TALES FROM THE ODDSIDE: A Touch Of Red

TALES FROM THE ODDSIDE

A Touch Of Red

by

Al Bruno III

original version published by Eden Studios

My husband and I couldn’t leave the city, we weren’t allowed. 

We both tested positive for the Red Virus. That gave us two years to live, three tops. In other countries the infected were being executed, killed in the streets. Here in enlightened America things were different, the President insisted on treating the infected ‘humanely’. Humane or not, only citizens with a clean bill of health got to go to the safe zones in the Midwest. The rest of us were forced to stay in the cities on the coast, observed by scientists in hazmat suits and protected by soldiers that wouldn’t look us in the eye.

When I think of what the disease will do to me- somehow transform me into something not quite human any more. I’ve seen the videos of what the press has dubbed ‘monsters’. I’ve seen what they do.

A few weeks ago the government relocated all of us to a series of high rise tenements on the East Side. They said that they would be able to defend us more easily this way. The apartments here are larger and nicer than anything we could have afforded in our old life, so I tried to make the best of it. My husband Brian however, insisted that we were only there so that when the time came they could liquidate us more easily. He blames me for this, he thinks that I brought the disease home because I worked in a hospital, but I was in the billing office! He was just as likely to be the one that touched an unseen speck of dried blood somewhere, somehow.

I liked to think he still loved me but he’d stopped saying it, and he wouldn’t  touch me, not even in passing. We didn’t sleep together, I stayed in one bedroom, he stayed in another. 

Not that anyone around here ever really slept that much. All of us, the scientists, the soldiers, the infected, stole catnaps whenever we could  in the mornings and afternoons.

There was no rest at night, the night belonged to the monsters. They knew right where to find us, something about the infection calls to them. They howled at the barricades from sundown to sunup. Sometimes they would manage to break through the fortifications. Then the howls would be drowned out with gunfire and order would be restored by morning. 

I think that’s why we started having the parties. It wasn’t a conscious decision you understand, its just that the nights were too long and terrible to experience alone.

At first we got together in little groups, no more than five at a time. We didn’t want to make our protectors uneasy, but as our hopes dwindled our gatherings got more elaborate. Soon all thirty or so of us were congregating nightly in the penthouse. We would cook, and drink and laugh and try to ignore the horrors going on out in the streets and inside our bodies. Brian was always there but he would just sit and sulk out on the balcony, drinking until he passed out, leaving me to carry him back to our apartment at dawn.

One nice thing about our keepers, they were pretty damn generous with the booze and food. I guess it was better to have us fat and happy than terrified and ready to riot.

Tonight’s gathering was going along nicely. Someone had found up a karaoke machine and we were all four sheets to the wind, doing our best to belt out the songs of our glory days.

All except for Brian of course. He was out on the balcony, occasionally I would glance over and catch him glaring reproachfully at us. I kept trying to get him to join in or just return one of my smiles. It was hopeless.

About halfway though a rambling version of ‘Paradise by The Dashboard Lights’ Brian started screaming.  He was pointing and gesturing to the east. I ran out to the balcony to see what was wrong.

Monsters, thousands of them. The streets were clogged with them. Walls of ruined flesh moving towards us. The soldiers were shooting at them, they were using machine guns and grenades but for every monster they blew to pieces four more stepped into its place.

I reached for Brian’s hand. He pulled away, saying something ugly under his breath. I don’t know. I went crazy. I was afraid and I wanted someone to touch me and if he wouldn’t…

Next thing I knew I had the karaoke microphone in my hand and I said something like, “Let’s live tonight ‘cause we’ll all be dead by morning!”

Then I grabbed the nearest man and kissed him hard. At first he pulled away, then he pressed against me. We fell back onto an overstuffed chair, pulling at each other’s clothes.

It was like a floodgate had opened. We were joined by another couple on the floor and then another. It was surreal, it was an orgy We were all trying to shut out the world and for a while it did. 

After a while we exhausted ourselves and the sounds of the slaughter going on outside reached us again. Brian was gone. For a moment I gloried in the thought of how the sight of me in the arms of others must have burned him. Then another thought occurred to me. It was enough to send me running half-dressed down the stairs to our apartment

I found Brian on his bed, passed out and barely breathing. Blood had begun to leak from his pores. He was changing. You could see it happening. It was like an army of maggots was running wild under his skin.

