked instantly. Her with her soupy blue eyes, and golden crown of hair, and he with his rogue-some good looks, and sandy brown hair. But there was an unforeseen snag in their romance. Mr. Brixley, did not approve...

Brixley wanted his daughter to set her sights a bit higher than a mere wealthy adventurer. At the very least he wanted her to marry an eel salesman. For as well as the lovable whelk sold to the common folk, eels were where it's at. Eels were a solid, respectable trade, something to really be proud of.

But Marabell just wouldn't listen. She didn't want to marry Fuggly, the son of a middle-class eel salesman. She loved Ferguson with all of her heart. Yet she knew that her father would never accept anything less than an eel salesman, so she knew what she had to do. She would run away with her true love, living a life on the run from her fathers wrath. She didn't want to, but her father had left her with no choice. So Marabell set off immediately, headed for Ferguson's mansion.

Meanwhile...

All was not well with Matt Ferguson. Having bet heavily on a horse race and lost his fortunes, he was a broken man. The house would be foreclosed, all his possessions taken, and if he didn't flee soon from the thugs he owned money to, then they would surely bring the police against him. He had no choice but to leave as soon as possible, completely forgetting about Marabell in his haste.

As Marabell reached the mansion, she knew instantly that something was wrong. The house seemed abandon. She searched frantically through the rooms, calling her lovers name, but to no avail. Her beloved Ferguson, had left...

Distraught and saddened, Marabell ran out into the street and fell to her knees, tears pouring down her cheeks at the knowledge that he had forsaken her. She heard the honk of a horn and turned to see a taxi approaching fast, but it was too late. Marabell, was run over and her frail life ended in an instant.

Her father blamed the death of his daughter on the heartless scoundrel, whom he pursued for the rest of his life, finally catching up to him on the frozen wastes of Africa. Ferguson plead for his life, but Mr. Brixley wanted revenge. With a brutal blow from a three pound whelk, he felled Ferguson to the ground, feeling a deep joy at the feeling of vengeance.

Epilogue.

The lovers united in paradise, where Ferguson had an eternal fear of whelks but nevertheless lived(or unlived I suppose, since they're dead) happily ever after.

Mr. Brixley went on to become the famed 'Whelk Murderer' of London, the serial killer made so famous in the recent newspapers for his brutal method of clubbing his victims with whelks.

And so ends this tragedy, with the words of wisdom that you should never long for a whelk stall owners daughter...

Monday, March 21, 2011

Milly Toads Poem

This is one of my first attempts at a poem. So please don't be too harsh on me, since

I'm just starting out ;)


Twas milly toads, that walked the way,
walked it swaying to and freigh.
The thirteenth of June that fateful day,
no rain in sight, not till May.
But then it came, on wings of clay,
and told the toads, to go away.
The toads stiffened and replied nay,
this is our home, we intend to stay.
Then stay you shall, replied the creature with a neigh,
and you shall regret having crossed the fey.
No we shan't, said the head toad Jay,
but since you've angered us, you must now pay.
And the toads gathered their strength to hold the beast at bay,
the creature now gone, without a word to say.
The rain now came, in the month of May,
Twas the milly toads that walked the way.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Yet another humorous short story, starring the ineffable Mr. Brown, with a cameo appearance from my alter ego, Werdna the Wizard.


The evil wizard Werdna, followed closely by Mr. Brown, crept silently through the streets, heading towards Victor's house. Victor Lesly was a news writer, who'd written a rather unflattering story about how inept Werdna was at being a villain, and how no self-respecting hero would dare to face off with him. But he hadn't stopped there. After that, he'd gone so far as to call the wizard Werdna's infamous experiments with gnomes 'pointless'.

