Tag Archives: LAOS

A high-speed roller coaster twists through a dark indoor amusement park ride, illuminated by eerie black lights. On an overhead maintenance bridge, a shadowy figure watches unnoticed. Below, riders scream, oblivious to the lurking presence. Sparks from the tracks light up the darkness, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.

The Monster of Blueberry Falls, Chapter 2

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“How’s the Falls?” asked Mike. He and Janet entered a queue line. The sign above them said the Blue Tornado. The air was full of the smell of caramel popcorn and cotton candy stands where the machines had been running too long.

“Don’t ask,” she said.

“That bad?”

“It’s just… the caves are fine. The falls are pumping as they should. It looks beautiful, like always.”

“Your cave features are better than Ruby Falls.”

“At least those are real.”

“Yours isn’t?”

“You’re kidding. You know the elevator is fake, right? Tell me you aren’t that dense, Mike.”

“Okay. You know, though, I always feel like the presentation at Blueberry Falls was much better than anyone else’s, especially yours.”

“Stop it.”

They turned a corner in the queue, which was lined on the left and the right with metal bars that were painted red.

“I always thought they ought to paint these blue, maybe yellow or something, but never red,” said Mike.

“I mean, it’s the Blue Tornado, right?”

“I know. There was trouble with it earlier in the week.”

“I never heard that. What happened?”

“Well, I heard it was having a hard time launching twice, and then I heard one group got stuck half upside down in the corkscrew. Can you believe that?”

“I can’t believe I hadn’t heard about it, that’s all. The Blue Thunder…”

“Tornado.”

“It’s practically built on top of Blueberry Falls.”

“Yeah.”

“Stuck in the corkscrew, though. That’s got to be tough.”

“They were there for forty-five minutes, hanging there by their shoulder straps, looking at the concrete floor. They had to turn on the lights.”

“Oh, that breaks the whole look.”

“I know.”

They found the rest of the line. Stepping behind a few folks, still a couple of bends away from the loading zone. There was a little trash here and there. Someone in line ahead of them was dropping candy wrappers. The two ahead of them were soaked, probably off of one of the water rides, but mainly they smelled like sweat and too much sunscreen.

“How’d they get them down?” said Janet.

“They got in there behind it with a car that was working, took the breaks off the first one, and nudged it in.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Mike, you’re full of it.”

“I know, but you still love me.”

“Mike.”

“What? You’ve got another guy you aren’t telling me about?”

He was smiling, but Janet could tell.

“Not seeing anyone right now. Not like that.”

“I keep telling you that you could do better than me, anyway. Tour guide and a burger flipper. You’re going to get out of this theme park one day.”

“What, and you’re not?” She punched him on the shoulder. “Just because your dad runs the front office doesn’t mean…”

“That I will? It does.”

“You were always better than me in school.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I thought…”

“High school was a joke. Besides, you don’t see me in college, do you? I’m still here running the food stand, and I do most of the cooking on the busy nights, too.”

“Yeah, your Fridays and Saturdays are toast, aren’t they?”

“Pretty much.”

They stepped up again. The two sweaty folks tried to whip each other with little rags they were using to mop up their sweat.

The lights flickered,

“What was that?”

“Geez, Janet. The lights.”

“No, stupid, why?”

“Ah, that is a better question.”

It did it again.

People were sitting on the hand bars ahead of them, goofing off, and jumping down. It looked to Janet like a whole train-full gap ahead of them in life had just moved. They followed as the others brought up the slack.

“Seriously Janet. What do you want to do after wonderland here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you run off to college?”

“Money. It’s all money.”

“Not going to get it here.”

“You know it.”

She turned the corner. They were in the home stretch now, and she and Mike could see the loading platform. A bunch of people got off. They pushed at shoulder harnesses made of steel and rubber that cone down over your neck, shoulders, and chest, and clambered out, headed for the exit towards the gift shop.

“You always exit at the gift shop,” said Mike.

“Always.”

“I think it’s the only way any of these things make a dime, do they?”

“Heck, I never figured out how anybody can afford to build a coaster like this.”

“You ought to design coasters.”

“You know I’ve thought about that.”

They got to the end where the line roped back.

 “Next train, Janet,” said the operator.

“Thanks, Jeff,” she said.

“Jeff?”

“So I ride it during every lunch break, okay?”

“Right.”

Jeff waved, then winked to Janet after securing folks into seats and starting the coaster rolling. It tumbled around a corner, got lined up, and pointed towards a bog circular hole that took it into the building properly. Here they were undercover, just as the queue was, but this coaster was all indoors. After a brief countdown and lots of screaming, the coaster screamed into the building at incredible speed and, once inside and into its first loop.

Once the noise died down, she looked at Mike. “Animals.”

“What?”

“I want to help animals. I was thinking about transferring to the zoo side and getting in with the vets.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know. You think your sad friend could help us get in over there?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

The next train pulled in, and a separate group of people disembarked.

“I guess they are doing two trains today.”

“I want you to ask him for me. For me.”

She kissed him on the cheek, lightly enough, then took his hand and dragged him to the first car, and shoved him in.

She jumped in next to him, pulled the seatbelt tight, and then pulled the shoulder harness down about hers.

Jeff came by a moment later. “Hi Janet,” he said and checked their restraints. “Mike.”

“Dude,” said Mike.

“Be over for some sliders and fries later.”

Jeff went back to his station and started going through his countdown.

“I think he likes you,” she said.

“Get out.”

They rolled around the corner and in front of the launch zone. It was a circular cut into the building where the dark coaster was. The surrounding circle appeared in concentric orange, blue and yellow paint and a digital sign across the top said three… two… one… then the coaster launched on a magnetic track that took them from zero to forty-five miles an hour in four seconds.

They screamed as it dragged the train, rocketing, into the building and then right into a loop.

Everything was lit with black lights, glowing greens, pale blues, and unearthly oranges streaked all around them. Up a hill, and over it, Janet found a little airtime. They took a corner and into the second loop.

The second loop took them low, then up to the tallest hill in the place. They crested the hill and faced what everyone called the beast, but wasn’t really, it was just what the fluorescent paint looked like. Janet talked about it with friends all the time.

By her side, mine was talking, but she couldn’t hear him. All she could hear was the rock music being piped into the speakers by her ears. Then the wind started up.

Flashing lights crackled. Lightning images flashed on the walls. Wind machines picked up, to make this part in the dark feel faster than it was. Then they were rolling through a series of bunny hops that led into the corkscrew.

“Here it comes,” said Mike, but she didn’t hear him. She was looking too hard at a metal bridge. She only knew where it was because she’d seen this coaster with the lights on several times. Something was on the bridge. A shadow, a person, a something.

They went through the corkscrew, and while you’re going through the corkscrew, there’s no time for thinking. They rolled and rolled and rolled and then they were back out, blinded by the daylight.

The shoulder bars released, Janet popped their seat belt, and they pushed their way out. Jeff was there. He extended a hand and helped Janet and Mike.

“Pleasant ride?”

“The best,” said Mike.

“Janet?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“You okay?” said Jeff.

“You know it.”

She turned to Mike. “Burger?”

“No way!”

“Jeff?”

“Hey, still working!”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing you, Shut up, Captain Tacos?”

She gave mike a high-five.

“Captain Tacos, yeah.”

“See y’all later,”

They waved and went down the ramp out of the ride, passing right by the burger station. It was a mini diner in chrome, with mostly indoor seating and some benches in front.

They headed up the hill to Captain Tacos. It was little more than a walk-up window, with some seating nearby in the sun, but it had the world-famous fried fish tacos, and Janet could eat there every day of her life and never tire of it.

They climbed the hill and came around where Smitty was sitting there cleaning something. He had a long red beard, and an eye patch, a black bandanna on his head.

Janet came up with Mike.

“Mike, what are you doing up here?” said Smitty.

“I gotta eat something else once in a while,”

“Okay, oh, it’s you, Janet. Need both eyes for a woman like you.”

He lifted his eye patch. Both his eyes were fine, crystal blue.

“I want…”

“Fish tacos?”

“You know it.”

“I got your fish tacos.”

“Order up,” said someone from the back, setting them on the counter.

“Here you go.”

She made a move to pay, but Smitty waved them off. “I got this one.”

“Thanks, Smitty.”

She picked hers up. Mike got his.

He lifted a finger, “just remember, world-famous.”

“Always.”

“See you later.” He waved them off.

They took their plates to a nearby bench that was shaped like a giant octopus. They took their seats in giant fiberglass tentacles.

“I hate this bench.”

“Shut up. I like it.”

“Animals, eh? That’s what you want?”

In the distance, an elephant trumpeted.

“I think so. I love taking care of them. Do you have any pets?”

“I got a dog, you?”

“What kind?”

“Sort of brown and black.”

“No, I mean breed.”

“Oh what? I think he’s a dachshund, maybe a mutt.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“You have pets?”

“Three tabby cats, two gray and one red, a corn snake, and a big Rottweiler. “

“Geez, a snake?”

“It’s the dog that’ll bite you. The corn snake is nothing. Easy care.”

“And you think you can keep up with an elephant? You know the first task, right? I knew Ryan before, he quit.”

“Went to college.”

“Whatever. It’s poop patrol.”

“I know.”

“Can you deal with that?”

“Are you afraid it won’t wash off?”

She laughed at him before he could say anything else.

“Yes.”

She laughed at him again, then started working on her tacos. They were fresh, never greasy, crisp yet tender. Every bite was good.

“I’m sorry,” he said as they were finishing up and throwing their trash away. “College isn’t stupid. Neither is following what you want to do. Just because I can’t…”

“Don’t worry about it, and if you want to, you can, no matter what your dad says about it or the burger place.”

“Not me, I…”

“Nothing. If you want it, you can do it.”

“Janet, did you see anything weird on the roller coaster?”

“No?”

“Never mind.”

A dimly lit underground cave system, illuminated by eerie blue and orange lights. A group of tourists walks along a narrow path beside glowing pools, unaware of a towering shadowy figure lurking just beyond the light, its long claws scraping against the stone. Water drips as unseen eyes watch.

The Monster of Blueberry Falls, Chapter 1

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“My name is Janet,” she said, opening her arms wide to the twelve people gathered for her tour. They dressed in the standard tourist getup, sneakers, shorts, and probably too much hauled in various backpacks. A couple was old, some young, but they were all there for the same thing.

Janet wore black shorts and a safari shirt with a ranger hat. Thick chestnut hair fell around her shoulders. She wore boots up to her knees. She strapped one of them with a long knife.

“Thank you all for visiting blueberry falls. We’ll be descending in just when the elevator arrives to take us down.”

They stood in the space in the middle of the gift shop. Their elbows brushed the merchandise racks on the floor. Janet smiled, but kept her eyes on the elevator door, trying to will it to pick her up.

“I know it’s a little cramped up here. I’m sorry about that. It’s kind of like the coffee cups, magnets, and buttons that want you to buy them. After we get to the bottom and see the falls, you might just want one of those on the way out.”

A man with a fishing hat on humphed.

Her eyes flicked back to the elevator, but it still wasn’t budging.

She let out a sigh that she hoped no one saw. Let’s see, she thought.

In the front were five children.

“What are your names?”

“Ryan.” He had a bowl haircut or was that a ‘little boy haircut?’ and a striped shirt on.

“Colin.” He was a little blond boy, probably the shortest one there. Blue shirt with angry birds on it.

“Rachael.” She was wearing corduroy pants and a yellow shirt. She had two braided pigtails.

“Ted.” He said it so quickly. He wore black and red sneakers, but he held his elbows, trying to act like he didn’t want to be there.

“Missy.” She was thin, tall, and platinum blond. She wore thin sleek glasses that had a slight cat’s eye corner on them.