There are procedures for the final stages, they had been drilled into us every morning, there were posters on the walls reminding us. We were told to watch each other for signs of the blood sweat- if you see something say something. You call for the scientists, and they call for the soldiers. The infected are taken away for one last examination and then it’s cremation by flame thrower.

I didn’t do any of that. I laid down beside him instead.

I’m waiting now, I’ve been waiting for almost two hours. The battle is still going on outside but I could care less who’s winning. The Red Virus will be done with its work soon and what sits up beside me won’t quite be Brian anymore but he’s going to touch me.

One last time.

Give a listen to Moosedup Narrations adaption of my story BURMA SHAVE featuring Mr. Creepypasta!

From MOOSEDUP NARRATIONS

I am reposting 'Trochildae' because the lady I dedicated it to is in the hospital right now...

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT:

Trochildae

by

Al Bruno III

(for Valerie Jones)

The air was humid and thick with pollen. The path that led through the field was uneven and uphill. The grass that bordered it was thickly flowered with blooms the color of blood. Trees surrounded them, hemlock spruces and white cedars. Occasionally a cicada-like hum would rise up from all around and then fade away.

Joseph hurried after the old man trying to make him sell his land but the old man just wouldn't listen.

“Creer family moved here in 1806,” the old man said. He was white haired but broad-shouldered and thickly built, “The Protestants in New York hadn’t taken too kindly to them ‘cause they kept to themselves and didn’t worship in the fine respectable churches everyone else did. They bought these acres, it wasn’t farmin’ land you see. Gully’s too deep and the ground’s no good for tillin’.”

“Mr. Fenner my company is more than willing to meet almost any price...” Joseph paused to brush a burr from his slacks, he was sure that by the time this was over his suit would be ruined. Not that he ever wore one of his really good suits when visiting these hick towns, but he still didn’t like the idea of getting grass stains or worse on what he was wearing. Something whizzed past his head, it looked like the biggest, pinkest bumblebee he had ever seen. Joseph had always hated the out of doors. Camping and long walks on the beach were not for him. He preferred the odors and sounds of the city, he’d take subway rats over bunnies and woodchucks any day.

They spied a post nearby, just a bolt of wood standing out in the middle of the tall grass. An old milk bottle hung from it. The old man made his way to it and filled it from the watering can he was carrying. The fluid that trickled into the bottle was thick and syrupy. “Now the Creer family was all daughters...” he continued, “well that ain’t really true but they had no luck with the male children. Those that weren’t stillborn or simple ran away from home soon as they could.”

When the old man came back to the path there were a dozen or so ticks on his overalls. Joseph felt his skin crawl, he started brushing at his clothes self-consciously. Was there one crawling up his leg now? Was there more than one?

And why was it the old man just wouldn't listen?

The tree line was growing closer, “Now the Fenner family married into the Creers. The Fenners had made their fortunes in Mexico but they came back up north right before the Alamo fell. Soon enough all the Creer daughters married the Fenner sons. Most of ‘em settled here, they built additions onto the house and made families of their own. Some families moved in to town to make their fortunes,” the old man turned and gave Joseph a ragged grin, “but I’m the last now. Last for miles, wife and kids all gone.”

“So why stay here?” They reached another post with another bottle, the old man filled it. Joseph turned to look back and grimaced at how far they had come. There was a weathered stone wheel lying near the path, there had been writing on it once but it had been reduced to mottled shapes. “All your neighbors have sold to us already. We want to break ground by the fall.”

“True.” The old man got back on the path and started walking again, “But ain’t there enough stores in the world already? Besides, if I sell and you plow all this under where will the Trochildae go?”

“Tr- what?”

“Trochildae, least that’s what we Fenners call them. Ain’t got no proper names really but they’re like hummingbirds.”

Joseph groaned inwardly, he had thought the old man was a just a crazy old coot but it was worse than that, he was a tree hugger. “Mr. Fenner there is no record of any endangered species...”

“Well of course not,” the old man replied, “but they're here, been livin' here since before the Creers and the Fenners, since before any man lived at all. Some say the Old Ones brought them down from the stars.”

They followed the path into the woods, Joseph breathed a sigh of relief at the cool shade. He watched the old man fill another bottle. He began “Mr. Fenner I think we have gotten off the subject...” then his words trailed off.

