Other Fan Fiction / Romance Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Adventures of Thad Gunter ❯ Death Match Without End ( Chapter 10 )

 

THE CONTINUING ADVENTURES OF THAD GUNTER!!!

 

----

 

Chapter 10: Death Match Without End

 

----

 

The sun penetrated the closed eyelids of the Author's eyes, like a jackhammer smashing a sidewalk. Or like a well-endowed porn deflowering a poor Christian virgin. He groaned and rolled over, blocking his eyes. The inside of his head throbbed and it seemed that tiny little goblins were pounding on him with pickaxe. Groaning once again, the Author decided he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and sprang from his bed.

Or at least what he thought was his bed. Upon further observation, he realized that instead of being curled up in his comfy bed with a small group of stuffed animals, he was instead sprawled over a floor. Lifting himself off the cold linoleum, rubbing his head, groaning intensely, the Author glanced around the… Bathroom. He peered to his left into the bathtub full of all sorts of horrifying contraband. Empty whiskey bottles, crushed beer cans, rotten tangerine rinds, at least two shattered water pipes, a varied cornucopia of hash, crack, and crank, an absolute pool of spent syringes, literal hundreds of smothered out cigarette butts, rags wet with either, used-up shotgun shells, crumbled pages of pornography, a few torn up paperback novels of questionable literary merit, empty Big Mac cardboard containers, razor blades, angel dust, photos of cheerleaders and tennis rackets in compromising scenarios; and some other stuff too. The whole mess was floating in shallow, brown, water. At least it appeared to be water.

 

“What the fuck-shit happened last night?”

 

Stumbling to his feet, the Author became aware of the hardened liquid diarrhea adhered to the inside of his sweatpants and the large sunflower yellow urine stains on the front side. To say nothing of the crusty dried vomit layer covering the front of his purple two-dollar Wal-Mart shirt.

 

Luckily, in his barely aware state of mind, the Author took little note of the terrifying mixture of unsentimental bodily fluids covering his cloths. Instead, he simply removed the garments, or in some cases, shattering them into tiny pieces of discolored fabric, and went along his way in the hairy, sweating, ape-like nude.

 

A light was calling to The Author. Through the darkened, undefined corridors of his shattered sanity, a bacon, or possibly a beacon, of hope shone out for him. He knew that, as long as he could make it back to that shining star, his life would be saved from the gruesome, meat hook realities that overtook him presently. Before he knew it, his feet carried him, quickly, from his current locale, pass the ajar bathroom door, taking care to step over the rotting carcass of a recently murdered Asian prostitute, to the desired bright luminosity of happiness that cried out for him. Tears swelled up in The Author's eyes. Salvation was near!

 

The Author sat down in his computer chair and looked ahead at the screen. He lifted his heavy fingers to the keyboard. The words, “Thad Gunter Chapter 10” and the blank page beneath it, mocked him. He was in no mood for such insolence. Randomly smashing his fist against the keyboard, he began to write.

 

----

 

Man, statues are creepy. With those unblinking eyes that just stare and stare, right into your soul or some shit. Dr. Isaac Thaddeus “Thad” “Dude” “Mammy” Edgar Allen Howard Philips Sam Gunter III, Jr. was making dead-end eye-contact with a particularly creepy crucifix. Jesus' sullen, drooping sockets would seem to follow him where ever he went. Jesus had never creeped him out before but there was a first time for everything. Thad envisioned Christ climbing down from his crucifix on a nightly basis in search of human blood. He even imagined the small sculpted savior battling the title menaces from the “Puppet Master” series. Man, those movies scared the crap out of Thad when he was a kid. He used to navigate around the horror section of his local Ma-and-Pa rental store just to avoid the creepy box covers. Brrr…

 

Deciding that thoughts of malevolent animated inanimate objects were counterproductive, Thad wander around to another area of the church he found himself in. Stepping out from the stuffy pews to the cool breeze of the porch, he went over the events of the past day. How the vicious Sheriff Derneck framed him for the brutalizing of one Miss Rachel Merchawitz, how he used that as an excuse to torture poor Thad, the daring and somewhat slapstick-esque escape that followed. How, through total chance, he miraculously escaped to this very church on the outskirts of small town of Burroughs' Burrow.

 

Derneck, in all his huge intimidating fleshiness, would be coming after Thad soon enough. He began to consider the Maniac Cop's unrelenting pursuit. Perhaps he is connected to the sinister Renn-Tech corporation. No. That would be too convenient. Easily explained plot contrivances such as that never occurred in real life, only in hurriedly written internet serials.

 

Shattering the silence of Thad's meditation like catholic priest shatter the anuses of so many choir boys, Steve the charitable truck driver, stepped onto the porch.

 

“Angel,” Steve spoke, “may I speak?”