Behind them were seven adults, and Janet had zero idea about who belonged to who was there. She reached out with an open, non-threatening hand and swept through each of them.

“Harold,” was the older guy with the hat. He was looking at a birdhouse he didn’t want to put together later.

“Martin,” waved to her. His mustache hung down in huge furry bars on each side of his face. He tugged at his jeans jacket. It looked like he was looking for another patch to add to the back of it. He was fingering through several options.

“Sheila,” she waved, then quickly put her hands down, keeping them tightly together.

“Don,” said another. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” He brushed his hair back. His eyes sparkled with darkness. What was up with this guy?

“Annie.” She looked at a cuckoo clock on the wall. It was about to strike ten o’clock. Janet wanted that elevator to arrive with the previous group soon, all this game stuff.. she blinked at the clocks herself.

“Robbie,” he was taller than anyone else. Janet wondered how he would do in the short spot. There were a couple of tight spaces. He waved. He was confident.

“Samantha,” she was wearing red overalls and a long sleeve black t-shirt, long bright, obnoxious pink hair down to her waist.

“Hi, Samantha. I think our elevator is almost here.”

“Why can’t we just go down on our own?” asked Martin.

“Well, it’s a guided tour. It is possible to get lost and on the wrong path down there. Besides, it’s down so far in the ground before it becomes walkable. Where all the cool stuff to look at is where stuff is lit up.”

Ding.

The doors from the elevator opened with a stutter. Sometimes they didn’t want to go all the way.

“Okay, Great, come on, folks. This way to the Blueberry Falls.”

Could we feel there first? She opened her arms and carefully guided her people toward the doors as the previous troop came back up. They passed right through Janet’s group, and right as the previous guide passed Janet, bumping her shoulder back while looking her in the eye, chaos ensued as every crazy clock on the wall started chiming. Three cell phones and the noise from ten cuckoo clocks, five Beatles commemorative clocks singing Hey Jude, and thirteen alarm clocks that lit up and appeared to spill water in an illusion from a pipe at the top designed to look like the falls all went off at once.

Janet couldn’t hear herself think.

Someone asked her a question, she thought, but she couldn’t hear it. What she said was “I’m sorry,” even if all the kids saw was lips moving. What she thought was a lot different.

The elevator was now clear and most of the last crew was out. She looked back at the other guide. He wasn’t looking at her. She called him names in her mind, closed her eyes, and waited for the noise to die down as the doors closed.

“Okay folks, here we go.”

Lights slid back and forth as they descended. It wasn’t like any actual lights or anything was sliding by, but we built them into the door, and Janet had long forgotten they were even there.

“Is it true there’s a monster?” said one kid.

“That’s bullshit,” said one adult.

“Excuse me,” said Janet. “There’s no truth to those rumors. There might be a raccoon or possibly a bear on certain levels, but not anywhere near where we are going.”

“No monster then?”

“Not unless you consider bats monsters, I guess.”

“Not really,” said one.

“Bats are boring,” said another.

“We’re getting close. Almost there. In the caves, you’ll see stalactites, stalagmites, and everything in between. We’ll pass several lit structures and lots of natural limestones, and if you’re smart, you might even notice where the old stairs are. We don’t use them anymore, except in times of emergency, but trust me, they are there.”

“Did you ever have to climb them?” said the guy with the mustache from heck.

“Yes sir, everyone on the team has to climb them once a year, and when they first start and lead groups up, when the elevator is out. You can purchase a ticket to climb down into the caverns on them if you’re interested. It’s an interesting tour, and you can see some things you don’t normally see.”

“Anyone ever take that?” said the guy in the angler’s hat.

“Rarely.”

The doors opened, and she took them out. “This is what we call the grand foyer.”

“It’s dark. Why do you call it that?”

The light slowly rose, and everyone could see. “As you can see, it’s four stories tall at this point and is a large area, big enough for tours and a great starting point. We can go in two directions from here, but I’ll be taking you this way today.”

The lights went down one path, slightly pink. “This way everyone.”

One kid, the girl with the pink hair, saw behind them at the side of the elevator a set of stairs, concrete, but stained so they blended in. It was lit up with exit signs here and there.

“If I was a monster. I’d sure hide down here. This would be the perfect place,” said Samantha.

“I assure you, the most interesting thing you’ll see there here might be a rat gone wrong, but since there’s not much food this far down for them, there’s little chance of that.”

They passed under an arch. Janet stepped them through a careful spot where the ceiling was only five feet high. Robbie put his hand up and felt the cave ceiling as they went through, and stooped. They could all tear up and hear the rush of water somewhere in the distance echoing through the caves.

“To your left, you’ll see Frankie’s elephant.”

One kid watched Janet hit a switch on a remote control that softly brought the lights up to the left. There was a bar on each side of the path so you couldn’t, or at least weren’t supposed to climb up there, but on a ledge, fourteen feet up was a formation of cave rock that resembled a large elephant, glowing with soft turquoise light.

Water dripped around.

“I could hide behind that if I was a monster,” said one of them in the darkness.

“I heard that. Yes, the creature hides in this series of caves to the right, behind us all the time,” said Janet.

She brought up big spots, and they all spun around to see a couple of caves about ten feet up with deep shadows.

“Don’t say that.”

“Nope, just people I guess, still no creature. Nothing.” She waved them forward. “Blueberry Falls this way, folks. We’re almost there.”

She led them through, around the corner, towards the falls in the distance. Once they’d all made it out of the room safely, the lights faded on the Great elephant. Then the blue lights faded on in the next chamber.

All was quiet.

The lights dimmed back down to the lights along the sides of the footpath. Soft orange.

Drip.

Drip.

Something landed on the floor in some footlights. It lived in shadow, and breathed like a ninja, barely whispering as it took huge breaths that took three minutes a piece. It was tall, dark, and scraped the floor ever-so-slightly as it clicked down the path and jumped into a side path like a rabbit.

“This way folks,” said Janet. “The tour is headed this way. Yes, right over here.” She mentally counted her twelve people as she brought them into reflecting pool number one. The path wound through the caves left and right. On the left and the right of the path were three feet of pool, lit with various underwater lamps. The bottom of the pool glittered with coins. Some of the twelve tossed in theirs. One of them complained as he did it.

“Tossing coins is, of course, not mandatory, but the luck of the caves will follow you home, or if you do.”

More coins splash into the fountain in the dark.

Somewhere it sounded like a foot

Somewhere it sounded like a foot splashed into the fountain.

“What was that?”

“This way folks, around the corner, we’re almost there,” said Janet.

“I thought I heard something,”

“A splash.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was down the hall, where the big falls are.”

“I thought it was behind us.”

“Daddy?”

A flock of bats came through, covering the noise of what Janet thought were more plunks in the water, to be sure.

Kids were screaming, but a second later it was over.

“This way, folks.”

Ten minutes later, having seen the falls, such as they were, the twelve left through the gift shop, not returning Janet’s smile as they passed the coffee cups, badges, and clocks behind.

She smiled and waved, trying not to be like her counterpart earlier, but they streamed out anyway, clearly all on their way somewhere else. She heard the words fudge shop and lunch before the whole place started chiming eleven o’clock and drove her out into the parking lot as well.

Glenda, behind the register, who hadn’t been able to hear for years anyway, just sat through it.

“Why do I always come up right then?” said Janet.

A cozy Victorian sitting room, morning light streaming through lace curtains. A rat detective and a monocled frog in a top hat sit with a mouse baker and an elderly housekeeper, sharing tea and pastries. On the table, an unopened black envelope with glowing gold script rests ominously beside the teapot.

Shadow Street Chapter 12

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

The morning was almost beyond us. The cab drivers were thick out on the streets. There was a lot of barking over the corner, and there were rumors they might put up a stop sign. I wasn’t for it, but there were lesser evils, I suppose.

I poured tea for four and brought it out in our sitting room and set it down. Mrs. Smith was there.

“Thank you,” she said and added a lemon wedge to her tea and honey.

Mr. Curtis took him, adding nothing. He was watching the streets as the dogs went by, one foot up on the sill.

I sat down in my favorite wing chair by the fire.

Mrs. Constellation closed the door to the floor below us. I could hear her talking to someone, then shutting the door and shuffling up the stairs.

“The mail sirs,” said Mrs. Constellation.

“Leave it on the table, thanks,” I said. “Anything important?”

“A check maybe?”

Mrs. Constellation laughed. “There is something for you, Mr. Curtis.”

She put the small pile down and gathered her tea and her spot.

One letter, not the one on top, but one other poking from the side, had a jet-black envelope with gold writing on it. Seemed unusual, but I lost track of my thoughts on it when Mrs. Smith said “Do you think it’s the last time we’ll see them? The creatures.”

“I don’t…”

“Yes,” said Mr. Curtis. “They’ll be back. I believe they are nomads, looking for a home.”

“Proof of alien life, though,” I said.

“You haven’t worked with me long enough then,” said Mr. Curtis.

“There’s more?”

“Oh yes. You think we’re alone?”

“I always thought we were.”

“Rubbish,” said the frog. “Too much potential for life out there, Mrs. Smith. Way too much. Every planet, every star in the night sky, there’s a chance each star is home to something.”

“Mr. Curtis I…”

“We’ve seen some of it already. Saucers, little squid beasts possessing intelligent folks like us, running around doing little squid-beast things.”

“I’m sure it’ll…”

“It’s the beginning, that’s all. Did I ever tell you about my partner? The one who used to go on stage with me?” he croaked. “Excuse me.”

“Stella, I think her name was,” I said. “Chipmunk, easy to do your saw-her-in-half act.”

“I always thought she might be an alien.”

“What happened to her?” said Mrs. Smith.

Mr. Curtis cleared his throat. “Vanishing act. Smoke mirrors, velvet curtains, stuff like that. She vanished.”

“Then?”

“I couldn’t get her back.”

He jumped over the tea set.

“Mr. Curtis. I’m sorry.”

“I haven’t been on stage since, thanks to Dr. James here for this, a way to work on cases and exercise my mind.”

“And together we’re a good team.”

“Yes, we are.” He looked at the mail and came across the dark envelope. “Oh, dear.”

“What is it?” said Mrs. Smith.

“It’s a letter.” He held up the envelope. From where I was, I could only see it had our address, and an unusual stamp on it, all done in electric gold ink.

“It’s a letter from my brother.”

He opened the letter and skimmed it. The writing appeared in extremely complicated and swirly calligraphy with bright gold ink on deep black paper. Mr. Curtis read the letter half-aloud, mumbling from one end of the page to the end.

“Oh no. The worst has happened. He’s coming for a visit.”

“Mr. Curtis, won’t that be nice? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Mr. Curtis drank his cup of tea down. “Ever had a brother that was always better than you were, no matter how brilliant you thought of yourself?”

“My sister’s better at cake than I am with bread,” said Mrs. Smith. She took a sip.

“I once built a fort from a box when I was a kid, a clubhouse. Had a door, everything. Slits for light. He built himself one with stone walls, gas lamp, separate study and bedroom and…” he sighed, “a moat with fish in it.”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Constellation.

“Did anyone…”

“They all went to hang out in his.”

“And yours?”

“They burned it down while I was running to the bathroom. The moat was my idea too. I knew I needed one.”

“Want me to feed him one of my octo-rolls?”

“Do you still have any?”

“No, of course not.” She smiled.

“It was fun to think about it, though.”

“Anything else in the letter?”

Mr. Curtis tucked the letter into his waistcoat. “He wants a visit to the city. Thank goodness he lives in another.”

Mrs. Smith brought up a basket of rolls and laid them on the table next to the tea. There was an assortment there, different dinner rolls, as well as donuts, some cream horns, and a few jelly-filled cupcakes.