"I'll show him 'pointless'." Werdna muttered under his breath, his soft shoes making no noise on the cobbles. "I'll make Victor regret having crossed swords with the mighty WERDNA himself!"
(Werdna always spoke his name in capital letters. He got very offended at those who didn't.)
Werdna's plans were simple. Gain access to Victor's house, trash the furniture, leave all the faucets running, and drop off a 'gnometastic' little present, that would ensure Victor would never forget enraging him.
But he couldn't be caught on the way to the house, and had to break in as silently as possible, so he'd be able to do as much damage as he could. And so he'd brought the Ineffable Mr. Brown, master locksmith.
Mr. Brown was well known in the criminal world. For no matter how much work you went to to get past the guards, or into the treasure room, you would inevitably need the services of Mr. Brown to open the locks. He was so well known, that any job requiring his services was known as a 'Brown Job' and all 'Brown Jobs' had a certain professionality attached to them. Mr. Brown never backed out on a job, and always did his part, walking away with a neat twenty percent when all was done. His prices were high, but well worth it, since it practically guaranteed that you would succeed.
Werdna looked over at Mr. Brown as they walked down the street, and wondered not for the first time how he had become such a legendary figure. He was a neat, dapper little man in his mid-forties and starting to go bald. And he was, well, brown. He wore a brown tweed coat, with pinstripe trousers in light shades of brown, neat little brown shoes, and of course, his brown bowler hat. Everyone who knew about Mr. Brown knew about his hat. It was just part of his image, and went everywhere he did, along with his little clink-free brown bag, full of all the tools of the trade, most of which he'd invented himself.
And as they approached Victor's house, Werdna marveled at how inconspicuous Mr. Brown was. The man just looked so ordinary, that no one saw him. He reflected that perhaps he should have been a bit more careful about his own choice of clothing. Instead of his normal purple wizards robes, he wore a long yellow trench coat, the brim turned up so there was so little space between the coat and his top hat, that he kept having to push the hat up so he could see.
They arrived at the front door, and began their work. Mr. Brown set down his bag, pulled out a neat little metal ring with dozens of near identical lock picks on it, and started on the lock.
"Looks like an easy job," he said quietly, "should take me only a few hours."
Werdna stared at the rather basic looking lock, and wondered how 'a few hours' constituted an easy job. Maybe difficult locks took days?
After a few minutes, Mr. Brown started to whistle under his breath. He didn't even seem to realize it, but the whistle was both loud, and annoying, and Werdna glanced around fearfully, expecting to see the police at any moment. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore when he heard a series of clicks like gunshots from the lock.
"Woops, sorry." Shouted Mr. Brown over the noise. That happens sometimes if you don't oil it up first. Don't worry, I'll have it fixed in a jiffy." Mr. Brown then started rubbing oil over the lock, producing a loud squeaky noise, like old shoes.
"Keep it down!" Werdna whispered frantically, as he heard a door slam in the distance, as if someone was coming out to see what had caused all the noise.
"Don't worry, don't worry." Said Mr. Brown soothingly, making a point of not whispering. "I've been in this game a long time. If you act stealthy and quiet, it will look suspicious. By acting as ordinary as possible, as if we're just two blokes out for a stroll, then no one will notice us."
"Are you sure?" Asked Werdna doubtfully.
"Hey sonny, I'm Mr. Brown! Of course I'm sure. Just ignore everything that's going on around you, and give me a hand with the lock. Pull out those deflectors from my bag, we're going to try aiming some sound waves at the lock to force it open."
Werdna shrugged, and let his fears of discovery vanish. Mr. Brown was a professional. If he said it would be ok, then it would be ok.
They set about blasting waves of sound towards the lock, achieving no apparent result. After a few moments, they both heard a polite cough behind them, and turned to see a policeman watching them.
"Can I help you gents?" He said, pointedly looking towards the lock picks.
Werdna stepped forward to speak, but Mr. Brown quickly hushed him into silence.
"Not at all officer," Mr. Brown replied, "we're just going about our business, so I suggest you do the same." And then he turned his back to the policeman and continued working on the lock, muttering under his breath.
"I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the door." Said the policeman, after a moments hesitation at seeing someone happily picking a lock right in front of him. As a rule, criminals didn't break the law in front of an officer if they knew he was present.
With a theatric sigh, Mr. Brown put down the lock picks and turned once again to face the officer.