 

Thad stood up, preparing to answer his friend and apparent devout follower. As Thad's body became erect, Steve's became prone. He descended to the porch floor so quickly that the vulnerable flesh of his knees became horribly scuffed. The truck driver's hands slammed together into a prayer stance in a manner equally furious, creating equally horrible scuffs on his hands. Steve clamped his eyelids shut in manner somewhat less scuff-inating.

 

Though flattered by the insistent kneeling, Thad put out his hands, “Steve, please, that's not necessary.”

 

“No!” he insisted, “I am not worthy to stand among a warrior of God!”

 

“Oh, boy,” Thad sighed. He didn't want to blow his cover but… Damn, was this motherfucker crazier then a eunuch in a porno movie.

 

“Seriously, Steve, it's cool. Anyway, what did you need to tell me?”

 

Despite the encouraging words, he remained on his knees. “I know it's a sin to watch television, dearest angel…”

 

“Television isn't a sin.” Thad countered.

 

“It isn't?” Steve confusedly pondered.

 

“Yeah, God invented television.”

 

“Are you sure?” Doubt snuck into Steve's voice.

 

“Hey, whose the friggin' angel here? You want me to call the twelve plagues down on you, bitch?” Thad said in his most Ving Rhames inspired brogue.

 

Steve recanted his doubt, “Oh, of course, your holiness. Anyway, on the television, that local sheriff said they're after you.”

 

“They let that lunatic on television?” Thad rushed back into the church, into the dormitory where he gathered up what few possessions he had carried with him.

 

Steve followed after, “Dearest angel, I can't defy a police officer. Surely this is some sort of demon posing as a cop.”

 

Slipping on his jacket, Thad posed an answer. “You know, Steve, I think you might be right.”

 

A dramatic music cord played in the heads of both men. Before it really played, in the building.

 

“What was that?” Thad questioned.

 

“Creaky pipe organ.” Steve answered, “Oh dearest angel.”

 

----

 

Sheriff Bert Derneck's went through office chairs like most people go through disposable cameras. Sometimes they would just shatter under his immense weight. The sturdier models would instead be absorbed into his body via meiosis. Either way, the sheriff didn't need a chair today. He instead paced about his office, shaking the building with every footstep.

 

Dusty debris rained down from the discolored ceiling tiles. Everything was discolored in Derneck's office. It wasn't uncommon, during one of his daily naps, for his body to vent a noxious gas into the air, like the kind of massive, life-draining farts old people released before expiring. Gas bubbles would just build up in the folds of fat and eventually burst in a mysterious emerald fog, Derneck's much bothered and often liquefied office team figured.

 

But there was no time for napping today. Derneck was still enraged, blisteringly red, every orifice, including a few just recently discovered ones, were engorged with blood, thick with plasma. Uh, he was mad. Should Bert think of something soothing, such as the homoerotic wrangling of man flesh known as professional wrestling or the charming death thrones of a passel of kittens crushed to death between the massive bodies of mating hermaphrodites, his peace of mind would immediately be clipped and plucked by the thought of Thad Gunter. It was as if Thad himself appear and violently pissed blood all over the peace-creating fantasies of Derneck's dozing mind. This would only increase his blood lust. No, peace was a rare occurrence for Bert ever since Thad escape his fleshy grasp. And nothing resembling peace would return until the Psycho Cop captured Thad and destroyed his every single last molecule.

 

Over to one of the less polluted corners of the office, a dusty, rarely used fax machine, did less then roar to life but slightly more then shuffled into actability. With the brisk pace of a mildly retarded Algerian goat herder, a piece of paper printed out of the gullet of the vintage '95 fax machine.

 

At first, Derneck, still busy raging, didn't even notice the slight mechanical clinking. However, his mind quickly became aware of the sound. At first, Derneck's natural reaction was to pick up the device and either, a) crush it against the wall, or b) crush it against the first unlucky deputies that happen to walk by the office door. Bert was well on his way to doing just that. Upon seizing the gadget, however, he took note of the paper and decided to hold back on all the crushing. At least for the moment.

 

Printed in absolutely striking font, the paper proclaim, like an actually flaming homosexual drag queen,

 

“DERNECK, DO NOT CRUSH THIS MESSAGE. STOP.”

 

All right, Bert decided, this guy knew what he was talking about.

 

“EAALHI SPEAKING. GUNTER HAS BEEN LOCATED. STOP.”

 

Bile rose up from Derneck's considerable gut. But this was the good kind of bile. This was exactly the news he had been hoping to read all day. Bert joyously vomited all over his boots before continuing to read.

 

“THE BURROUGH'S BURROW COUNTY TRAIN STATION, JUST OUTSIDE TOWN. STOP.