Their hands initially reached out for one, then everyone’s hands pulled back, all at once. In my mind I saw them hatching, struggling, then breaking forth, one pointed tentacle at a time, and then leaping for our faces, taking us down. Today is tomorrow and the town, then the world.

I blinked. Nothing was happening. I let out a long-held breath and realized it was over. Nothing was going to happen. I took a donut, a cake, frosted with chocolate, and took a bite.

“Delightful, Mrs. Smith,” I said after I got through a bite.

“Thanks for resting it, testing them,” said Mrs. Smith. With a smile now, she took one.

Mrs. Constellation picked up a blueberry muffin., nibbled the edge, then dove in, taking a huge bite.

“Let me see,” said Mr. Curtis. He looked them over and took a pretzel from the side. It was still slightly warm from being in the basket. He chewed on it, then swallowed it up in a gulp, grabbing it with his tongue. “Pardon me there. Excuse me. I might need just one more.”

I took a muffin.

“Look, here’s one made just for you, banana nut with extra flies.”

“Interesting, I did not notice that.”

“Made it just for you.”

“I thank you. Give it here then, James.”

I taunted him with an eyebrow and held it up in front of the window, and shook it.

“Make it disappear.”

Mr. Curtis squinted, judged the distance halfway across the room, and closed one eye. He took off the monocle, slipping it into a pocket in his waistcoat, and unleashed his tongue. It flew across the room at lightning speed, snagged the banana nut muffin with extra flies, and dragged it back into his mouth, where it did indeed disappear.

Mr. Curtis burped loudly, then licked his lips. “Excuse me.”

We laughed, and Mr. Curtis jumped into his chair, and the four of us polished off our morning tea.

Soon Mrs. Constellation tidied up the tray, I helped her, and then she took it away downstairs.

“Nobody much remembers it, but we do, don’t we?” I said.

“I don’t think that’s right, but it is a small number.”

A grand underground chamber illuminated by eerie green and pink lights. A massive, sleek alien ship hovers, its doors closing as tentacled creatures retreat inside. In the foreground, a rat detective and a monocled frog in a top hat stand victorious, while dazed townsfolk recover from their possession, illuminated by the ship’s glow.

Shadow Street Chapter 11

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

Mr. Curtis smiled and shuffled a deck of cards. I did not know where he’d gotten them from. He fanned them out, stepping closer and closer to the beast, writhing there. I could see friends, some family, our client Mrs. Smith and a ton of rolls and jelly donuts from which all hung tiny little wriggling things all around us. He shuffled them again, then fanned them out again, taking another step forward.

“Pick one, anyone.”

He held them out. As he walked into the middle, I got ready. To do what I wasn’t sure about. The silver ship gleamed, and they looked ready, either for an escape or a vacation, and I wasn’t sure which. They were loading the young onto the ship. People from around town, mice and rats alike, moles and rabbits, a few pigeons, stacked boxes of wriggling young while some lurched forward in their oddly possessed bodies. The larger one I found had a raccoon.

It held out a tentacle and drew a card from Curtis’s deck.

Curtis quickly grabbed it and turned it up. “This is your card? Memorize it!” He shuffled it back in, fanned the deck, then juggled the cards, zinging them through the air until they were landing in the faces of everyone all over the place looking at him.

It’s important when you’re doing a card trick. You do several things, lie to the audience, use misdirection, and tease them. You have to distract them for things like the fey. That this isn’t the deck you just licked your card from that I’m flinging all over the place.

He held up the original deck. Then pocketed it into his waistcoat again.

“But this is a deck of exploding cards I’m going to stop you with.”

Everyone gasped, including me. Several of the cards he was flinging came my way.

“But sorry, I lied again. Just cards, check them. Check them all.”

Everyone with a card turned it over. It was a match. We all had the card.

“That your card?”

Everyone nodded, holding their cards out, and showing them to each other.

“Sorry, I lied again. They explode.”

All the cards exploded, each sending a shower of salt which covered the room at once. The squid creatures writhed and flopped. Then Mr. Curtis was reaching into my pockets and lobbing holy water like they were Molotov cocktails. They exploded over the walls and the ship.

I broke out of my temporary haze and started lobbing my bottles, as well as dousing myself and Mr. Curtis. It seemed to keep them off of us. The room descended into panic. The creatures escaped their hosts, crawling and shooting from their throats. Some bodies hit the floor harder than others, but others just kind of gave a slight hiccup then blinked and saw where they were, which was in the ship, boarding with a box of wiggling jelly donuts, without disembarking, or watching Curtis and his magic trick. Everyone was coated in holy water, and the squid was rolling and trolloping for the ship.

I started checking people. It’s all right, no. Everything will be fine. I don’t know, is that a ship over there? I’m not sure where this is going either. Let’s check your heart and your blood pressure. No, I’m sure everything will be all right. No, I’m not sure. Aliens? In our town? They have little recollection.

They slipped and slimed aboard, and before we knew it, they were taking off.

Through the windows of the ship, I saw defeated, distraught faces and eyes, unsure if they’d gone about this the wrong way or wronged someone. They appeared hurt and stunned, more than angry or upset.

I felt like looking at them; I was sure they were confused and stung by their attack on us. They didn’t think we’d fight back and weren’t sure we knew what they were, which we didn’t.

Mr. Curtis bowed before them. Waving his arms, and laughed as the ship lurched up through what turned out to be one of the larger unused stacks around the city, then he turned and helped me, but not before shaking his fist at the ship as it rose into the air and flew into the sky until it vanished among the other stars in view.

“Take that, Yes. Yes. Take that back where you came from.”

“How’d you do it?”

“The trick?”

“Yeah. They were all aces of spades.”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Give a demonstration?”

“Well.”

“Never! It’s magic!”

He pulled a coin from behind my ear and threw it up on the ground, and started helping me help people up.

Soon we had about thirty bewildered adults and a rat. I believe his name was frank and were bringing them up through the caverns.

The mushroom cave was lit with phosphorescent light. We walked through it like it was an underwater forest, filled with spiders.

We crawled up through pipes behind Mr. Curtis, who was better at that than I was natural, except sometimes I had to alter the course to accommodate frank. When we found a lantern, a little one, but a nice one, I gave it to frank because he could hold it higher than anyone else.

We climbed ladders, switched, and went down passages, and into actual pipes until we returned to the bakery. We climbed to the top, then stood to help the rest up. Frank was last.

It was a quiet night.

Mr. Curtis and I stayed, as well as a few of Mrs. Smith’s other employees, to help clean up the bakery. We wiped down the counters, cleaned the ovens, mopped the floors, and then Mr. Curtis and I stayed to clean up the dining room while others started getting ready for the day ahead.

Mr. Curtis and I moved into the dining room and set the tables and chairs upright with Mrs. Smith. We went back out to the loading area. Argus was there, with his coach making a morning delivery of supplies for the day’s baking.

“Argus,” I said.

“Morning sir. Lift anywhere soon as these gents unload me?”

“Yes, good morning Argus, stick around a moment.”

“I will,” he barked, shaking his head and fur for a second.

We hammered the last nail into a fresh floor shortly after that, blocking the drain for good, and another crew was sealing it over with gravel and mud before packing it in.

“Nothings ever coming up this way again, Mrs. Smith.”

“Thank you, boys.”

It was already showing the light of morning, so we took Argus’s cab back to our apartment on shadow street.

“Where have the two of you been all night?” said Mrs. Constellation.

She stands in.

“Covered in powder,”

“Flour.”

“Drenched, suits torn and destroyed.”

“Hello, Mrs. Constellation.”

“Get in here and clean up.”

She swept us into the house and batted us towards the stairs.

“That owl from the tower’s been flying around hunting all night.”

“Arthur.”

“Oh, we know his name now, do we? Hanging around with predators when you should investigate for that poor woman at the bakery.”

“Bakery.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Now, off with you. Get cleaned up. I’ll not have you two looking like a couple of roughnecks who are traveling the train tracks.”

“Interesting,” said Mr. Curtis.

“Now, get on..”

She shewed us like a couple of pests up the stairs.

We passed through the parlor and kitchen up to the sitting room Mr. Curtis and I used during business hours, and then up to our floor.

Mr. Curtis turned to me, fanned out a deck of cards, and said, “Pick one, anyone.”

“Curtis, I’m done.“

I was already unbuttoning my waistcoat, my jacket, and what was left of it over my shoulder.

 “No, go on, pick one.”

I sighed and reached out, taking a card at random. It was the king of spades,

“Nice job mate, one of our stranger ones, right?”

“You know it.”

He dropped and sat on the floor in his doorway. I had my door open and was halfway in.

“Aliens? Or whatever. Possessing townsfolk? Odd.”

“Disturbing.”

“Arthur’s nice though.”

“The owl frightens me.”

“Well, he should. He could eat either of us in half a second.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight James.”

“Goodnight Curtis.”

I closed my door and sat in my second favorite chair, this one a little more comfortable, but a little worse for wear than the one I kept in the sitting room. My bed lay undisturbed, but I ignored it. Its curtains were open. Next to my chair was a small table lit by pale morning light with this journal upon it.

I pulled the shades. Made it as dark as I could, and fell asleep in my chair.

It was nice, the quiet. Even Curtis was still somewhere. Behind my eyelids I listened as deep in the house Mrs. Constellation was bumping around, and out on the street cabs were trotting by and people were getting back out into the city again.

I dropped off.

There was a thin line of light in my room through the shade.

There was a dream that I had. I was on the roof, meditating as a murder of crows swarmed around me, picking up mice in the field I was now in. My clothes were gone, and I was seated with my eyes closed, yet still observing the birds swooping this way and that, never catching me. They’d swoop, dive, catch a fresh field mouse, but I wasn’t there. I’d moved some distance away, without moving. I’d blink, my eyes still closed each time a crow was diving to attack me, and I’d see neither mouse get taken from thirty feet away, the line I simply blinked and teleported across the field. Soon, a second one attacked, and I blinked away. They were swarming all around me, but couldn’t touch me. Beaks snapped, and they made a kill of their prey, but it was never me.

Then I was in three places at once in the field, each watching my other two selves, unable to concentrate on one well enough to see the other, then there were a thousand of me across the world.

I woke up in a cold sweat, panting, naked, holding my tiny samurai sword above my head, unsheathed, aloft, and ready to attack nothing. There was no one with me.

I sheathed the sword, the only thing of my fathers I still possess, and placed it quietly back into the closet, hearing it thunk against the sidewall, and got out a fresh suit.

I washed up in my basin and dressed in a fresh shirt, waistcoat and jacket, and left to go downstairs.

The sword. I hadn’t thought of it in four years, not since starting up with Mr. Curtis, doing our brief investigations around town. It always stayed closed in the closet, behind door after door. I wasn’t a weapon guy. I didn’t have any training. When I found the sword in his things, I couldn’t believe it. It only had a note, a warning to keep it well, to take care of it. Every time I tried to sell it, I’d lose it. Each time I became agitated, it’d get in the corner.

I don’t move it around. I think it moves. I don’t talk about it much. Best I think to just keep it in this journal for now.

A cavernous underground chamber, dimly lit by eerie green and pink lights. Stacks of wooden crates are piled high, with strange tentacled creatures shifting them. In the distance, a sleek white alien ship looms. Two crates crack open slightly—inside, a rat detective and a monocled frog in a top hat peek out.

Shadow Street Chapter 10

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“So, are you ready then?” said Arthur from the roof of our townhouse. Mrs. constellation had a foot in Mr. Curtis’s back, cinching a leather strap tight to keep him and all the holy water tied to his body. It looked like he had an extra leather jacket worth of bags strapped to him. Tying the cinch off made his tongue lash out and almost hit me in the face.

“Curtis!”