"Look, I'm trying to go about my work here, alright? So just leave us alone, and let us get on with it. We don't want the boss firing us because some nosy officer kept us from getting in a full nights work." He then turned back and continued on the lock. After a moment there was a loud twang, and his lockpick flew upwards and through one of the front windows, breaking it with a crash.
"Blast!" cursed Mr. Brown. "Now look what you've done. Made me break the poor man's window. Will you leave us alone already?"
The officer looked questioningly at Werdna, as Mr. Brown rummaged through his bag for a second lockpick. Werdna just shrugged as if to say "Hey talk to him."
They both watched Mr. Brown for several minutes, before the officer felt it was time to give it another shot.
"Look, you do realize that what you're doing is illegal don't you?"
Mr. Brown rolled his eyes. "Officer, I'm an honest working stiff going about his job, ok? Just buzz off or I'll complain to the station."
Mr. Brown continued about his work, leaving both the officer, Werdna, and a few neighbors who had wandered over to see the show left watching in confusion.
"I'll be back in a sec," muttered the policeman, heading back to his car. This was too much for him to deal with, so he was going to pass the problem on to his sergeant.
Fifteen minutes later, a large crowd had gathered along with half a dozen policemen, all watching Mr. Brown pick the lock. Several of them had tried to point out that what he was doing was illegal, but he would hear none of it, leaving them confused and uncertain.
After another few minutes, Mr. Brown pulled out a small radio and started playing James Taylor's 'Handy Man' at full volume, to drown out the noise of the crowd.
"Half way there," he said, "should have this open in another half our or so."
"Um, why don't we just go through the broken window?" Werdna asked in a whisper.
"Go through the window?" shouted Mr. Brown, mortally offended. "What, like a common thief? You've got to have some class in this business, Mr. W. You pick the lock silently, like a pro."
"So you are picking the lock then?" asked one of the officers, stepping forward.
"Of course not!" replied Mr. Brown huffily. "I was just making a philosophical point to Mr. W here. Now will you lot go away already? You're blocking my light."
The crowd wouldn't stop bothering him though, so muttering under his breath, Mr. Brown went back to his bag, pulled out several small flood lights, and set them up to shine on the lock. By this time half the cops in the city were here to watch the show, along with everyone in a ten block radius.
As Mr. Brown broke yet another lock pick, Werdna seriously began to doubt the man's skill and wondered if it would be a good idea to sneak down an alleyway while everyone was busy watching Mr. Brown. But it was too late. For Vincent Lesly himself had finally gotten back home, and stepped out of the crowd, glaring ferociously at Werdna and Mr. Brown.
"And what exactly do you two think you're doing?" he asked.
"Just trying to fix this lock for you my good man." replied Mr. Brown. "That is, if people didn't keep blocking the light!" he added, looking accusingly at the crowd.
"The locks fine," said Vincent, roughly shoving him aside and inserting the key. He opened the door, and the crowd gasped. Vincent's house was a wreck...
Furniture was missing or destroyed, the wall paper was ripped, the word "Loser" had been written over the walls with spray paint, and the very floor boards themselves had been pried up or cut through. But that was only the entryway and living room. As Vincent, along with everyone else in the crowd, walked through the door to survey the wreckage, they found that it only got worse. Much, much worse. A few minutes more, and every single person in the area turned to look at Mr. Brown and Werdna the wizard.
Werdna knew they'd been caught, although he wasn't sure exactly what they'd been caught doing, since he and Mr. Brown had been outside the whole time. Mr. Brown himself just stood there looking innocent.
"Did you do this?" Vincent asked, walking up to Mr. Brown till they were practically nose to nose.
Mr. Brown waited a moment, pulled a small cigar out of his pocket, lit it and blew out a puff of smoke, in what Vincent considered a very offensive manner.
"I was outside the whole time." said Mr. Brown in his neat little voice, "Everyone in the crowd saw me, and I believe that's what you call an 'alibi'."
"Well we shall see about that!" said Vincent maliciously. He wanted someone to pay for this, and would be more than happy if it was this little man, in his little bowler hat, with his annoying little cigar.
So the police questioned Werdna and Mr. Brown rigorously, but to no avail. There were just too many witnesses to prove they hadn't done it, and they were let free.
As they both walked home, Werdna patted Mr. Brown companionably on the shoulder.
"Well, we may not have achieved our goal, but it looks like somebody else did, so I guess it all ends well."
"And who says we didn't achieve our goal?" said Mr. Brown with a smile, "While the crowd was busy giving us an alibi, a confederate of mine broke in through the back with a crowbar and trashed the place. Vincent's things are waiting at your home for you in case you wanted to keep any. Cheerio!"
And as Werdna realized why Mr. Brown was the best in the business, the little man walked off into the night, having pocketed a neat twenty percent of the take and the deed to Vincent's property...