 

GUNTER MUST BE CAPTURED. HE MUST BE STOPPED. STOP.

 

I MEAN, YOU'VE GOT TO APPREHEND HIM. I DIDN'T STUTTER THERE. STOP.

 

BECAUSE I DON'T STUTTER. EVER. STOP.

 

STOP. STOP.

 

NO, GODDAMN IT, I MEAN STOP WRITING. FUCK. STOP.

 

GODDAMN IT, I MEAN NOW! STOP.”

 

Derneck discarded the worn-out telegraph joke and proceeded on his quest. He was in full on, gorilla rage mode now. Thad would be lucky if he had two skin flakes to rub together after he got done with him. He only paused long enough to make sure his hat was on straight before exiting.

 

----

 

“Can somebody please explain that to me? I've never understood that.”

 

The Clueless Asshole stood, clad as always, in his tattered ducky pajamas, his shit brown hair uncombed and dandruff ridden, his stretched blue t-shirt discolored and stained by long-since dried particles of food, among the denizens of the train station. He screamed obnoxiously into his cell phone. Not that there was anyone on the other line. The Clueless Asshole didn't worry about such things. In truth, he was carrying on a conversation with himself, in hopes that those around him would see him talking on the phone and assume that he had some friends, instead of just being a lonely, depressed, near suicidal twenty-year old whose only form of social interaction was the “Power Rangers” fan site he managed that nobody ever read anyway.

 

“I mean, why did the chicken cross the road? Is that supposes to be a joke? It's not funny! Is that why it's funny? Because it isn't? Like Andy Kaufman? Or something? I never understood him. Still love “Taxi.” And “Heartbeeps.” Man, that “Heartbeeps,” what a great fucking movie.”

 

The other attendants, all four of them, tried not to stare at the Clueless Asshole. It was rude, after all. Society had taught them that instead of gawking or vomiting upon retards, we should just ignore them. Because we all know that ignoring problems makes them go away.

 

Among the Clueless Asshole at the train station that morning included an overstressed middle age mother trapped in a loveless marriage and working on a drinking problem on the way to the next county over hospital where her husband waited in intensive care after sticking his dick in a pool pump. Next to her was her twelve year old daughter who, after mother denied her request to get a tattoo of a downward arrow and the phrase “TARGET” directly over her ass crack, wasn't talking to her.

 

Pacing nervously back and forth was an about twenty-five year old business major, Keef, holding his briefcase to his chest in a death grip, sweating profusely. He kept glancing over at the other bus station patrons, convinced that any of them could be a deadly sleeper agent. They might appear to be a normal person like you or me (Okay, maybe not me) but a simple utterance could launch them into a killing frenzy. Just by saying a word, like, say, “Cheese,” crazy rambling guy over there or preteen Becky would transform into an unstoppable killing machine and snap the necks of everyone else in the room with nary a moral thought otherwise.

 

Not that Keef was paranoid or anything, but if you were trying to smuggle ten kilos of super-crack over state lines, you might be kind of nervous too. And the rock or two he smoked before going over to the train station might have contributed to his paranoia, just a tiny bit.

 

The Clueless Asshole continued, “Seriously though, people's humor just confuses me sometimes. I mean, Bob, you remember Bob, right? Well he dragged me to this stand-up club the other night, right? Can you hear me? Hello? Okay, thought I lost you there for a minute.”

 

The last person among the would-be train passengers that morning was a stranger hiding beneath a nun's habit. Face down, the nun was pretty preoccupied with the rosary and tried hard not to glance at any of the screwballs that roamed the area. For truth, the nun wasn't actually a nun at all. No, the reason the nun kept “her” head down, was an attempt to hide “her” masculine face.

 

It's Thad. Okay? The nun is Thad.

 

Thad had begun to question Steve the surprisingly religious truck driver's plan about two seconds after seeing himself in the black-and-white nun's habit. It's not that Thad had any problems with nuns or cross-dressing but the whole ordeal reminded him uncomfortably of a sexual fantasy Thad thought up in Sunday School during his twelfth year of existence. But that was neither here nor there. He was just sure he couldn't really pass for a woman. Much less a woman of the cloth.

 

But Steve persists. “Angels are suppose to be androgynous, you know, Dearest angel. So why couldn't you pass for a nun?”

 

When he asked about the spare priest outfit that hung in the same closet next to the discarded nun habit, Steve dismissively shook his head. “No, no, the nun outfit is definitely the way to go.”

 

Thad thought about pulling the whole “I'm the angel around here, goddamn it, why don't you start fucking listening to me?” bit again, but he felt pretty bad about the whole deception thing all ready and decided not to push his luck.