“Sorry,” his tongue was still recoiling into his mouth,

His arms bulged out over the bags and he checked the hound could get could reach into the strange pockets.

“Yes, Arthur,” I said, as Mrs. Constellation yanked a strap and pushed her foot into my back, causing me to add an auuuggghh to the end.

“Indeed,” said the owl, looking more at the moon, and raising a wing to judge the air. “Let’s get this over with. You say you can get these things to vacate, then?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said.

“Good, then let’s get on with it.”

Mr. Curtis reached up and pulled a coin from Arthur’s ear, and smiled.

“See there?” said the frog. Even covered in strange bags of holy water, I can still do magic.

“Nice. You know I’m an owl, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“And I have a superior hearing?”

“Well yes, okay.”

“I could hear you flip the coin out from between your fingers.”

This stopped my friend for half a second.

After a moment he bowed, and said “magic!”

Mrs. Constellation pulled another strap holding in a half a pound of salt under my arm. It made me wheeze and my eyes bug out.

“Just about there,” she said.

She did it again before I could say anything.

“Thank you,” I said in a whisper.

“Let’s get on with it, then. The bakery is only a couple of blocks away.”

“Yeah, let’s get out there.”

He swooped up into the air and crossed in front of the moon in a great shadow.

“Arthur?”

Then he came down swiftly, and I felt like prey, open talons coming for us, Mr. urticaria and my vagabond to run life or lives depended on it. It wasn’t rational; it was just moon, owl, talons, run! And off we went, with Mrs. Constellation watching us, disapproving with her hands on her hips.

Then he grabbed us by the big leather bags strapped to us, and talons closed silently over our shoulders, strong and snug, but not tight enough to kill us, and we were airborne.

Above us, we could see nothing. Everything was feathers, down and to the sides of stars and rooftops. He was still keeping low, mostly gliding, with a few beats of the wings to get where we were going.

Below us, the streets were empty except for the occasional staggering person possessed by one creature. What was I doing, even fighting this? I struggled, pulling at Arthur’s foot, and trying to drop my salt. I was going to climb up and I don’t know escape. Land on a roof nearby and skitter away?

Arthur just gripped him harder and said none of that, squeezing an “Okay” out of my lips.

Mr. Curtis hat his arms out wide, his eyes slightly loses and his tongue hanging out just a little. I think he was having airplane putter noises, but I couldn’t tell you for sure because I was still so afraid for my own life at the moment.

The second time I looked, he had three playing cards in each hand, acting like they were flight feathers of his own, I expect.

“Isn’t this outstanding!” He yelled.

“Yeah, great.”

Arthur swooped, and I held onto my hat, pulling it over my eyes, and felt the rush of the wind until the gravelly texture of the roof over the bakery was under my feet trying to tear my furry toes off.

He laid us down as gently as he could, and I thanked him by hugging his leg in desperation. He kicked me off. I rolled to the side and got up sharply, dusting myself off. One of my salt bags started leaking, but that was okay. I’d run and create a trail, anyway.

Mr. Curtis popped a cork out of one of the holy water bottles. I don’t know how h did it with a mouth devoid of teeth, really, but it was done. Maybe he grabbed it in there with his tongue or something, but quickly he was spitting two corks out and smiling.

“All right then?” said the owl.

“We’re good from there.”

“All right then. Later.”

He flew into the air.

The main chimney was there. Now that I could see Arthur flying off into the distance, I was happy it wasn’t too tall for us to climb.

I scrambled up it, and Mr. Curtis jumped to the top in one leap.

“Ready?” said the frog.

“Not really,” some came out of my mouth.

“Good,” he said, then he pushed me in and jumped behind me.

We slid down the chimney and landed in a hornet’s nest.

They surrounded us, covered in soot, and we rolled into the middle of them. Mrs. Smith was there, her face open, and the tentacled creature clearly in charge, with several of who looked like other folks from town, also being operated in line, they were little vehicles for yellow squid guys. They were loading something into bags, and it looked like they were putting them into the dough for tomorrow.

“To effect, infect more?” I said without thinking.

They stopped everything and dropped what they were doing and got holy water in the face from Mr. Curtis. Who said “Tally-ho!”

I took the cue and started throwing handfuls of salt in all directions. I threw it at people, on-the-floor, in directions that made no sense, and off across the room where nothing but sweeping up would happen later, anyway.

I jumped over the counter. Salt in Mrs. Smith’s squid face. Everyone was wet. People were steaming. It was getting harder to see. I realized a second later that they were tossing so much flour into the air that everyone was getting pretty sticky.

Out came the first octopus. It slid off the face of one guy. There was holy water and salt all over the place. It scrambled. I lost track of it.

“The ovens,” I heard one say. “The bake,” I heard another one say, then more salt slinging. I was getting it everywhere. The bag at my side was leaking fast now. I got the rest in my hands and went after Mrs. Smith.

She scrambled in and over counters, and I got her from behind when Mr. Curtis turned to the oven and got her attention.

She turned in a split second to scream when he turned it off then I salted her probably a little too well.

The squid slid out and left her body behind.

It wasn’t a husk. She was breathing, but the yellow squid guy wasn’t happy either. Covered in salt that was destroying his body and holy water that was steaming, it could escape. It crumpled to the floor. The others we’d encountered were in similar shape. Now three left, stranded in seas of salt and holy water in little patches on the floor.

“Mrs. Smith?” I shook her gently. To my surprise, her eyes opened. Whatever the creatures were doing, it wasn’t permanent, at least at this stage.

“The ovens,” she said saintly, smiling up into my eyes.

“Yes, Mrs. Smith?”

“Incubators for their eggs.”

Then she passed out, unconscious in my arms.

“Mrs. Smith, I…” I laid her down, to rest on the salt and wet flour-covered floor. It was already in all the furs. I got one of the other guys, recovering to look for her while Mr. Curtis spread holy water and salt all over the counter.

“What’s up, partner?” I said.

“Here,” he said.

He took the largest squid and plopped it on the table. He and I followed with the others. They couldn’t move, and I dragged up a chair from the dining room and sat down heavily.

“What’s going on?”

“Invasion.”

“No need to possess people.”

“Our world is dying, dead.”

“Nice. We don’t want to be.”

“There’s more. We’re not alone.”

All his answers were coming directly into my mind. He didn’t seem to have a real mouth for speaking, just his beak.

The salt and holy water were melting them. They bubbled, then flopped. In the end, one of them said “ship.”

“They have a ship.”

“Come on, Dr. James,” Mr. Curtis grabbed me by the arm. I didn’t realize what he was up to until we got to the drain. The tentacles were there, drawing the boxes down into the tunnels.

“It’s the buns,” said Mr. Curtis. “The buns.”

“The buns what?”

“Incubators.”

“What?”

More boxes went down.

“They are growing their babies in the bread!”

“Oh god, and when we eat them,…”

“Then they take over.”

“Simple plan. Rake over enough to facilitate the work, and a few others, and get them down the drain.”

“What’s down there then?”

He smacked me behind my neck.

“The ship dummy! They are packing the ship with young, all warmly covered in a nice roll or donut to eat as they mature.”

“We’ve got to get down there,”

“Right!”

“In a box?”

We scrambled into boxes and sat by the others. Every few moments, another couple of boxes went down. Soon it was our turn, and everything turned upside down.

Tentacles grabbed us, and our boxes went flying. We tumbled, though carefully. The handlers didn’t want to disturb the contents. We sailed down, rocking against the sides of the box, sliding around like not a roll, but a large cake, maybe.

I held my arms out and tried to steady myself, knowing Mr. Curtis must do the same on his own, trying not to fall out before we get noticed.

Everything stopped.

My box stopped tumbling. It had set me down.

I lifted the lid on my box of donuts and saw it.

I was next to Mr. Curtis, who was also peeking out. We saw each other, which meant I needed to be a lot more careful.

We were in a cavern, large and lit with green and pink lights. The floor looked slick and stacked up were maybe fifty other boxes, just like ours. In the distance was the ship. The outside was stark white with silver highlights, and a day line of windows curdled circled the top.

Through the windows, I could see the big squid.

I wish I could stop calling them. Squid iron octopuses. They were neither, but I didn’t have a good name. It was large.

I quickly closed my box. Someone was going by. I felt like I wasn’t the only one moving. All the surrounding boxes were wiggling. One by one I could tear boxes opening and closing a few moments later, noon one at a time, maybe two or three at a time. Everything was jumping, so I started jumping. Why were we jumping?

It was feeding time. I was in a sea of boxes of vast creatures, and soon it would be my turn. What was I going to do? Crouch, okay, no. Act like a dinner roll? No amount of method acting was going to get me there.

They opened our boxes.

All eyes were on us. They were around us.

The big one in the ship trained eyes on us.

 I stood up, my fur still covered in flour.

Mr. Curtis took off his magic top hat. “Want to see a trick?”

A Victorian apartment interior, dimly lit by candlelight. A rat detective and a monocled frog in a top hat prepare bags of salt and holy water. A massive owl perches on the windowsill, its feathers ruffled. Outside, through the fogged window, shadowy figures with glowing eyes lurk in the streets.

Shadow Street Chapter 9

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

We scrambled down the road. It looks as though everyone on the street but us has a tentacle hanging from a nostril, ear, or mouth. They stagger about, but some of them are getting a grip and walking upright.

Mr. Curtis shoves the key into our apartment on shadow street and we practically fall in, locking the door behind us.

“The kitchen!” said Mr. Curtis.

“Salt!” I said, scrambling around behind him.

“That will be enough, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Constellation. She turned, wearing a long black dress, and with tentacles pouring from her mouth, nose, and ears, she opened her mouth wide enough for her head to appear to split open so the creature inside could get both eyes out, and use its mouth, though it continued speaking with her voice.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

She whipped out a tentacle and stopped me from making the kitchen. Beak or no, she smiled a weak, prim smile at me. “I want you to know it’s nothing personal. The invasion is in full swing, and from here there is nothing you can do about it.”

“Nothing?” said Mr. Curtis. “I’ve never known nothing I couldn’t do something about.” He grinned and shot his tongue past her into the kitchen, where a small salt shaker sat by the tea tray.

“You!” she said, then whipped it away from him, and right towards me. His smile faltered, but only for a second, and while I was watching the salt shaker fly at me in slow-motion, spinning like a top and spreading salt everywhere on the parlor floor, I watched him jump on her head and pull her skirt back and cover her head.

I caught it.

“Good man!”

The shaker had plenty left in it, so I started shaking, while Mr. Curtis started hitting the tentacles coming from Mrs. Constellation that were still visible with drops of holy water.

The creature had burns on its skin. It hissed and pulled back with each drop.

Again, it hissed.

“No!”

“Invasion? What invasion?”

“We’re coming!”

“Looks like you’re already here.”

Drop. Hiss. It shrank back from him. I started salting my way up the stairs.

“Come on now.”

“Through the food. Germinating in the bread. We traveled the stars for eons. Ages and ages.”

“Why not ask for help?”

“We need hosts to…”

“To?”

“To grow. You’re just a child, aren’t you?”

Mrs. Constellation fell to her knees.

“Sorry, need her back before she dies.”

“No, don’t..”

He poured a measure of holy water over her.

Mrs. Constellation fell to the floor, writhing in agony. She clutched her throat, screamed, and then relaxed as the creature escaped from her mouth and ran for the door.

It skittered through the salt, limping in its tentacles with pain before it got to the door, where Mr. Curtis opened it, and let it out.

He croaked and lashed his tongue up to straighten his hat.

“You let it go.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“Mrs. Constellation. I wanted it out of here long enough to revive her.”

She lay still on the floor.

“Come on, frog, she’s dead!”

He held up a finger. “Bullfrog.”