They had reached a clearing in the woods, a rough circle where no plant grew and slabs of stone protruded from the ground. There were figures tied to the stones, men, women and children all bound and gagged with strips of leather. Their flesh was pockmarked and torn. To Joseph's widening eyes they looked like mummies.

But some of those mummies still writhing in place.

A sharp sting of pain made him cry out. Joseph snatched at his cheek and found his fingers warm with blood. There was something flitting around his head, moving fast and filling his ears with a heavy droning buzz.

The thing- the Trochildae- moved too quickly to be seen clearly but Joseph could see it was only bird-like in the vaguest sense of the word. The body was frail-looking and devoid of feathers, dark veins ran through its flesh and its wings moved so quickly that it was impossible to judge how many of them there were. Joseph screamed and swatted at it, backing away and in to the old man's waiting arms. The old man was strong, impossibly strong.

The forest had come alive with the sound of the Trochildae as Joseph was expertly bound to a stone. Dozens of the creatures flew this way and that in anticipation.

Over and over again Joseph begged for mercy, but the old man just wouldn't listen.

(Recommended Reads) ANYTHING by Maria Protopapadaki-Smith

Just caught up on her last few stories. She is fantastic...

 

SUBHUMAN

Elliot walked into the laboratory annexe that housed the test subjects. He found the usual sight waiting for him, rows upon rows of subhumans lying in their cots, motionless, all staring at the ceiling. He felt the familiar unease as he made his way halfway across the warehouse-sized room to the row of creatures that were next in line for testing. He walked up to the datatower that served this row and logged in to check everything was as it should be. The nanoimplants inside each subhuman brain reported that all was quiet in their limbic systems. The implants were designed to block the amygdala area of the brain from receiving stimuli, making subhumans unable to experience emotion...
 

 

 

SCREAMSTREAM

The terrors I am about to experience are not my own. They will be implanted into my brain so that I can try and find out what happened to Janie Matthews. She is unable to tell us anything; she was found on Saturday morning at Moor House, screaming constantly, though nothing appeared to be physically wrong with her. She has been kept under sedation ever since, but for this procedure to work she must be fully alert so the doctor is letting her come to. She is almost there now – what started as whimpers are now getting louder and will soon turn into full-blown screams. The technicians hook me up to her in anticipation; my brain has been wired to hers for only a couple of seconds and already I am experiencing an extreme sense of foreboding...
 

 

 

SIRENS

The sirens blared. Kimi panicked. Today of all days! She was miles from the safe house with a small arsenal of illicit weapons in the boot. She commanded her vehicle to determine available routes to the safe house. The data on the dashboard told her it was a good fifteen minutes away if she took the freeway, or twenty five if she chose the safe route – not that any routes were truly safe these days, of course. She decided she had too much ammo in the car to risk the freeway. Twenty five minutes would be cutting it fine, and even a minor delay would be enough to cause her to break curfew, but this was still the safer option. If all hell was breaking loose again, the freeway checkpoints would be manned...

 

 

For more visit her blog

(Recommended Reads) And We Danced by Rob Smales

Last class.” Sharon smiled. “Was it good for you too?”

“Y’know,” Drew smiled back, “it actually was. I couldn’t believe you signed us up for ballroom dancing, but it turned out to be pretty fun.”

“You should have seen your face the first time you met Dhavesh and Simone.”

“Can you blame me?”

Behind him, the classroom door opened.

“Speak of the devils.”...

 

Click here to read the rest

Playing For Tommaso - an excerpt from THE COLD INSIDE

Playing For Tommaso

an excerpt from

THE COLD INSIDE

By AL BRUNO III

Saturday November 5, 1994

The sun was lost behind the crowded Albany skyline but its pale yellow illumination lingered on, radiating between the buildings and through the crowded streets. It was getting cold again, that last bit of autumn before winter. It wouldn’t be long before coats gave way to parkas and sneakers gave way to heavy boots but at least for a few more weekends Adelphos would be able to ride his brother’s bicycle home. He rode fast, slaloming from the sidewalk to the road and back again, racing through the shadows that pooled around the buildings.

Homework and dinner leftovers were waiting for him. Adelphos would finish both off tonight because his Sunday was already booked. His father gave him Saturdays off but Sundays, and every weekday after school, his ass belonged to the family business.