 

So, here he was, done up in Jesus drag, waiting for the train to take him far, far away from Burroughs' Burrow and even farer away from Derneck. Thad examined his goals. How long had it been since he started out on his quest to rescue his beloved Helen Maria Rudwalnagirctekahs from the greasy lubricated clutches of the wicked Renn-Tech? He thought about the horrible sight that launched him into an intense vomiting match that transformed him into his current vaguely Chuck Conners like state, the confrontation with the Vindicator at the bank, his first encounter with Rachel Merchawitz, the freighting nightmare he had on the plane out to LA, the strange cab driver that he meet while in LA, barging into the Renn-Tech building, battling James Eaalhi, being teleported into the Utah desert, encountering Rachel Merchawitz once again, being sent to the Burroughs' Burrow County Hospital in the aftermath of that encounter, and becoming entangled with the vicious Derneck. Though all of those events all took place within three weeks of each other, yet it felt like over a year to Thad for some reason. Either way, what was intended as a clear-cut journey had become needlessly convoluted by detours, setbacks, and extensions. All of this was surely the acts of the invisible strings of a cruel and haphazard puppet master.

 

If he did throw Derneck off his trail, which was unlikely, when would it be safe to start his quest again? Surely, Derneck was in cahoots with the wicked Eaalhi. It's not like he could just firebomb the Renn-Tech building, rush into their labyrinthine underground porno tunnels, rescue his beloved Helen Maria Rudwalnagirctekahs just mire minutes before she's brutally sodomized by a ludicrously well-endowed midget known only be his stage name “The Tripod,” and rush out with her in his arms, where they would dive into his not-to-tacky luxury sports vehicle, before driving off into the sunshine, living happily ever after, and acting like nothing had happen? Things were never that simple. It would take some major strategy on Thad's part if he was to succeed in his goal. The whole thing just made him nervous. No, Eaalhi had the deck stacked against him. Thad had to beat the house, somehow.

 

But first, Thad would have to outthink Derneck. You wouldn't think that would be hard. Not the outthinking part anyway. It was really more of the “Not getting eaten” part that worried Thad.

 

Thad's introspection was interrupted by the shrill, not completely un-Gilbert-Godfret-like laughter of the Clueless Asshole.

 

“Aw man, let me tell you. This one joke he had, okay, okay, so a grasshopper walks into a bar, right? Okay, okay, you listening? Okay. So the bartender looks at him and says, okay, he says, the bartender, he says, “You know, mister grasshopper, we got a drink named after you. And then, okay, are you ready, and then… Ah-ha-ha-ah-ha-heh-hehehehehe…” He coughed, “Okay, so the grasshopper looks at the bartender and he says, are you ready?, he says…”

 

Before the punch line could be delivered the wall at the opposite end of the train station exploded and a swinging block of concrete was delivered to the Clueless Asshole's neck. The jagged conglomeration of stone and minerals sliced through his delicate neck tendons like shit through a goose. The force tossed his severed head high into the air, while a volcano of viscous viscera erupted from his neutered neck.

 

After the wreckage faded away, it became all too obvious who was responsible for this sudden violence. Standing among the stone dust, just opposite of a perfectly fitting outline in the wall, was none other then…

 

Thad-as-The-Nun whispered to himself, “Oh, shit-fuck.”

 

Derneck, seeming at least eight feet tall and a ton in weight, his uniform barely containing the impermeable layers of fat, stood just outside the station, looked in at the staion's sparse residents. His face was flushed with blood, he breathed laboriously, his teeth spontaneously turned a deep shade of green, rotted away, before regenerating and starting over again. He gripped his penis shrinking hand cannon in his, ur, hands and feverishly swayed it around. He glanced over the entire room. A thick layer of dead skin cells clumped off his forearms and splattered to the floor. He opened his mouth and screamed uncontrollably. A sound emitted from the bottomless gullet of his throat. It was something not quite like the death throes of a blue whale who decided to try auto-erotic-asphyxiation only to discover, to late, that it was bad idea, and not quite dissimilar to the rumbling belch of a suddenly cannibalistic bull dyke lesbian stand-up comedian who had just finished devouring her four adopted Indonesian children.

 

This went on for about six minutes. Derneck said nothing, he simply shrieked, screamed, yelled, over and over again, fluctuating between the low and high octaves. Everyone eventually covered their ears, fearing their heads would explode “Scanners” style.

 

Thad would have used this opportunity to flee but was afraid any swift action would give him away.

 

Finally, Derneck's LA-noise band style screaming ceased and he took a colossal dump in his trousers. He took a moment to catch his breath, gasping for a few second, before he continued, bellowing at the same volume, though now his noises vaguely resembled coherent words.

 

“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE? WHERE'S THAT DOUCHE-FAG?! WHERE'S THE FUCKING QUEER-BAT? WHERE? I'LL EAT HIS FUCKING HEAD! WHERE THE FUCK? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE? I'LL MUTILATE HIS SCROTUMS! SHOW ME TO THE CUNTING FUCKER!”