“Right. She’s dead, face it. The whole town is about to go under now. Look outside, they are everywhere.”

“True, but she’s not dead.”

“Of course she is. There’s the corpse!”

“Have you checked her pulse, Doctor?”

“No, I, uh.”

“Go on, check her.”

I reached down, mostly watching my bullfrog friend make sure a tentacle didn’t fall from his mouth. Her pulse was there. I checked it again.

“She is alive.”

“Thank you, Dr. James.”

“Help me.”

We picked her up and put her on the chaise. She opened her eyes, and they were wild. “You boys have no right. I’m going to kill you both!”

She sat up on her elbows and continued to fuss.

“You are never bringing me such a terrible breakfast ever again, and you, Dr. James, I need you to quit spreading the bloody salt all over the place. I’ve got a mind to take you out back and hog…”

“I love you too, Mrs. Constellation. You’re back to normal. I’m glad.”

“Back to… I went nowhere. I’m going to…”

Mr. Curtis pulled back the curtains in the front window.

“Hey, I never leave those…”

“I know,” I said, and led her forward to see outside.

“Down the street, that’s Phil Coleson from the farmer’s market. What’s that coming out of his nose, spaghetti?”

She looked up the street, “Martha Wright. Why is she stumbling around? Her mouth!” More noodles were dangling there.

“The salt?”

“They can’t cross it.”

The frog held up one of his empty flasks.

“Holy water?”

“Yup. Evicts them pretty much on the spot.”

She sat down at her writing desk. She reached out, grabbed a fountain pen and got it going, grabbed a piece of velvety stationery, and started barking.

“Where from?”

“Under The bakery.”

“How?”

“They get into the bread dough.”

“And there?”

“They germinate or develop somewhat.”

“Until?”

“They get eaten.”

“We think so. They get into the digestive system and then…”

“They take over, start driving.”

“Animal bodies.”

“What’s the point?”

“Invasion?”

“That’s stupid. They look like what, squid?”

“Little yellow octopuses.”

“Only have five tentacles, though.”

“Except the big one they use in fights. They keep one down their throats.”

“Right.”

“We need to get into that bakery again,” said Mrs. Constellation. “Undetected. Unnoticed. Without getting caught.”

“Yes, Mrs. Constellation?”

“Then we need to get the salt into the…”

“Around the tank and into the tunnels.”

“And the holy water?”

“Into the dough.”

“Into all the dough.”

“When the holy water is in their system?”

“Gets ugly. Creature escapes, usually through the mouth.”

“Breakfast is going to be ugly.”

“You know it is.”

“Have we any more salt?”

“There’s a box in the kitchen.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

“Let’s get our stuff together.”

“Arthur?”

“We’ll see. Not sure he’d help us.”

Mrs. Constellation slept on the couch rather than go home, which did not surprise me. We had decided our best shot was to go by midnight, and I was the only one who could not sleep. We worked for a further hour on plans and crazy schemes, trying to figure out the best way to get that holy water into the creature’s food supply. Not interested in killing them outright, we were detectives, not superheroes, but merely to free those we knew from them and make statements. Assuming we weren’t dead in the morning anyway, maybe we could make a difference.

I’d sent Arthur a message, with no way of knowing it got to him, telling him where we’d like him to meet us at midnight. We could do it without him, but his help might make things smoother.

Mrs. Constellation helped us get our gear together, fresh suits, because fresh suits, shoulder bags to carry salt, and holy water. It turned out we had two boxes in the townhouse. If I found more at the bakery, I’d take that too.

Mr. Curtis sent another note to Argus, his cab driver. We would need a good and fast getaway if I was right. No idea if he got that message, either.

Mr. Curtis always kept a network of younger frogs to help him gather information. He called them the tadpoles. They seemed clean. I just hope the dog or the owl doesn’t eat them.

Mr. Curtis went to his room after that. Soon I heard his regular chanting. Each night he meditates. He usually talked to himself tonight about our business kicking off and being more successful than it was. He was carefully going over the plan, over and over, including waking up at a proper time, and everyone getting their messages well and on time.

After that he passed out on his desk, snoring loudly, his tongue lay loosely at his side in the inkwell, and one of his knees was up, pointed into the air. He remained fully dressed and ready to go but otherwise looked as relaxed as possible. One of his arms lay curled around his magic hat.

After checking on him, I returned to my room across the hall from his. It was quiet, aside from the random scrapings of the possessed people out learning how to drive their bodies out there on the streets.

Light snow hit my window, and I kept little more light than a single candle for journaling, which I did most nights. Most nights, I was usually occupied with thinking over our cases and documenting them. I’m not sure why anyone would be interested, but then again, this one…

I put my pen down and took a drink of tea. Both Mr. Curtis and I laced everything we drank or ate now with little drops of holy water.

When someone tapped on my windowsill, I put the glass down.

I went to the window, waving my candle a little too much, and opened it. I could see owl talons.

“Fool!” said Arthur. “What are you coming out early for?”

“But you scratched on the…”

“I did not. Is the frog ready?”

“He will be.”

“And you?”

“I haven’t slept since the war, at least rarely enough to talk about. I don’t even keep a bed in my apartment.”

The owl leaned for a quick look. “Nice plush chair.”

“It’s good for sleeping when I can get some.”

“Night owl like me?”

“Good time to write.”

“I love you, Dr. James. You’re stupid.”

“I say.”

“You do?”

“Look, I’m in love with the night, but after what I’ve seen lately…”

“Experienced…”

“Right. It’s all over the place. Never thought I’d be helping anyone do anything like this.”

“It’s good to know you will tell us.”

“Of course, I will. I like it here in town, and I don’t like calamari. “

“Arthur does that mean…”

“No, I don’t hunt the likes of you, Dr. James. I only hunt the dumb, and I mean people that are still animals, not the intelligent.”

“It’s almost time.

“Get suited up.”

I closed the window, left, took my candle with me, and opened his door again.

“Mr. Curtis?” He was right in my face, hat on his head, and eying me through his monocle.

“Is it time now?” He had me by the lapels of my jacket and swung me around. I backed up to a dart board he commonly used for practicing his knife throwing.

“What? Yes.” He threw a knife. It landed by my left hand, pinning my jacket. “It’s time to get ready.” He threw another. It came close to my head. Where was he getting them from?

I quickly detached my wrist and got down from his target.

“Good goose then, Let’s get going,” he said, putting another one into the practice target, in the middle.

“That was a good one.” He took the lead and headed downstairs. “Mrs. Constellation, we’re ready.”

She quickly saddled him with the holy water, two gigantic bags of little bottles that clanked. She stuffed them with cotton. They still clanked, it just wasn’t obnoxious. For me, two-shoulder bags full of salt. It was a combination, of rock salt, some kosher, and some table salt.

“Nice.” I put some on my tongue.

“Still not possessed?” said Mr. Curtis.

“Seems like it.”

“Good then, do me.”

I held out some salt. He licked it off my hand and thought for a second. “Me neither?”

“No, I suppose not. The owl’s upstairs.”

“Let’s go.”

“Get out of here, you two idiots.”

Inside a grand, dimly lit cathedral, towering stained-glass windows cast eerie red and blue light over the stone floor. A massive owl, Arthur, lies weakened, partially consumed by writhing yellow tentacles. A rat detective and a monocled frog in a top hat stand over him, preparing to purge the parasite.

Shadow Street Chapter 8

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

Up we went, grabbed and yanked into the sky. Clutched around our dangling arms and legs were the strong talons of an enormous beast. It flew silently. I could see brown and white in the feathers. I can’t otherwise see anything. Feathers are on my face. Those silent soaring wings. Mr. Curtis’s legs dangled below me as I watched our street fall away from us and the smoky city leave us behind.

They dropped us. I assumed it was to our deaths. I thought for sure that Mr. Curtis’s legs next to me were lifeless. We landed roughly on a tiled rooftop and rolled.

Mr. Curtis’s hat flopped by. I picked it up and sat up, then turned around quickly as a shadow crossed over me.

“What? Who?”

“It is I.”

It was Arthur, the owl.

Mr. Curtis stood up next to me and took his hat. I gave it to him, forgetting for a moment that I thought him dead just a moment before.

“I uh,” I said.

“No need,” said the owl.

Mr. Curtis reached into his hat and found another fresh outfit and started putting it on.

“Where’d you get…”

“This old thing…”

It looked freshly pressed.

The owl paced. Every few moments a ruffle would send fresh down feathers upon us. I brushed them out of my face.

“You boys,” said the owl. I swear his eyes lit up, but I don’t think they did. “You boys may be in way over your heads here.”

“What are we up against?” said Mr. Curtis, tying his tie.

The owl scraped the roof, sending tiles plummeting down to the ground below.

“I thought it might come to this.” The bird turned around. He was pacing. I thought he was preparing for liftoff.

“The bakery must be closed and cleansed. The tunnel must be closed that leads into the cave, and that will not stop them.”

“What will?” I asked.

“We’ll eventually have to find their lair and storm it. No one is safe, but in the short term, we can keep things under control.”

“How do we cleanse the bakery?”

“Salt. Holy water. Don’t eat the…” he coughed.

“And blocking the…”

“The drain…”

The owl tripped and landed in front of us. One eye was wide, the other tightly shut. He wasn’t breathing well. His beak opened, but it wouldn’t open wide enough for the creature inside to make its way clear. The first two sickly yellow tentacles pushed forth, trying to open his mouth.

I watched them in awe. We felt lost. “The surrounding town, Mrs. Constellation, the bakery, everybody, now this.” Mr. Curtis didn’t flinch.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said to the body of the owl lying before us, the creature inside trying unsuccessfully to take control of his large body. The failing eye winked at him as Mr. Curtis replaced the monocle in his left eye.

He handed me a flask and pulled quickly from his hat. It was a small one, glass with a stopper in the top

“Water?”

I saw the frog had in his hand a small salt cellar. He opened the lid, bidding me to do the same with mine. I popped it open.

“Holy water?”

“I thank you. You’ve told me enough. Now let’s cleanse my friend here.” He sprinkled the tentacles with salt. They retreated into the bird’s beak.

“Quickly friend,” he said to me.

I sprinkled some of the water onto the bird’s face, getting as much as I could on the beast.

“That’s right.” He did some more salt, going around the roof a little too. I did some more, following his lead.

The owl’s body convulsed. It flipped over. It shook. I poured a measure down the owl’s throat. The creature slowly emerged after it choked. It slid out and flopped to the rooftop, but it couldn’t cross the salt sprinkled around.

It was yellow, slimy, and pale. It resembled an octopus, but it had five tentacles instead of eight, and couldn’t easily supply support for its body weight. It blinked, looked around with a single bulbous bright blue eye, and stared us down. The person looked around.

“Looking for a way yet?” said the frog. “I’m onto you.” He faced the creative eye to eye, closing one of his own.

I carefully stepped away from them.

“I want you and your friends to leave,” said Mr. Curtis. “It’s hard enough being a frog or a rat in a world like this.”

“There’s room enough for all.”

“While true, I’m afraid I can’t condone parasites attacking my friends and neighbors.”

“We just… we must…”

“James, can you please?” Arthur was stirring. I ran to see him and helped him up.

“Of course,” I said.

“It’s just…” said the squelching squid.

“Can you live long outside of a host?”

“Yes, but not for long, and not above the surface.”

“Then I’m going to have to kick you out and ask two things.”

“What?”

“No coming above the surface.”

“And?”

“If you do, find a host that at least likes it.”

“Curtis!” I said.

“What? Somebody might.”

“Doubtful.”

“And if we don’t?”

“You may as well come kill me first next time so I won’t get in the way.”

It eyed me, where I was listening to Arthur’s heartbeat, and saw it, the place where we hadn’t sprinkled salt.

“We will come for the surface.”

