dochermes

Timeline of the Midnight War


[Some of my characters and basic storylines were created starting when I was about eleven. I drew my own super-hero and horror comics and most of those characters (those that I remember at least) have turned up in new versions in the Midnight War stories). In my first year of high school, I bought a manual typewriter and started getting the stories down on paper. There was a long hiatus after 2000 that broke when I started writing on a laptop and saving the stories that way. Now, I have them saved here, on LiveJournal as olddochermes2 and in an email archive in case this computer dies.

The stories in this list that are unmarked mostly still exist in manuscript form, yellowed pages covered with scribbled annotations. Most are so atrocious and clumsy I'm embarrassed to read them myself. A few of the older stories have been revised and rewritten, and those are marked with a single *. The double ** is to keep track of which stores have been posted here. All of the stories written since 2013 are current canon.

There is an AWFUL LOT of material here. I've been fooling around with these characters basically all my life. Setting up a specific timeline helps me keep things straight. On the other hand, it's often a nuisance when an idea for a plot bubbles up but it can't be written because (say) Khang died when Unicorn was still in elementary school. Therefore, they can't team up.

Another odd aspect is that some major events of the Midnight War only exist in rudimentary form. The Assault on Tel Shai, the Snake War, the Siege of Androval... they are all events that are important in the Midnight War universe but which I hesitate to even start chronicling because they would take the equivalent of a 300 page text to cover. Maybe someday. It's a funny hobby.]
________________________
CHRONICLES OF THE MIDNIGHT WAR

*Revised 2013-2023
**Scanned and posted online
+Probably apocryphal

Darthan Age:
THE CURSED OASIS** (12/1212)
THE SERPENT-HEAD SWORD** (8/1213)
THE MOURNFUL FLAME** (10/1213)
THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN** (8/1214)
EVERY HAND AGAINST HIM** (5/1215)
THREE VIRGINS MANOR** (10/1215)
SONS OF THE HYENA GOD** (5/1216)
RED BLOOD ON THE FIRE OPAL** (7/1216)

TERROR WITH WINGS** (5/1217)
AMONG MEN, AS A MAN** (6/1217)
A CITY RISEN FROM DUST** (9/1218)
THE HAUNTER OF THE PIT** (12/1218)
THE SPEAKING HEAD OF MALBERON** (6/1219)
THE TWO THINGS CERTAIN IN LIFE** (8/1219)
LION'S EYES IN GREEN STONE** (10/2022)
FALL OF THE DARTHIM** (12/1220)

19th Century:
SILENT RIVER** (4/1875)
MURDERTOWN, USA** (8/1875)
SACRIFICES FOR THE FIFTH SUN** (3/1876)
THE EARLIER ONES** (2/1877)
THREE POLECATS** (10/1877)
VALLEY OF THE THUNDERBIRDS** (8/1878)
COWBOY, CHANGE YOUR WAYS TODAY** (6/1879)
THE THOUSAND-FACED TOTEM** (11/1879)

THE BLADE WHICH DRINKS LIFE** (4/1880)
YOU KNOW WHAT CARDS YOU DEALT ME?! **(12/1880)
THE EYELESS LEGION** (5/1881)
COPPER-HAIR* (7/1882)
TROUBLE IN JUST-PLAIN-AWFUL** (9/1882)
THE CLOCKWORK MAN** (10/1883)
RED, YELLOW, BLACK** (12/1883)
TEMPTATION IN A HOLSTER** (10/1884)
THE DEATH OF SECOND STORY SAMMY** (10/1885)
A KNIFE FLASHED IN THE DARKNESS** (10/1889)
SHOWDOWN AT SUNSET RIDGE** (10/1896)
TWILIGHT RIDERS** (12/1898)

1920s:
ABOVE THE CLOUDS, THE EAGLE STAR IS RISING** (3/1921)
THE HOUSE OF LEATHER MASKS** (10/1923)
BLOODSTAINED ROSES** (4/1925)

1930s:
CLAWS AGAINST GANGDOM** (3/1933)
BLACKOUTS ON DEMAND** (2/1934)
EVERYTHING I TOUCH TURNS TO GRAVEYARDS** (8/1935)
THE DEVIL'S DUMMY (2/1938)
BATS ON FIRE** (10/1938)

1940s:
BRANDED MEN IN CHINATOWN* ** (11/1940)

THE SCEPTRE STRIKES!** (10/1941)

DOES ANYONE REMEMBER CAPTAIN AMNESIA?** (7/1942)
SPIRITS OF STEEL** (9/1942)
SEA WOLVES IN TIMES SQUARE** (10/1942)

THE SHOGREN EXHILARATION CLINIC** (2/1943)
THE PHANTOM OF VAUDEVILLE** (3/1943)
GIVING REAL GREMLINS A BAD NAME** (5/1943)
THE COLLECTOR OF SOULS** (8/1943)
MYSTERY OF THE JUPITER MAN** (11/1943)