 

Nobody said anything. They were, understandably, unsettled.

 

Derneck coughed, slightly, before speaking again, still in his usual pitch.

 

“EXCUSE ME, I AM AN OFFICER OF THE LAW! GOOD CITIZENS, I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE IN BRINING A FUGITIVE FROM THE LAW TO JUSTICE! BELIEVE ME, YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR! I WILL PROTECT YOU!”

 

That didn't help any.

 

Keef, still paranoid from the super crack, was certain he was the noted fugitive. His feet, swiftly carried him directly into the nearest wall. His skull cracked against the hard surface and he stumbled backwards, dropping his precious cargo. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

 

Responding with all the swiftness of the corpse of a jungle cat, Derneck reared his shooting device up and took aim at whatever it was that just moved. He pulled the trigger and a series of small explosions went off within the gun. The force of which launch a three foot long, seven inch wide yellow-hot bolt through the air. The explosive shell impacted upon Keef's poor head. His body disintegrated, molecule by molecule, in a sudden flash of hellfire. The force of the explosion sent debris and dust into the air of the room, which then rained down on the train station's apparently unflappable clientele.

 

Derneck turned his gun back on the remaining members.

 

“HE HAD A GUN! YOU ALL SAW IT! HE ATTACKED ME! IT WAS SELF-DEFENSE!”

 

Nobody said anything.

 

Derneck marched forward, shaking the building, his eyes flashing back and forth from the mother/teenage daughter combo and the oddly masculine nun. He muttered to himself, barely audible.

 

“Come on, Thad, you fucker. Where the hell are ya'? You little shit. I know you're here. Come on out you fuckin' piece of elephant vomit.”

 

Thad kept his eyes low, only too aware of how likely it was he would be detected. He thought quickly. There must be way out of all of this.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

A voice piped up and came to the attention of Derneck's ears. He glanced down to his right and pointed the massive barrel of the gun directly into the face of the nun.

 

“WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS IT?”

 

Thad and Derneck made immediate eye-contact. A synapse fired in the brain of each. The electric impulse triggered a reaction in both, a movement so quick that both could have occurred at precisely the same time.

 

Thad slammed into the side of the gun's barrel with all the strength he could call into each elbow. It wasn't a lot of force, compared to Derneck's general mass, but it was enough to edge the gun away from Thad's face and towards the empty space beside him instead.

 

And Derneck's action? He pulled the trigger.

 

Preparing for the eruption of force, Thad curled into a ball, pressing his knees into his face. Violently, said empty spaces right next to him cease to be and was forcibly replace with splintering fire and instant death.

 

In a not completely un-Sonic the Hedgehog type move, the now ball like Thad was ejected into the air and across the train station room. Acting uncharacteristically agile, Thad uncurled, tore the nun habit from his person, prepared his feet, and landed on the floor. He spun around, dramatically, and looked back at Derneck. Their eyes met once again.

 

Thad screamed like a little girl, wet himself a bit, and ran out the back door of the station.

 

----

 

And then the chapter ended. And then it started again.

 

----

 

Crying the whole time, tears streaming down from his face, Thad fled through the train yard, knowing that painful death would be coming for him only too soon. He weaved in and out of the inactive train cars, hiding behind one of the rustier models.

 

As if on cue, the back wall of the train station came apart as Derneck smashed through, tearing the concrete away with his ease and shoveling as much of the rock into his mouth as possible. He beat his chest, gorilla style, and screamed uncontrollably, an unending stream of gibberish, inhuman noises, and expletives ushering forth from his vocal box. Only one real word was understandable in the mess of sound.

 

“THAAAAAAAAAADD!!!”

 

Derneck's rage had built to superhuman levels. His blood boiled, froze, melted, and boiled over and over again within his veins. A fountain of deep orange pus shot from his ears, his finger nails grew into several feet worth of curling cuticles, blood ran from his tear ducts. He no longer saw things within the normal color spectrums. He was seeing in hyper-violent, inferred light, x-rays. He could see radiation. It was as if Derneck was suddenly casted as the lead part in the remake of “X: The Man with X-Ray Eyes,” or something. I mean, he was really bent about stuff.

 

Either way, he knew that Thad was behind a black and white, burnt out train car.

 

Bounding over his own layers of fat, Sherriff Bert Derneck charged him, running like a badly tempered water buffalo. Head-first, he collided with the steel, puncturing it, fiercely. The car overturned and rolled forward.

 

Thad normally would have let instinct taken over, with a train car, not to mention the sheer girth of Derneck, about to come tumbling down on him. However, Thad's instincts were best described as turgid. So, instead, he put his faith in the power of faulty writing.