It slid from me. I tried to climb the owl. Arthur just knocked me to the roof.

“Dr. James! The holy water!”

“Oh, yes!”

I pulled it from my breast pocket and uncorked it with my teeth. It reminded me of tossing grenades during the war. I tossed the bottle where it hit the creature, and mostly bounced off, but not without the contents spilling out all over the creature.

Where it spilled, what was later to be burned into the creature’s skin? It lost a tentacle, dissolving completely, then another one as it tried to run. Mr. Curtis chased it to the edge of the roof with the salt cellar, shaking handfuls of salt at it. It dodged this way and then rolled down the pitch of the roof like a ball. Its tentacles flopped and flapped like fettuccine that hadn’t quite seen enough boiling water and it fell from the roof, landing with a splat on the ground below. It opened its eye and looked up at us and I could hear in my mind. “We’ll be back. There are more.”

I squeezed my head, trying to get him out of there, thinking my body was quickly being taken over when I realized he was gone, squelching in the mud down a drain.

“Thank you, Arthur,” said Mr. Curtis.

“I’m never taking a roll from you again, Mr. Curtis.”

I walked back.

“What do we do?” I said.

“What? Do we?” Said, Arthur. “You, and you know.”

“Holy water and salt?”

“Where do we?”

“Come with me,” said Mr. Curtis. And he jumped down the drainpipe.

“I hate the drainpipe.”

I jumped down it and tried to keep my descent to the ground under control, but I couldn’t manage it. I slid out onto the dirty streets and with all the fluff, closer to the rat I know I am than the gentleman I see myself as. The tweed hid most of the dirt, so I straightened my coat as best I could. At least I’m in the shadows of the building.

“This way,” said the frog.

“What’s this way?”

“St. Albert’s cathedral. Holy water.”

I realized I’d used all I had on the poor thing.

“And salt?”

“The bakery,” said Mr. Curtis. “Besides, I still have some. Where’s the salt? Poor fellow, must I spell everything out for you?”

“No?”

I took off after him. The cathedral was several blocks ahead but faced the corner at one intersection. I could see it. It was the only place nearby where the stained glass was in red with blue and yellow. Skylights swallowed enough light at strategic angles to light the entire building with a certain glow. The morning streets were moving, but he kept on hopping rather than flagging a cab. The closer we got to it, the less I felt like flagging one down, either.

There were massive front steps of Stone, that also had a blue or red tile inserted every so often to keep up the motif, there was no sign for St. Albert’s only a large red cross in a field of yellow glass in the front with a blue letter A on each side. One was upside down, the other right side up.

We climbed the steps. It seemed like there were too many of them.

At the door, this early in the morning, I expected it to be locked. It wasn’t.

Mr. Curtis opened it and swung it wide. Giving me a look to the side. He hopped in and I followed. The door closed quietly behind us.

The tile was immaculate. I walked, hearing my footfalls echo down. “Mr. Curtis, how much exactly do you keep in that hat of yours?”

“I don’t know.”

“You always seem to have what we need in it.”

“I like to be prepared.”

“Unlikely.”

“I’m doing my best here. I was never good at magic.”

“No?”

“Much better doing this. I’d rather not be on stage. What about you?”

“You know, I’d see patients.”

“You’re retired though.”

“Doesn’t Mean I…”

Something clattered ahead of us.

“What was that?”

We ran down and found him on the floor. He was a mole, dressed in a monk’s habit, lying on the floor near a grand basin before three sets of tall solid oak doors that led further into a sanctuary.

We ran up to help him up.

“Thank you, Thank you.”

“Is this the holy water?” I asked.

“It is,” he said. One of the sanctuary doors quietly closed.

“We… need…”

“How much?”

The frog just looked at him, then back at the monk. “All of it?”

“I understand.” He reached under the basin, touched a switch, and brought out two bottles. They looked like vodka bottles, with crosses on them.

“Ah.”

“Take ‘em.”

The frog smiled. I kept one under my arm, and Mr. Curtis slid the other into his hat.

“Come on,” said Mr. Curtis.

“Not here,” said the monk, “don’t disturb him here. Yes, I know he’s here.”

We pushed through into the sanctuary. It was darker than the previous hall. He was sitting there in the front row, breathing and huffing.

We walked down the aisle and sat in front of him on the steps before the altar. His tentacles hung there without touching the floor.

“You can’t just take who you want,” I said.

“I know.” Again, the response was in my mind.

“Just let me rest.”

We sat down.

“Where do you come from?”

“Here? The deep? Depths. It’s been so long. All we know is dark.”

“Do you have a leader?”

“We have. He tells us to break free. We must take the surface back.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s too much trouble.”

“It’s not worth it.”

He perked up. “Oh, it’s worth it. I just don’t know if the cost will simply be too heavy.”

“I’d like it to work out. Is there any other way?” I said, while Mr. Curtis sprinkled salt under him all over the side floor around him and then started hitting the surrounding pew.

“We just get a host. It’s the only way we know.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Curtis.

The frog doused him. I didn’t even see him pour the glass.

A foggy Victorian street at night. A rat detective and a monocled frog in a top hat stand frozen on a doorstep as an eerie figure looms in the doorway—Mrs. Constellation, her body wrapped in writhing yellow tentacles. Her eyes glow, and a sinister beak-like maw emerges from her mouth.

Shadow Street Chapter 7

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“Mr. Curtis, what happened?”

We ran up to him where he was standing there, covered in donuts, his hat to the side. His monocle still hung from his eye and he had the silliest smile on his face.

“What?” said the frog.

There was a blank expression in his eyes.

“Let’s get them off of him.”

We started pulling donuts off him, popping them over his wrists, and then after pushing him to the ground with the cushion of baked goods around him, onto his back so we could disentangle his feet. Soon he lay there on the ground.

“Here’s your hat at least,” I said, putting it back on his head. This seemed to clear his mind ever so much and he seemed to look at us for the first time realizing…

“Well, then!” He reached into his hat and pulled out a long nightshirt. “That’ll do.” He rummaged for a second longer and pulled out a pair of red bedroom slippers. He put his feet in them, then wriggled into the nightshirt and put his hat back on. “Good as new! Come on, this way.”

He hopped down the hall, left and right.

“Which way are we going?”

“Listen, Dr. James, the singing! This way!”

He pointed in one direction and completely hopped in another. Mrs. Smith and I did our best to keep up, following his hopping flapping body in as best a serpentine fashion as we could.

“Wait, I can hear it,” said Mrs. Smith, and faint, I thought I could as well.

“It must be this way,” I said.

We scrambled around, down in the tunnels, and came around to a small balcony overlooking a large room. I covered the ceiling with glistening stalactites hanging from it. Lights from a fire pit below shined on it. There were several other small balconies like this one across the way, but they were all dark.

Down below, around the fire pit, were several folks, mostly moles, and a couple of mice, again with strange octopus creatures holding onto their faces. Each extended two tentacles, one to the left, the other to the right, and they were touching each other as they danced, or used their possessed bodies to dance around the fire pit.

“Do you recognize anyone down there?” I said.

“Anyone? I recognize all of them!”

“They all come to your shop?”

“Yes, I’ve seen all of them recently.”

“In the last few days?”

“I don’t know, but I think I’ve sold things to all of them.”

“What do we do?” said Mrs. Smith.

“Nothing yet. We’ll have to watch them,” I said.

 Curtis was back down from crawling over the edge. “No jumping just yet, friend.”

“Humph.” Mr. Curtis folded his arms.

“Cut it out.”

I peaked over the banister’s edge and looked down, but all I could see were people dancing in the dark around a fire, and what seemed just a few people at that. I pulled a small pair of binoculars out and peered down below, and got a look right into one of their mouths.

“Yeah,” I said, then looked again. They were dancing around, holding onto each other’s tentacles, and swaying around, their arms hanging by their sides, to no music I could hear, and then they released each other in unison and I watched as the creatures slowly retreated into their mouths. A moment later, they were blinking and staggering around, and the fire went out.

“Now,” I said.

Mr. Curtis jumped over the side, giving me a wink on his way over.

“What? Mr. Curtis!” said Mrs. Smith. She ran to the edge to see Mr. Curtis deftly land and slide the rest of the way down to them, on a random stair banister. He landed in his pajamas and wandered into their midst, waving his arms and acting as disoriented as they were.

“How do we?” I said.

“This way.” Mrs. Smith took me by the hand and dragged me around the corner where the stairs were. We ran down to find Mr. Curtis helping a young mole up.

“There you go.”

The mole looked at us. “Where are we?”

“No idea,” lied Mr. Curtis. “Do you know?”

“This way everybody,” said Mrs. Smith. “This way.” She waved her arms. “Link Up everybody, link up.”

Everyone took a hand, and she led us out, occasionally I took the lead for a couple of turns, and mostly, Mr. Curtis kept up the persona of a dazed fool who didn’t know where they were, like the rest of them, on one or two occasions he sent us in the right direction when no one was looking.

“This way,” said Mrs. Smith, as we passed the mushrooms.

They passed under strange pipes and up to a strange mossy set of stairs. Above them, a gas lamp, covered in metal and glass, burned and flickered, casting strange shadows on the ground.

“This way everybody, follow me,” said Mr. Curtis. He hopped cheerfully up the stairs and found the door locked, but his face didn’t falter. He twisted the handle, and it rocked, but remained still.

He pulled a fine feather from his hat and jiggered it in the lock as the other folks were climbing the stairs. It clicked with a satisfying thunk and then twisted the knob and opened it as if it belonged to him personally.

“This way, this way.” He reached in through the door and found a candle on a holder which he lit, and picking it up by the little ring holder, he went in and proclaimed everything okay. “Through here, yes, right this way.”

He led them through and into the next room, which was someone’s front parlor connected to a ballroom. All the lights were otherwise out and there was a coating of dust on the floor that was sticking to my furry toes.

“I say, Mr. Curtis…”

“This way,” said the hopping frog. He led them right to the front door, and out into the night streets. Corners were lit with gas lanterns and a couple of cabs were still on the road.

I shared a look at Mrs. Smith and then with Mr. Curtis, and we hailed three of them for our woozy friends. I paid for the coaches and Mrs. Smith and Mr. Curtis gave them all scratches behind the ears. A black pug pulled one, and Scottish terriers pulled the other two. Mrs. Smith gave them all tickets for a roll and a coffee after we sent them home. After we walked Mrs. Smith back to her shop, we wanted to see if we could see them again.

We were stepping up to her front door and about to enter when she hacked, coughed, and held her neck.

“Mrs. Smith?” I said.

“Oh dear,” said Mr. Curtis.

We held her by her arms, one draped over my shoulder, and another in Mr. Curtis’s hand, when she erupted like a spring, spitting yesterday’s lunch from last Tuesday all over the steps. She sprayed like a faucet and soup coffee and dinner rolls splattered across my vest.

“Dr. James, I… Dr. James… Mr. Curtis…”

Then the tentacles erupted from her face. They splayed out like a pinwheel in the wind and wrapped around her head. Eyes came out of her upturned mouth, with a snapping beak, and her teeth and jaw hung slack. Her eyes were dark, and staring into nothing, lids loose and unfocused.

“Mrs. Smith! Mrs. Smith!” I said.

Mr. Curtis held her hand, aiding me to support her now relatively limp body.

“Mary-Anne!” I screamed.

“Friend, I think it’s taken her.”

She shook out of our arms and staggered away, shuffling like a zombie with a broken foot, back out towards the street, then the tentacles reached and touched the ground, and pushed her feet up off the ground. It carried its body-shell with it and headed down the street, her feet trailing behind her.

“By Jove…”

One tentacle, sickly yellow and pale in the moonlight, reached up, and they carried her up and over a building, and through the chimney tops.