A decade ago Adelphos’ father had bought the WEST ALBANY PAWN AND ANTIQUES from its ailing owner. It wasn’t much to look at, a dingy hole in the wall located in one of Albany’s rougher neighborhoods. Most of the Chavez family thought Camilo was crazy to squander his savings in such a way but Camilo knew better. Right away he started making changes, downplaying the pawnshop aspect of the store and concentrating on old books and antiques. He stocked the shop with merchandise he’d been acquiring for years. Adelphos’ father had always had a nose for antiques; each piece he found he restored as best he could. Bargain-hunters and antique-hounds alike began to notice. Within the first year the store had changed so much that Camilo decided to change the sign as well, his eldest son Tommaso picked a name that the whole family thought was perfect; TRASH AND TREASURES.

TRASH AND TREASURES became the focus of the Chavez family’s life; Camilo worked there from open to close on the weekdays with Adelphos, Tommaso and their mother filled in whenever time allowed. Every weekend Adelphos and his older brother were left in charge while Camilo went out hunting for fresh collectables at garage sales and flea markets.

Over the course of four years the business thrived, eventually expanding to the point where it could afford to move to a better location. TRASH AND TREASURES now occupied a large storefront in one of Albany’s more trafficked shopping plazas. It’s inventory was one part antiques, one part used books, one part old videos and CDs and a little bit of everything else.

Adelphos paused at a busy intersection and waited for the light to change. A cop car slowed as it drove past him but didn’t stop or give him any trouble. Thank Jesus for that, getting patted down once a year was just fine by him. The light changed, he started pedaling again.

Memories of minding the store with Tommaso always made him smile. Most of the time he’d wandered around straightening shelves and keeping watch for the sticky-fingered neighborhood kids. He let his brother man the cash register. Between every customer his nose was buried in a book. Tommaso always loved books, any kind of book; science fiction, comics, horror, true crime, history, even those cheesy romance novels. He would read it and he would read it fast. He could devour one of those thick Stephen King books in two days.

It was one of the benefits of having a genius IQ and that wasn’t just bragging, all the tests and retests made it obvious that Camilo’s oldest son was headed for glory. Adelphos wasn’t jealous, he was proud.

It was growing darker, yellow daylight giving way to purple dusk. Already the moon and Venus were visible, soon the constellations would reveal themselves in all their pale glory. The Big Dipper, Orion the Hunter and all the rest, Tommaso had taught him how to recognize them on a camping trip years ago.

Crossing the street on his brother’s bicycle Adelphos kept a wary eye out for traffic, his goal nearly in sight. He’d dawdled too long at Greg’s but it had been a great game of Dungeons & Dragons and great games always made the group talkative. They would reminisce about past adventures and scenes from books and movies they loved. Sometimes Adelphos found it sad that for Warren, Rich and Drew some of their fondest memories of adolescence were going to be of things that never happened.

High school had been rough on his brother as well. The public school was a disaster area, vandalism was common, fire alarms were pulled almost monthly and the brainy kids were objects of derision and abuse. It had always been hard for Tommaso, his slender build and gentle nature set him aparts, made him a target. As he grew older it only got worse. At first he’d wanted desperately to be accepted but as the years ground on he simply wanted to be left alone.

The Chavez family did what they could, Ramona consoled her oldest son and Camilo tried to teach him how to fight, but Tommaso was no fighter. Complaints were made to the principal and vice principal countless times but both men seemed to view the whole situation as a waste of time. Their only advice was to encourage the boy to stay quiet and keep to himself, to try and blend in.

“Damn.” Adelphos whispered angrily as he pedaled the last few yards. The front gate of the cemetery was already closed. “Too late.” Too late to use his shortcut this week. Straddling his brother’s bicycle he stared through the bars of the tall wrought iron fence.

Slowly, over the course of two years, Adelphos watched his brother wilt away. Tommaso became a wraith-like figure, going to and from school, going to and from work but never looking up, never speaking in complete sentences. Finally, one day he reached his breaking point.

Once news of his brother’s leap from the rooftop of an Albany office building got out there were assemblies, grief councilors and a whole page set-aside in the yearbook but it was all for show. Tommaso’s classmates never really cared about him. He was nothing more to them than a punchline; The skinny spic from the honor roll that thought he could fly.