 

He bent his knees, braced his body, and pushed upward. Everything managed to line-up just perfectly as he spun upward through the open the window of the train as it came down. Every slowed down amazingly as he passed through the interior of the train and out the also opened window on the opposite side. He held his breath, convinced this cockamamie plan wouldn't work.

 

As Thad's body exited the window and he breathed in fresh air, he realized, of course it worked. Why wouldn't it?

 

Time caught up with the world. The train car, Derneck's chewing through the twisted metal still, went tumbling down the field, over and over itself, project forward by the collision. Derneck's mass would fall forward, smashing into the ground, shattering the fragile concrete into smithereens, before the weight of the train car would come crashing down on the other side, lifting Derneck ass-end up into the air once more. The huge madman garbled and blurted incomprehensible ramblings of an alien nature, all at maximum volume, as his body was torn and toppled by the wreckage.

 

From his safe spot on the ground, Thad could watch the warped metal of the train tear into Derneck's doughy body. Seeing the jagged edges of steel slash through the suddenly very delicate flesh, Thad swore he saw something very strange. The pink human flesh peeled away and beneath a thin layer of wet gelatinous fluid and thick slimy green skin became apparent. Not quite like that of a lizards but not exactly resembling any sort of fish either. Instead, it was something completely different. Thad imagine that it was the kind of flesh reserved for many-tentacled deep sea things and Loch Ness Monsters.

 

Soon, any sort of observing was cut off as the train car smashed into another stationary train compartment coupe. In accordance with the rules of hacky action movies, upon collision, the two rail-based travel units exploded in an enormous fireball. Like a fiery fist of God erupting up from the ground, the blazing plume carried both cars high into the air, each belching flames from inside their bent frames. Scorched debris scattered down on the train yard like a biblical rain of fire. Thad dived beneath a fortunate piece of scrap metal, embossed with the phrase “Plot Device.” The tiny results of the sudden conflagration pelted against the sheet, sounding like heavy rain. Thad closed his eyes and bared his teeth, hoping to whatever God would listen that he wouldn't catch fire. Going up like a double-wide with a faulty toaster would be the perfect capper to this day.

 

In-between the explosion and Derneck's unending screams, the noise was deafening. Finally, however, after what seemed like ages to Thad, it all paused and an unearthly silence fell over the area. Figuring it might be safe, he put aside the scrap metal. Also realizing the kind of mad universe he lived, he also pocketed a large rock, just in case.

 

The whole train yard looked like the aftermath of a Michael Bay movie now. Flaming pieces of wreckage, swaying back and forth in the wind, dotted the whole area and the setting sun cast an ominous orange/red glow over the place.

 

At the center of everything was the ball of compressed metal that was once two train cars. A soft glow of flames still emitted from the mass of wreckage. Thad really wanted to turn tail and run at this point. He didn't want to face down the probably still alive Derneck, especially now that his human suit was burnt away. Thad expected, nah, he knew, that like a phoenix or the Terminator before him, the corpulent corrupted officer would emerge from the burning wreckage in a new, even more frightening (if that was even possible) form. And, yet, he couldn't flee. Thad had to see this one through. Derneck was a monkey on his back, a really big fear-shit causing monkey, and if there was even a chance he might be gone, Thad was willing to entertain it.

 

He picked up a long piece of wreckage, some sort of metal tube, and poked at the giant pile of burning hunk-a-junk. Then he poked it again. And one more time for luck.

 

After that through examination, Thad was satisfied. He was ready to flee like a scared puppy dog now.

 

Just as the fleeing was to commence, an ominous sound emitted from said rubbish heap. Oh, Thad heard it all right. But he was more then prepared to ignore the sound. Oh man, after all these heroic theatrics, it was nice to return to what Thad was really good at. Ignoring things and running away. It felt good to feel comfortable with his field once again.

 

However, reality was not so easily ignore, especially when that reality was a giant half-man/half-Lovecraftian abomination that had just been exploded and was none to pleased about it.

 

Pushing aside the remnants of the trains, the crispy Derneck crawled out of his supposed grave. Blackened, his hair missing, and much of his skin torn away, his true form was finally revealed. All the signs were there: The algae green scales, rows of gnashing dagger pointed teeth, flaying tentacles with suckers the size of a baby's head, and cold reptilian eyes with slit-thin black irises and sickly yellow sclera. It was just as expected. Jabba the Hut by way of H.R. Giger and a few Japanese hentai artists.

 

“My God,” Thad mumbled, “What are you?”

 

Derneck, or the thing that was disguised as Derneck, didn't speak, it simply growled lowly. He shuffled aside more of the train remains, attempting to step forward and, presumably, crunch Thad like a rice crispy caught between your teeth.