It left us standing in the street in front of Mr. smith’s bakery.

“It’s in the rolls,” said Mr. Curtis.

“I’m realizing that now.”

“I wonder how long we have before one takes us, too?”

“I’m not sure, but I would certainly like to know what we can do.”

“How many people have they taken already?”

“Could be hundreds?”

“More than that shop here.”

“And it’s not just here. Who knows where else this is happening?”

“This is much larger than just us.”

We were already walking home, we just didn’t realize it. We made our way around the corner and back down the hill toward shadow street.

“I think I’m going to need a change of clothes,” I said, looking at my vest.

“Me too,” said Mr. Curtis. It’s not like I keep another suit in my hat. I’ll have to think of that for next time.

“How much can you keep in that thing?”

“It’s a magician’s hat. What do you think? I don’t know. I think it would bust the illusion for me to tell you.”

“Of course.”

We hiked down shadow street, past a line of businesses on the corner, then larger residences, then into townhouses, and straight up.

“Mrs. Constellation will not understand what we are up against here.”

“No, we’ll have to explain.”

“Pale slimy creatures of the night, erupting from the mouths of our friends and neighbors.”

“A strange ritual underground.”

 “That we are likely to see next.”

The clock tower rang in the distance at one o’clock. Even from this far away, you could still see it, the face illuminated pale and dim, but there, a circle in the distance, you could count on more reliably than the half-moon above them.

Something passed in front of the moon, silent as the night. It was only briefly darker for a second, a shadow passing over them.

We looked for the source, but couldn’t see anything.

“Here we are.”

We stepped up the front steps, and I opened the door with my key, Mr. Curtis’s having been lost earlier. I had to find it, fishing through a pocket Mrs. Smith had vomited on. I gathered it, opened the door, and behind it stood Mrs. Constellation, covered head to toe in stringy yellow tentacles coming from her mouth.

The creature controlling her stared us down.

Her body was not slack, but her muscles were tense. She looked like a walking full-body muscle spasm.

“Mrs. Constellation…” I said.

“Is no more,” came from the creature. I could not tell where its mouth was until it revealed its beak the next moment and said, “And soon you too, and then the world.”

She shut the door on us. We were out in the cold. These creatures had infected our client and so many other locals, and we were certainly next.

I stayed on the first step.

Mr. Curtis went and banged on the door again. He was indignant. He beat on the door with his fists, calling over and over for Mrs. Constellation to open up. I thought him mad.

Then the door opened, and the creature trailing Mrs. Constellation’s body behind it stepped out.

“Who are you?” he demanded, standing there in his nightshirt and magician’s hat. “Tell me what you want!”

“We are coming to the surface. We are coming up from underneath, where we have lived for so long, in the shadows.”

“We know something about that. It doesn’t give to be hostile.”

“It’s the only way we’ve ever known.”

“Come on, try it.” Mr. Curtis’ face gave a wide smile, then croaked accidentally. “Excuse me.”

“I’ll think about it.”

It slammed the door on him again, then he came to sit with me on the first step.

“You know where else we can get a change of clothes?” I asked.

“I got nothing,” said the frog. He sat, looking with one eye into his hat. “Not a rabbit in sight.”

A dimly lit underground tunnel glows with eerie bioluminescent slime. A rat detective and a mouse baker stand in shock, staring at a monocled frog in a top hat, who sits covered head to toe in donuts. Strange yellow tentacles slither into the shadows as an unsettling silence fills the cavern.

Shadow Street Chapter 6

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
Buy Yours Here:
Amazon - Books2Read

This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“Come here, come here,” said Mr. Curtis. He danced at the end of the counter.

“Let’s get this thing started,” I said. I made my way with Mrs. Smith around the counter.

“Help me with the boxes,” said Mrs. Smith. She waved to me, and I reached up above a cabinet and retrieved a stack of boxes, each made of thick paper, and about the size of a single-layer cake.

“Sorry, we closed earlier than usual. We’ll probably need more than that.”

I laid them on the counter. There were seven.

“Where are they?” said Mr. Curtis.

“Next to the ovens.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Mr. Curtis jiggled by me, swinging around, and disappeared into the kitchen. We heard clang after clang as he went for the wrong things. Each time Mrs. Smith would wince.

Bang! “Sounds like the pans.”

Clang! “The tea sets.”

Smash! “Oh goodness.”

“I found them!” He called from the back.

She looked at me. “You must have a strong friendship.”

“Why do you say?”

“Because I think I’d wring his froggy neck if it were just me.”

I smiled. “It’ll be all right. Assuming we’re not all dead already,” I said.

Her smile faltered. For a moment, I knew she either thought she was cracking down the middle or we were, and she wasn’t sure who it was.

Mr. Curtis appeared with a pile of the boxes in hand and running among the counter dropped them all at Mrs. Smith’s feet, then put his hands on his hips and stood there, either like a pirate or like some kind of superhero. I wasn’t sure what he was up to.

“Thank you, Mr. Curtis,” she said, gritting her teeth just a little. “Let’s get started.”

We opened the first three boxes onto the counter in a line, then she started by filling each one with a pile of muffins.

“I can’t sell anything else, so anything you think you could eat, feel free.”

“You mean of this? That’s safe.” I said.

“Quiet.” She covered her mouth.

For Mr. Curtis it seemed that for every third muffin that got put in his box, one went into his hat. I couldn’t keep up and lost count, but it seemed like a lot. There were a few rolls left behind, and they went in there as well.

We set those boxes on the counter and opened three more. Into them went scones and biscuits, crackers, and bread sticks. They filled the boxes evenly with various assortments, then after moving those boxes away, we set about doing what turned out to be the last five, full of donuts.

They were cream-filled, cake, glazed, and chocolate. Some were covered in sprinkles. Some were shiny, others dull, but they all smelled wonderful.

Alone of what was there, I kept one of the plainer donuts and fixed us all strong coffee as we helped Mrs. Smith empty the coffee and tea services.

“Here we are. Let’s take them back,” said Mrs. Smith. We each took a box and brought them to the back by the loading door, just as she always had. We set them down, then continued the journey until all eleven boxes were back there, all ready to go.

She dragged a small table back from the dining room and Mr. Curtis followed her in with three chairs held aloft, but unable to see. He seemed to be trying echolocation to find his way based on the amount of noise he was making. I quickly helped him and took two of his chairs away so he could see again.

“Oh, hello there,” he said.

“My goodness, let’s sit down.”

We arranged the chairs, and brought in the coffee, and what refreshments we believed to be safe. Mostly, Mr. Curtis would remove his hat, pull out a random donut or something, munch on it calmly with the hat firmly back on his head, then he’d get another one out again a few moments later.

“You didn’t have any maggot bread, did you?” He asked, as serious as could be. I thought about apologizing for him but decided he did that, or something like it all on his own with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, no,” she said.

“Darn!”

The lights were dim.

Outside, we could see the carriages going by, each pulled by a competent dog. I thought of our apartment.

“Tell me about yourself, Mr. James,” she said.

“Dr. James,” corrected the frog, a single index finger in the air waving around one of his sticky pads.

“Dr. James, I’m sorry! I understand the two of you share the townhouse you work out of. Is that true?”

“It is,” I said. “It’s mine, left to me by my father. I don’t need the whole place to myself, so I rent the second bedroom to Mr. Curtis.”

“Were you an investigator first?”

“Hardly,” said Mr. Curtis.

“I’m a doctor, I was a field surgeon in the war, and I used to practice General medicine until last year.”

“And you?” She turned her attention to Mr. Curtis.

“I am Curtis the magnificent!” He flared his coat like it was a cloak. It didn’t quite work, and his left hand just sort of poked out. “I’m a magician. Mostly children’s parties, and some other gatherings, but I have a problem. Want to see a card trick?” He pulled a deck of cards, no cover, ready for shuffling, which he did, out of thin air.

“No, I don’t, sorry.”

He shrugged and dropped the cards.

“What’s your problem?” She took the frog’s hand.

“Trouble follows me everywhere. Strange tales. Unusual tidings. Freak theater fires. I developed a knack for figuring things out, though. Patterns emerge, even when you’re not looking for them.”

“Especially when you don’t want them to,” I said.

“Since he’s the detective,” she said.

Mr. Curtis was looking at our pile of boxes of excess baked goods.

“What’s your role in all this?”

“I’m here to keep him on track, and out of as much trouble as I can.”

“Real good at splinting my arm, I can tell you that.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Interesting thing here,” said the frog.

“What’s that?” I took a sip of coffee and a bite of something I can no longer recall the taste of, except it seemed pretty dry to me.

“Didn’t we have eleven boxes here?”

“We did.”

“Well, now we have nine.”

“Nine? We brought out eleven,” she said. I thought she was going to crawl all over me.

“Yes, I count nine.”

I ran over and started counting.

“Need my magnifying glass?”

“I don’t think so. Yes, it’s nine.”

“There it is!” I heard myself saying it, but a lot was going on honestly. There was a yellow tentacle on the floor coming from the large drain. An eye popped up, and it heaved a box up, wrapping around it, and bracing with another appendage, pulled the box down.

“Eight,” said Mr. Curtis.

I dodged out of the way, and it grabbed another one. I jumped out of the way and let it go.

“Seven,” yelled Mrs. Smith.

“I know, yes!” said Mr. Curtis. “This is fantastic!”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Another one shot out and grabbed another box.

“Six!”

Two tentacles flew out and grabbed more, “five and four!”

Mr. Curtis jumped in one box.

“No!” I said.

“Oh yes,” he said back and began emptying one box of donuts as quickly as he could, spilling them everywhere.

“What are you doing?” she and I said together as the other two boxes went.

He closed himself in the box as a dozen yellow tentacles, thin and strong, whipped out not only to grab the box he was in but to clean all the remaining food off the floor. Tentacles whipped out to trip us up. One had three donuts on it, others curled gingerly around muffins and cookies. Both eyes were up, then everything sucked down the drain.

Slime was everywhere. The tentacles slipped away like spaghetti getting slurped up by a toddler. The eyes ducked down, and the last thing I saw before Mrs. Smith and I were alone in the loading room, was Mr. Curtis’s box pop open and an incredibly floppy happy frog wave to us as he found himself sucked down the drain with the rest of everything.

The oil lamp at the side of the room snuffed out, and the table we were sitting at so briefly fell over with a crash.

Mrs. Smith and I were in the dark, standing on the edge of the drain, which was massive now that some creatures below had come through it, holding paws and staring down into the darkness listening as my friend screamed, chortled, and tally-hoed his way down into the tunnels under the town, laughing like an idiot.

“Come on,” she said, and before I could say under no circumstances, she yanked on my hand and we tumbled into darkness. At first, I didn’t understand it, because I expected it to be a short tumble into a deep pipe, but the fall seemed to last for an eon. We slipped, slid, and powered our way down wet dirty tunnels that were covered in phosphorescent paint. With everything lit up in pale blues, pinks and yellows, I realized it must be from the very slime of the creatures we were looking at.

“Here, I’ll help you,” said a voice in the dark. Mrs. Smith helped me up. It took our eyes a moment to adjust to the dark and the new colors surrounding us.

“It’s quite beautiful,” isn’t it?

“Yes, almost as beautiful as…”

“I am?”

“I was going to say the Milky Way, away from city lights, but yes.”

“So, you’re not interested in Mr. Curtis?”

“What? No, he’s like a brother to me. If a frog can be a rat’s brother, anyway. No one is going to believe what’s down here.”

They turned a corner, found a fork in the tunnel, and took the one more brightly decorated.

“I am going to have to take a serious shower after all of this.”

“Your trousers seem dry, and your jacket.”

“Yes, well, I think I’m going to be trying to wipe this memory from my mind later.”