Adelphos ran his bare hands along the icy metal fenceposts and thought to himself how much he’d like to run into one of those jerks now. He had never been one to walk away from a fight. When he reached high school the year after his brother’s literal and figurative fall, he would see kids getting picked on because they were too meek, too skinny or too smart and he couldn’t stand for it. Six fights in one semester got him expelled from his brother’s old high school. Five more got him kicked out of a different high school a year later.

That was when his father decided to send him to Blessed Heart, to try and ‘Straighten him out’. But all Adelphos found at the fancy school was that rich kids could be even bigger jerks than poor kids could. He could have sat at any table he wanted, the Pretty Boys invited him to join their ranks, and Linda Kaspary invited him to one of her parties. But Adelphos could see how fake their smiles were, he knew he was just a novelty. He found himself gravitating towards the kids they called Smudge, Graveyard, Tubbo, Sadam Jr., and Dick Head.

It was almost night now. The glare of headlights, streetlights and neon signs made the constellations seem pale and washed out. Adelphos started pedaling again, taking the long way. He was opening the store tomorrow, his father would be by during lunch. Maybe they would talk, but probably they wouldn’t. His father didn’t talk that much any more.

The last part of the way home was up a steep hill. Adelphos switched gears on his brother’s bike and pushed hard against the pedals. He remembered his childhood, how he and Tommaso would spend whole summer afternoons on this hill, riding their bikes all the way to the very top and then zooming back down to the bottom again. It had been like having their own private roller coaster.

Halfway there the heat began to build in his muscles. It felt good, it kept him from thinking. He focused on his breathing and before he knew it he was there. The first house at the top of the hill was his home. Gliding into his yard he carefully parked his brother’s bicycle in the garage. His mother’s car wasn’t there, but his father’s car was. A familiar weight settling onto his shoulders Adelphos made his way up the long ramp that lead to his front door.

His father was already in bed. Classical music was drifting in from Tomasso’s room, filling the house. Adelphos recognized it as Brahms. He shouldered out of his backpack and removed the hardcover Dungeons & Dragons books, Tommaso’s books. He’d always been into these kinds of games, it seemed like he had one of every kind on his bookshelves, but he’d never been able to find anyone to play with. Occasionally he would run a game for his younger brother but Adelphos hadn’t never seen the point.

Adelphos stepped into his brother’s room thinking Now I play. Now I play for both of us.

The shelves in his brother’s room were crowded with books, a card table with medical supplies was up against the window. The Brahms was issuing from a state of the art stereo system, a recent Christmas gift. Adelphos put the Dungeons and Dragons books back on the appropriate shelf and sat down on the edge of his brother’s bed. He smiled, “Hey buddy.”

Tomasso’s eyes flickered with recognition at the sight of his brother but there was no way he could get out of the massive wheeled chair to shake his hand, there was no way he could shout a greeting; he couldn’t even crack a smile. The fall had left his every movement a palsied struggle.

“It was a great game tonight. We ran late.” Adelphos continued, “My Ranger made eighth level and we finally raided the Lich’s tomb...”

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT: Southern Fried Shokushu

STORIES IN THE KEY OF LOVECRAFT:

Southern Fried Shokushu

by

Al Bruno III

Jessie Warren and his get rich quick schemes made him a source of embarrassment for the whole town of Zebulon, West Virginia. I got no problem tellin’ you and your deputies what I know but don’t try and pretend that you aren’t just a little bit glad that he’s out of your hair for good.

Did I know what he was up to this time? Of course, we were best friends, sworn blood brothers and I got the hepatitis to prove it. I was always the first person he came to when he had one of his money-making ideas. Jessie could always make things sound so simple. Why not make brew moonshine? Why not cook some meth? Why not start selling counterfeit fainting goats?

Now when he first started talking about making porno for the Internet I thought he might be on to something. He said that since I had a camcorder I could be a producer. I was a little interested at first but then things got weird.

We discussed the whole thing over coffee at Ralph’s Diner. See I figured that he’d want to do something normal and wholesome like the Bangbus but in a pickup truck. But oh no, Jessie had other ideas, he wanted to do something called shokushu.

Now I did not know what in the name of God and the sweet baby Jesus a shokushu porno was and when Jessie explained it to me I was sorry I did.

Shokushu is girls gettin’ it on with tentacles...