 

Thad was paralyzed. It was over. Once again, he found himself grappling with the concept of urgent demise. Oh well. It was a good run. He closed his eyes and prepared for much crunching to ensue.

 

Behind his secure lids, Thad heard a sudden sound, one of something large plummeting to the ground. He waited, still certain of the death to come. And waited. And then waited some more. Death was obviously busy and couldn't get back to him at this time. Thad opened his eyes just a sliver and peaked.

 

Lying before him, Derneck slithered and convulsed on the ground. He was obviously in no condition to do any crunching or death-ing. He moaned a sound that was recognizable as death throes even from an inhuman beast from another dimension.

 

The unnamable thing fixed its emotionless lizard eye on Thad's face. Its maw creaked open and hissed. The head stretched and reformed, taking on a square shape. The skin shade changed to light gravy brown. Derneck's eyes, noise, and upper lips disappeared and were replaced with a smooth reflective surface. Knobs and buttons popped out. Without any reason, the Derneck-Thing's head reformed into an old-school television set, wood paneling and everything.

 

The screen flickered to life and none other then the face of James Eaalhi appeared there.

 

Thad wasn't surprised by his arch-nemesis' appearance. But even then, he couldn't help but feel bile rise in his gut at the sight. As utterly grotesque as Derneck was, even in his revealed form, he had nothing on the heartless calculating, and sickeningly human evil that was Eaalhi.

 

Thad spoke to the TV screen, knowing it would hear him.

 

“Eaalhi. I knew you were behind this.”

 

“Ah, Thad, you're deductive powers of reasoning are as astonishing as ever.”

 

“So what? Pissed off because I beat you on your own turf so you set up this whole thing, to put Derneck on my tail?”

 

Eaalhi chuckles and waved Thad's thoughts away with his hand. “First off, you hardly bested me. Secondly, Thad, you've played right into my hands. When will you learn? I'm always one step ahead of you.”

 

“I've had enough of this.” He retrieved the rock from his pocket and raised the stone before bringing it down towards the TV-head. The glass shattered and sparked and Eaalhi disappeared into the darkness from whence he came.

 

Looking down at the fallen form before him, Thad wondered. If only banishing the real Eaalhi was that easy.

 

The noxious form before him, the all ready stinking corpse of the Derneck-Thing, began to bubble and smoke. As Thad stepped away from the body, the layers of fat and green skin dissipate, evaporating into the air. He melted away, like a tasty chocolate M&M placed in your mouth, not your hand.

 

As the excess mass drained, in its placed was something surprising. The nude body of a hairy, somewhat overweight, but still fairly ordinary looking middle age man. Thad carefully kicked the body over. All though the face wasn't as large or expanded as Thad was use to and lacked the twisted, sadistic smile, he recognized the face as Bert Derneck.

 

Thad's concentration on the body before him was broken by a near-by sound. Rolling on down the track towards the scene of carnage that had broken out in the Burroughs' Borrow train station, was a well maintained, thoroughly packed passenger train. The train's brakes shrieked out and the came to a halting stop. The Conductor, immediately recognizable do to his tall denim hat, peered out the window and spoke in the expected old-timey country accent, like a greeter at a Cracker Barrel.

 

“By gum! Did you see that?! Gol-ley! What do ya' reckon was that?”

Thad stammered, “Uuh, swamp gas.”

 

The conductor, speaking over the noise of the pausing train, continue, “Gee-whiz! Isn't that strange? Considering there ain't any swamps within miles of this place. Dang. What do you know?”

 

Thad began to wish that he was still with Steve the Oddly Religious Truck Driver. At least then he could pull the “Hey, I'm an angel! Shut up and take my word as gospel!” Though this conductor seemed like he might be gullible, he figured that bit probably wouldn't work this time.

 

Before Thad could think of some witty come-back to the obviously wise despite his homey appearance fellow, another sound came to his attention.

 

It was the sound of several different guns clicking into action. Glancing over his shoulder, he was greeted with the sight of what surely had to be the entirety of the Burroughs' Burrow police force. Despite their obvious inexperience, their trigger fingers where itchy.

 

The one at the front, a deputy that obviously wasn't any older then his early twenties, spoke up, speaking like a squeaky voiced teen.

 

“Thad Gunter! You are under arrest for the murder of Sherriff Bert Derneck!”

 

Thad, wide-eyed, shocked, glanced down at the corpse in front of him and at the wreckage around him. He stammered, pointing to the real Derneck's body before him.

 

“Uh, gee, well, boy, this is awkward. I swear, this isn't what it looks like!”

 

He chuckled, nervously. The police officers didn't seem convinced. Poop.