“You do that.” She curled her paw into his elbow and held onto him as the passage both widened, and became somewhat darker, even though luminescent mushrooms were sprouting in here and they were casting a soft glow on the crystalline ceiling up above.

“Have we passed into a cave?”

“I don’t think so. Look, there’s still a curve to the wall, and it joins up down there with other pipes. I just don’t think this gets used much.”

“It’s used by someone.”

“Or something.” She grabbed me hard then by my elbow, and I turned to see her mouth wide open, filled with yellow tendrils and extra eyes. A single tentacle that had to originate at least as deep as the gut shot from her mouth and I ducked it. It flung out and snagged a crystal on the ceiling, and pulled it down, reeling the big one in for another punch.

It breathed.

“Dr. James?” I heard her original voice speaking, fighting with what was inside her.

“Mrs. Smith?”

Then there were two. One Mrs. Smith, with what looked like a sick octopus in her mouth, and the other one, mad and unleashing furious anger, only a cook with too many timers going to know the truth if. She pulled up a huge chunk of crystal and lunged it down on the creature.

It leaped from her mouth.

She or it, or whatever. Something turned inside out and scampered down the hall. It looked like a small yellow octopus with an extra punching arm and eyes. It started around a corner as I took Mrs. Smith’s hand.

“Is it…”

“Injured maybe.”

“Are you Okay?” we both asked at the same time.

We nodded and laughed at each other.

“Is he?”

“I doubt it.”

Then we heard him ahead of us. We dived through a side passage where the sounds were coming from and there was Mr. Curtis. Naked, yet covered head to toe, arm to arm in donuts. His hat lay to the side.

He looked at us, and without skipping a beat said, “you want to see a trick?”

Inside a bustling Victorian bakery, a tentacled pastry bursts to life on a table, sending customers into a frenzy. A monocled frog in a top hat and a rat detective stand ready, while a shocked mouse baker recoils behind the counter. The glow of gas lamps casts dramatic shadows.

Shadow Street Chapter 5

Longevity and Other Stories
A life without end,
stars call from the endless night,
time slips through our hands.
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This is a draft version of a chapter from John Saye’s book, Longevity and Other Stories. If you are daring, why not subscribe to my newsletter (they come few and far between), and I’ll send you a PDF copy of the book?

“Let’s go,” I said. I patted Mr. Curtis on the shoulder. He croaked, blinked his left eye, and then a second later his right.

“Right.”

We bounded off up the front stairs and pushed our way into the shop. She wasn’t kidding. The place was hopping. It was teaming with visitors, patrons eating a roll, donut, or sticky bun while enjoying a spot of tea or a large cup of coffee during their lunch hour. There were a variety of mice, rats, moles, and a chameleon in the corner, all wearing work clothes, suits, or other daily wear. There was a family of hamsters down at the head of the line, and we could see, behind the counter, Mrs. Smith running back and forth, fulfilling orders and taking care of customers, ordering employees around otherwise surviving the moment.

“There she is,” said Mr. Curtis.

“What do we do about it?”

“This way.”

We fought through the crowd, twisting around them, but couldn’t penetrate the line. A pair of bats who were discussing a meeting they were going to this afternoon turned and stared us down.

I looked at Mr. Curtis.

He apologized, saying “excuse me,” then to me “let’s get in line.” So we did.

Looking around, we could see that all the side tables, and a lounge area next to the fireplace were filled with folks settled neatly into handsome leather chairs.

In the middle of the room was a standing series of tables, where most folks were. They were leaving almost as quickly as they came in, but no one in here seemed to be infected. I was watching everyone closely as I could, but no one seemed in the least bit distressed, except possibly for Mrs. Smith, and she simply looked like someone dealing with a lunch rush worth of people, yet I kept expecting trouble.

Mr. Curtis appeared to be on alert as well. He was behaving strangely, which meant more strangely than he usually did. He kept darting his eyes around, looking under tables, and taking his hat off to look in it, only to put it back on so he could pull it off again to look in it, and then squeeze down onto the floor to look at everyone’s shoes, then hop up and try to spin around, and put his hat back on.

I’m glad it wasn’t just me because a pair of mice ahead of us kept scooting out of his way, giving him dirty looks.

“Curtis!”

“What?”

“What are you…”

“Looking.”

“Stop.”

“James, clues, you know.”

“I think they’ll find us by this point.”

He looked in his hat again.

“What are you looking at in there? I gave to say sometimes I do not know what or how you keep anything in there.”

“I used to be a magician.”

“I know that. Never mind, what are you watching in there?”

“An egg. At least I think it’s an egg.”

I looked in the hat.

“I can see nothing.”

Then he waved his hand over the open hat. I imagine an almost automatic gesture for him, then reached in and pulled one roll out from this morning and showed it to me.

“My goodness Curtis, that’s three times the size it was this morning.”

It was. As they held it up, it dwarfed his gray-green hand. It looked like it was expanding and building up in different directions. Little ballooning pockets. I almost expected one to rupture and explode like a boil, but that’s not the thing you expect from a sticky bun.

He held it aloft and twisted it around for me to see.

“How long has it been doing this?”

“Since we left Arthur’s tower.”

“I say. Put that thing away.”

He dropped it back into his hat and put it back on. I couldn’t see how he could stand knowing that was up there.

“How can you just put it on like that, knowing it’s up in there?”

“Have you ever gotten used to keeping a sparrow in your hat?”

“No, and I’ve known too many to—”

“Well, once you get used to one of them hopping around up there, you can keep anything in your hat without thinking twice.”

“Maybe in your hat.”

“Precisely.”

We stepped up in line.

Mr. Curtis and I were now near a set of chairs by an end table where two fellows and a lady were taking tea. They had a plate of sandwiches between them that had three trays. The top tray was little desserts topped with cream and berries. The middle comprised rolls, and the bottom was cucumber sandwiches.

They were having a wonderful lunch when Mr. Curtis leaned over and said, “Excuse me, I think one of your rolls is hatching.”

“What?” said the lady with wide eyes. She was a mouse in a red dress wearing a tall hat with a purple plume feather coming from it. “Excuse me?”

“Your role there, it seems to be…”

A yellow tentacle popped from the side of the roll she was holding daintily in her right paw.

“Ah!”

She held it away from her and closed her eyes.

“M’lady, please,” said Mr. Curtis. “Please allow me to…” he reached out to take it from her when another squirming, yellow one popped out the other side. She dropped the bun on the floor, snarled, baring her teeth, and stomped on it, skewering the roll with a particularly devastating spiked high heel. She pulled her foot back, and the shoe remained.

Tentacles popped, grabbed the shoe, and twisted around it. She stomped again, then folks scrambled and scattered over tables.

“What is that?” said someone who had just lost their soup all over themselves. Tables fell and folks ran. The doors burst and the place emptied.

Mr. Curtis picked it up by hand in the middle of the chaos. It had closed over the shoe and tightened into a ball. He lifted it, and people around us hit the walls, plastered by fear.

I could hear Mrs. Smith in the background. “Everybody, please stay calm. Everything will be okay… ugh. What? Is? that?”

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Curtis. “I think it’s from another world.” He held it up, holding the shoe by the toe. “Very interesting.” He pulled a wooden spoon, I have no from where, and poked at it. The octopus creature squelched and tightened and the heel popped off and fell on the floor and rolled away under a turned-over table.

He poked it again.

It grabbed the spoon. “Eh!”

It dropped the shoe and hung off the spoon from underneath. It started climbing up quicker than I thought it could. I wondered how fast these creatures could move underwater.

It jumped on Curtis’s face. He ducked, and then it headed straight for me. I grabbed a glass from a table, and slinging cold brewed coffee everywhere, I smacked the creature to the floor. It ran from us, dragging two tentacles behind it. And either tripping around or rolling like some kind of insect, closed up and flying down a hill.

Rats ran. Some jumped, and others tumbled. Curtis was running after it, or closer hopping after it, and I was just trying to keep my eye on it while it bounded straight for Mrs. Smith, who was screaming.

“Kill it!” said someone.

“What is it?” said someone else.

“Not breakfast,” said someone else.

People were scrambling in every direction.

It crawled up on the counter-top.

Mrs. Smith screamed.

I slapped my arm down on one side of the counter between it and Mrs. smith, and it turned around, rolling like a ball, its tentacles slapping everywhere back towards Mr. Curtis, who had his hat ready. It rolled right into the hat and he trapped it underneath.

For a second, it was bumping around, trying to get out.

“Is it in there?” I said.

“I’m not sure,” said the frog. He peaked under, then quickly smashed it back down on the counter. “Yep, it’s in there.”

“Close up shop,” I said.

“Right,” said Mrs. Smith.

She jumped over the table and started shooing the people who hadn’t gotten out already. They were ready and willing to escape, tumbling out the door. When the last of them had scrambled out and gotten their hats together, she locked the door and she and I dimmed the lights and shuttered the windows.

“Bring it here,” I said.

“Right ho,” said Mr. Curtis. He brought the hat and placed it on a table in the middle just as I righted it. The three of us drew up chairs, each keeping a hand or paw on it as much as we could.

Someone knocked on the door. “Are you open?”

Mrs. Smith got up to answer it, but I held up my hand and shook my head. “Not yet.”

She sat back down.

“Let’s find out what’s in here,” I said. “Turn it over, Mr. Curtis.”

“Yes. Right.” He flipped the hat over, and each of us stepped back a little. It was dim, but we could see fairly well. The hat was dark.

It rocked a little. It bumped to the side.

An eye popped up on a yellow stalk. It blinked and looked at each of us.

A tentacle tentatively came out to writhe around, then another one, as another eye came up to look at me.

“Mr. Curtis,” said Mrs. Smith. “It’s moving.”

Then it was out. It flopped on the table and the hat went skittering.

“It’s out!” I said.

“Yeah, it’s out!” said Mr. Curtis. It rolled, tucking its eyes in, and splatted to the floor.

“Catch it again!” I yelled.

“Yahoo!” said the frog. He put on his hat and we were off, chasing it behind the counter, and back through the kitchens.

It slid under the counter and into the oven. We were after it with brooms. Mr. Curtis was slapping at the floor with a mop when we chased it into the back room.

“Not the drain, Mr. Curtis!”

It was flipping and sliding, avoiding blows and whipping left and right. We were right behind it. Mr. Curtis threw his hat, trying to trap it again, but it fell short, and the creature made it down the drain.

It slipped through the bars and vanished below the building.

We sat on the floor panting and clutching our chests. At least I was. Mr. Curtis just sat there and burped.

“Mr. Curtis!”

“Yes, Dr. James?”

He burped again.

“Oh, never mind. Let’s help Mrs. Smith clean up.”

Burp.

“I’ll take that as an affirmative.”

We got up and blocked the drain by dragging several bags of flour as many as we could find, and covering it as best we could, and then helped her clean the tables up and bring the dining room back into order.

“What’s left?” I asked.

“The donations for the morning.”

“Right.”

There were still many rolls, buns, and muffins in the case of the lunch crowd. Mrs. Smith lined up several boxes. Admitting was more than usual, and we filled ten with extras to put in the back for pickup the next morning.

I looked over at the pile of flour bags, unsure. I’d seen enough strange things today.

“We should stay here tonight,” said the frog. “Yes, that’s what we will do, if you’ll allow us, Mrs. Smith.”

“What?”

“Yes, we’ll watch and see. Perhaps nothing will happen.”

“But maybe it will,” I said.

“Which will help us all unravel this mystery!”

“Of course. I’ll lock up.” She left reluctantly after Mr. Curtis assured her many times. After most of the lights dimmed, the shutters were closed, and she was gone, headed to her home on foot. It turned to my green friend.

“Now what?” I folded my arms.

He croaked. “We wait.”