Monday, March 7, 2011

Piggy Bank's.

Well this being my first blog post, I decided to make it something special. I thought about doing something introductory, like "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Jose Ruiz, etc" but that would be lame.

The best introduction I can give, is with one of my favorite short stories, a humorous tale about the evil of piggy bank's. So without further ado, enjoy!


Thoughts from a piggy bank owner.

The piggy bank oinked happily as a few more coins were dropped in. It was already quite full, but no matter how much you dropped in, there always seemed to be room for another quarter. And it was a proper piggy bank too. Not one of the clever ones that looked like a scene from a kids book, but a classic, pudgy little pig, complete with curly tail and soulful little eyes, that stared longingly at your pocket until you couldn't resist any longer and dropped a coin in the bank.
Most people didn't see any further than that, and there really wasn't much else to see, unless you looked really really closely. If you were an astute observer though, you might notice the malignant rolls of fat beneath the eyes, hinting at darker secrets, and the odd twist to the end of the tail, that made it look just a little bit like a pitchfork. And if you looked even closer, staring deep into it's piggy eyes, you would see the Greed. Greed, with a capital 'G'. For this was one of the first piggy banks, and had been around for centuries, growing fatter and greedier with each coin dropped in, until the greed had blackened it's very soul.
And now the original piggy was completely gone, replaced by an evil, vile hog, no longer worthy of the name 'piggy', who craved nothing but coins. Coins at any and all cost. The pig would not spare
a single iota of worry over it's owners safety, as long as it got it's coins. It had already killed three
owners...
Not on purpose of course. The pig couldn't actually move, it just sat there. But it didn't need to move. It's owners would feel compelled to put coins in, since that's what you did with piggy banks right? But soon enough, the pig would demand more, and more, and more. It would sit smugly wherever you put it, staring down at you with it's piggy eyes, full of reproachfullness at your stinginess, at you not putting any coins in. You'd try to resist, but that accusatory stare would get to anyone in time. And soon enough, you put a few coins in, just to make it stop. But it wouldn't stop for long. For once you fed the pig, it wanted more...
A few weeks might pass, and you would find yourself putting larger and larger sums of money in the pig, only to be hit with that awful stare once again, demanding yet more money. Soon, you'd be robbing convenience stores, just to keep the pig satisfied. Only a little at first. Stealing money out of the change jars, small stuff like that. But in time, that too would not be enough, and your life would spiral out of control as you tried frantically to stop the pigs greed. Those evil eyes would invade your very dreams, until you could think of nothing but the pig. But you couldn't stop it. You couldn't break or throw away the piggy, because it takes an evil soul indeed to harm a piggy bank.
So it would ruin your life, until nothing remained to you. Your experience with the piggy, would either end in jail, or death. And a happy release it was, from the piggy's enslavement.
But the piggy bank would always find a way, to continue it's greedy acquisition of money. It could be mysteriously winding up in someone's Will, and bequeathing itself to a wealthy family member, or it could be a disappearing from it's owner's house, only to be found a few days later in a pawn shop, or a street gutter, inevitably being picked up by someone else.

And the piggy's greed would continue, an endless, vicious cycle, never ending, never stopping, and never ever going away. So if you ever see a piggy bank and think it's cute and might be fun to put a few coins in, then resist the temptation and walk on. For piggy banks are a thing of evil and it does you no good to encourage them.


I will periodically be posting more of my stories, so check back often :)