No, not testicles- tentacles. You know like on an octopus or a squid.

I didn’t believe him but damn if he didn’t have the pictures to prove it. I guess it was a Japanese thing. I don’t know which pictures bothered me more, the girls that didn’t look happy to be getting molested by an octopus or the ones that looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Say what you want about me Sheriff but I didn’t want anything to do with such a thing and that’s what I told Jessie. He spent the better part of fifteen minutes trying to talk me into it. He said he got a girl all lined up, said she was up for anything. I asked him who this girl was and he told me it was Eunice.

Now I gotta admit using Eunice was a stroke of genius. She is one beautiful girl and, ever since that mule kicked her in the head on prom night, gullible as Hell. I still said no and then he tells me he already ordered a freshwater squid from some guy down in New Orleans named Castro.

We all know there ain’t no such thing as a freshwater squid but Jessie didn’t want to hear it. He said he had that Castro guy coming up to his house in a couple of days.

Maybe I could have talked him out of it but right about right then Stella came over to refill our coffee cups. She took one look at those pictures of girls and octopuses and fainted. In the ensuing chaos I went my way and Jessie went his. I’m pretty sure neither of us bothered to pay the bill.

And that brings us up to tonight. It was about two o’clock in the morning when my phone rings and sure enough it was Jessie.

He’s voice is this scared whisper and he says to me, “I can’t find the squid.”

There was a long pause, mainly because I thought I was still dreaming so he spoke again.

“Are you listenin’ to me George? I can’t find the squid. I got up to take a piss and it ain’t in the bathtub no more.”

So then I said, “You bought the squid? You really did it?”

“Sure, it got dropped off this morning. Eunice helped me load it off the old man’s truck. I figured she should get used to touching it you know?”

What else could I say but, “And you put it in your bathtub?”

“It was bigger than I thought. Big as a man. It had green eyes and its skin changed color when it breathed. Eunice didn’t like it, she said she didn’t like the way it looked at her.”

Nothing he said was making sense, but that didn’t stop him-

“After Eunice left I tried to feed it a hamburger but the thing just left it floating there in the tub. Suddenly I felt real tired and went to lie down,” he sobbed a little, “I had these dreams. They were about this city with buildings all crooked and seaweed in the windows. I saw this shadow, then I felt like I was falling. When I woke up it was night time and I could hear it singing. It was coming from the bathroom and it was like nothing I ever heard before.”

A musical freshwater squid? I was speechless.

“I wasn’t scared of that thing in the daylight but now I was too scared to get out of bed. I just listened to it singing and sloshing around. By the time I got the nerve up to actually go and check on it, it was gone.”

At moments like this I always ask, “Jessie? Are you high?”

“Why was it singing? What does the song mean?”

Then he started screaming and there was these wet slobbering sounds and then everything got quiet. “Jessie!” I shouted, “Jessie are you all right?”

And then the part happened that no one believes, the that part makes me sure you’ll never find no trace of my best friend. The part that makes me tell you to drain the pond out in back of the Warren place and don’t let no one go in those woods alone.

This voice came on the line, it was all high pitched and sing-song but it spoke perfect English

And this is what it said;

“You fool, Jessie is DEAD!”

THE LOCAL HEROES: A Final Appointment With Doctor Kjærlighet

THE LOCAL HEROES

A Final Appointment With Doctor Kjærlighet

by

Al Bruno III

It was midnight. The full time-Luchador and part-time crimefighter known as Fuego stood in the entranceway to the Guzmán Huerta Sports Arena. The pale hallway lights gleamed off his bare chest, his red tights were torn, his black fiery mask was stained with blood.

Up ahead the corridor widened out into the stadium seating that surrounded the wrestling ring. A crowd of mobsters and thugs armed with bats, knives and chains waited for him.

Fuego barreled into the midst of them, toppling the first wave of attackers like dominoes. He had no fear of these men, not after he had escaped the death of a thousand screams with three hundred screams to spare.

When there were just two criminals left he smashed their heads together and let them fall to the floor. That done he ran to the center of the arena leapt into the air and landed gracefully in the center of the canvas square. A single spotlight shone down on him. “Kjærlighet!” Fuego shouted, “You murdering coward! Come out and face me like a man.”

“That’s Doctor Kjærlighet to you,” a harsh voice said from somewhere in the audience.