 

----

 

Within the train station, despite all the hustle and bustle, despite the chaos and explosions, the mother and daughter still refused to acknowledge each other, much less the madness around them. They didn't acknowledge the police force that came rushing in. They didn't acknowledge Thad being dragged out by them, handcuffed, proclaiming his innocence and attempting to explain his amazing story. They didn't acknowledge one of the younger cops bawling at the sight of Derneck's body, yelling and screaming, asking about “The baby! Oh God, he was pregnant! What will happen to our baby?” They didn't even acknowledge when the other cops tased their fellow hysterical officer and beat him with clubs.

 

No, the disgruntled daughter and her stern mother would not be moved. That is until, a small voice piped up.

 

“Uh, Mom…”

 

“Yes?”

“I've given it a lot of thought and I think I'm mature enough now to make…”

“No.”

 

“What? You didn't even let me finish!”

 

“You can't get a tattoo, period. And especially not one over your ass crack.”

 

“But mom!”

“No!”

 

“You suck!”

 

“Honey, it's for your own good!”

 

“This isn't fair! Lacey Perrygood's parents let her get a tattoo!”

 

“If Lacey Perrygood jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?”

“What does that even mean?”

 

“No, you're just too young. I'm here to protect you from your brash, foolish decisions.”

 

The daughter became upset and started to yell.

 

“No! It isn't fair! I hate you! I hate you!”

 

“Now, honey, I understand. You don't mean that, you're just…”

“I hate you! I hate you and you're ugly!”

“I AM NOT UGLY! SHUT UP! YOU'RE UGLY!”

 

“YOU'RE UGLIER! AND DRUNK! AND AN AWFUL MOTHER!”

 

“THAT IS NOT TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT, YOUNG LADY!”

“SHUT UP!”

 

“NOW TAKE THAT BACK! SAY I'M NOT UGLY! I'M NOT UGLY! SAY IT!”

 

---

 

Jail cells sucked. Thad had spent a little bit of time in one once, briefly, during his wild days of independent documentary filmmaker stardom, after some BS about parading without a permit. That was a while ago and he had forgotten just how unpleasant a jail cell could be. They were so dank, cold, heartless, so… Jail-cell-y.

 

He was currently lying upon the ridiculously uncomfortable cot, when he overheard something in the adjacent room. Rising from the thin layer of fabric stretch over two iron bars, Thad notices two conversing silhouettes behind the screen door that separated the rooms. Both of which he vaguely recognized. The first was the cop that arrested him. The other… No. It couldn't be.

 

The screen door slide open and a cold chill crept into the room. Thad's jaw dropped.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

James Eaalhi walked over to the bars, smiling like a little bastard, as always, and gave them a good tap.

 

“Mr. Gunter, I have a business proposition for you.”

 

Thad, steel-eyed, retorted, “I'm not interesting in any business proposition you have. Even if it would get me out of this cell, I think I'd rather sit here and rot then work for you. Hell, I'd rather stay here then be in the same room with you.”

 

Eaalhi, chuckled, mildly amused, as he was by all things. “Thad, my boy, I suspected that would be your response. Which is why I brought something along to convince you.”

 

Eaalhi removed a small pocket tape recorder from his back pants pocket. He sat it down in-between the bars, the speakers facing Thad, before gently pressing the “Play” button.

 

The player came to life and some brief static ushered forth from the tiny speaker before a voice sounded. A soft feminine voice, one that would remind anyone of cool breezes, pleasant summer days, and the warmth and security of childhood times long since passed.

 

“Oh, Thad, it's Helena. You wouldn't believe the things they're making me do. I just, I…” She sobbed, deeply, obviously truly racked with shame, “I just want to hear your voice again, see you again. Everything is so dark these days. I… I just need a little ray of light.”

 

“That's enough,” a second all too familiar voice appeared.

 

“I wasn't done yet!”

 

“That's enough! Now, Helena, let's get back to work.”

 

She screamed in protest before the tape clicked off and the heartbreaking sounds were replaced with the soft static hum.

 

Thad realized, of course, that all of it could be a hoax. He understood that James Eaalhi, of all people, had a talent for manipulating the facts, for disguising the truth and passing self-made fiction off as it instead. Thad wasn't as naïve as most people thought. He could tell when he was being tricked.

 

But… That voice. He knew it immediately. Even in her darkest hour, there was a unique spark that nobody else in the entire universe had. Thad instantly recognized that spark. He couldn't deny it. It was his Helena.

 

Sinking between the bars, head down, and shoulders slumped, eyeing the damned tape recorder that so perfectly entrapped him; he spoke, softly, with all the lack of dignity you would expect from a now shamed but once proud warrior.

 

“What do you want me to do?”

 

Eaalhi could only chuckle, coldly, in response. Oh yes, things were going exactly according to his plan.

 

TO BE CONTINUED!!!