“Then face me like a doctor!” Fuego roared, “Your reign of terror ends tonight!”

A tall man wearing white and black tights climbed into the ring. A silver cowl concealed Doctor Kjærlighet’s features, a thick gold belt encircled his waist; the masks of fallen luchadores hung from the belt like scalps.

Fuego knew those masks, they belonged to his fellow members of the League of Extraordinary Luchadores. This could only mean they were dead. Fuego weakened momentarily at the thought. Their names echoed through his mind- Tierra, Vivento, Agua, Demonio Amarillo, Gigante Maya and Phil... All gone forever, betrayed by one of their own.

“You were the world’s only Norwegian luchador,” Fuego’s voice quaked, “why did you sell your soul to the evil gods from space?”

Doctor Kjærlighet said, “Because I was the world’s only Norwegian luchador.”

The two men circled one another, sizing each other up. Fuego made the first move, a backhand chop that made his opponent double over. Fuego followed that attack up with an elbow drop. Doctor Kjærlighet fell to the mat. “You are no match for me!” Fuego placed his opponent into a chin lock, “No man in the world is!”

The traitorous luchador chuckled, “That is your final mistake then for I am no longer of this world.” Doctor Kjærlighet raised his left arm. It split apart from the elbow down. There was no blood, instead it bloomed, remaking itself into a three foot claw ringed with a nest of tendrils that hissed like serpents.

“Ay dios mio!” Fuego cried as he found himself tossed eight feet into the air. This was the ultimate foreign object in the ring!

Fuego crashed back down onto the mat with bone jarring force. He tried to stand only to find himself caught in an over the shoulder arm drag. He tried to slip free but the grip of Doctor Kjærlighet’s claw arm was unbreakable. The serpent-like tendrils snapped and bit at Fuego.

“It was so easy to destroy you all,” Doctor Kjærlighet placed the hero into a bear hug and slowly began to tighten his grip, “now die!”

“Never!” Fuego swung both his arms backwards boxing his adversaries’ ears.

“ARRRRRGH!”

Fuego rolled away towards the center of the ring and got back to his feet. Then he ran at his opponent again and delivered a flying scissor kick. Doctor Kjærlighet shrugged off the attack and threw Fuego into the ropes.

It was easy enough for Fuego to untangle himself. He scrambled back to the other side of the ring and waited. What would come first? An attack or a speech?

“Oh you fool! You microbe!” Doctor Kjærlighet began.

Right, Fuego thought, a speech it is.

Doctor Kjærlighet shook his human fist as he spoke, “Once I have destroyed you I shall go to America!”

“America?” Fuego readied himself. He pulled off his right glove where a wise professor had tattooed the dreaded Elder Sign.

“Yes, America. And in that land I will defeat every challenger until I am declared the supreme champion!”

“Supreme champion?”

“Then every wrestler in the world will bow down before me!” Doctor Kjærlighet threw out his arms in a gesture of triumph, “I will become more powerful than Ed McMahon himself!”

“Vince,” Fuego said.

That stopped the villain in mid-rant “Eh?”

“Vince McMahon is the man all the wrestlers in America bow down to. Ed McMahon was on the Johnny Carson show.”

“Are you sure?”

Fuego charged. Fuego leapt. He brought his tattooed right hand down onto the traitorous luchador’s demon arm.

The very air around the two men exploded. The blast radiated outwards destroying the Guzmán Huerta Sports Arena.

When the smoke cleared all that was left was Fuego kneeling in the center of the ruins. Doctor Kjærlighet and his henchmen were gone, incinerated.

“What have I done?” Fuego gasped.

To take a life was a betrayal of everything a luchador stood for, to kill so many at once and like this was impressive but unforgivable. He reached up to grab at his mask and began to pull at it. To remove the mask was to die but wasn’t that what he deserved?

Or would that give Doctor Kjærlighet the final victory?

The sound of sirens and commotion began to draw in around him. Fuego left his mask on but knew he could no longer stay in Mexico City. He would have to go somewhere else and redeem himself.

Perhaps someday he would return but for now he would go to America.

He had heard stories of a place overrun with crime, ghouls and random giant robot attacks, a place called River City. He vowed to save that city, to fight for truth and justice until its citizens had safety and prosperity in a headlock.

But first Fuego needed to remember where he had parked his car.