THE OTHER PEOPLE IN MY HEAD** (1/1944)
VOICES WE WERE NOT MEANT TO HEAR** (4/1944)
THAT AWFUL PAISLEY SHAWL** (6/1944)
THE RED BLUR* ** (9/1944)
IS STOCKBRIDGE HOUSE REALLY HAUNTED?** (10/1944)

STRANGLED BY A PUPPET'S STRINGS** (1/1945)
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GREEN DEVIL?** (3/1945)
HELLBOUND HEROES** (4/1945)

1950s:
DARK AS THE DAWN** (10/1952)
WAXFACE (10/1953)
WASN'T TOMORROW WONDERUL?** (11/1953)
SAND CASTLES IN THE RAIN** (6/1954)
OLD MAN WITH A HATCHET** (8/1954)
THIRTEEN O'CLOCK** (3/1955)
WHO KEEPS STEALING THE BODIES?** (7/1956)
ATTACK OF THE BAT CREATURES* ** (6/1957)

1960s:
THE SANGUINARIANS** (2/1961)
TAKE THE HONEY AND RUN** (3/1961)
THE MORBID TABERNACLE CHOIR** (7/1963)
AGENTS OF THE MANDATE* ** (5/1964)
HIGH SCHOOL FRANKENSTEIN** (6/1965)
BRAIN BLAST** (4/1967)
WRITE A CURSE UPON THE MOON** (7/1969)

1971:
CAST YOUR FAITH AWAY** (3/1971)

1972:
EVENING'S END (7/1972)
BLACK MANTIS AND WINTER SNOW** (9/1972)

1973:
THE KINGS IN THE CRYPT** (2/1973)

1974:
THE PHANTOMS FROM WITHIN** (5/1974)

1975:
THE MUMMY DUST OF DEATH (1/1975)

1976:
WHAT, DEJA VU AGAIN?** (9/1976)

1977:
TWO SILVER DAGGERS** (5/1977)
LLANDEILO, SERVANT OF DRALDROS** (8/1977)
DEE NILE AND HER VOICE OF DOOM** (9/1977)
BONES UNDER STRAW** (10/1977)
GAME RECOGNIZES GAME** (11/1977)
MOTH, BAT, OWL* ** (12/1977)


1978:
THE DOOM THAT CAME TO MAYBROOK** (1/1978)
OTHER CLAY** (2/1978)
HERE REST THE DEAD** (3/1978)
THE LOST SCIENCE OF THE ANCIENTS** (4/1978)
GOLEM GREY* **(5/1978)
THE HOUSE OF PAIN** (6/1978)
SKINWALKER HIGHWAY** (7/1978)
FEATURING CHET WILKINS ON VOODOO DRUM** (8/1978)
THE SMOKE FROM BURNING BRIDGES** (9/1978)
A VISIT FROM UNCLE GIALLO** (10/1978)
DEATH HOWLS IN THE NIGHT** (11/1978)
SLUGGING THE REAPER* ** (12/1978)

1979:
THE INEXORABLE HOURGLASS** (1/1979)
DIE WITH OPEN EYES* ** (2/1979)
VENGEANCE IN SILVER** (3/1979)
FEVER CURSE* **(4/1979)
ATRON OF ULGOR (5/1979)
SPAWN OF DRALDROS* **(6/1979)
SHARPER THAN A SERPENT'S TOOTH** (7/1979)
A FACE LIKE DEATH** (8/1979)
FEAR HAS MANY FACES**(10/1979)
BAD NEWS BUDO** (11/1979)
SHAKE THE STARS** (12/1979)

1980:
SHADOW BROTHER** (1/1980)
THE TERROR OF LI TUNG** (2/1980)
SUBJECTS OF THE WORM** (6/1980) ["Black Angel"]
IN THE CLUTCHES OF THE MUMMY* ** (7/1980)
THE VENGEANCE OF KARL ELDRITCH** (8/1980)
WHERE YOUR HEART SHOULD BE** (11/1980)

1981:
COLD DARK WATERS* (3/1981)
THE DWINDLE HORN** (5/1981)
DARK ALLIANCE (6/1981)
REFUGEES OF THE GROUP MIND** (7/1981)
THE CROWN OF BOUNDLESS KNOWLEDGE** (8/1981)
THE COLLARS OF RIMNOR KJE* ** (9/1981)
THE WILL TO DIE* **(12/1981)

1982:
SILVER AND STONE* **(1/1982)
CAT'S CLAW** (2/1982)
SPIDERS OF THE MIND** (3/1982)
BID YESTERDAY RETURN** (4/1982)
GIVE IN TO THE GROUP MIND* **(5/1982)
BEYOND THE CAMPFIRE LIGHT** (6/1982)
A SERPENT MUST STING (7/1982)
THE DESPERATE GAME** (8/1982)
ATRON AT LARGE* **(9/1982)
RUNNING ON THE RAZOR'S EDGE** (10/1982)
THE EYELESS HELMET* ** (11/1982)

1983:
THE WAR SQUID** (2/1983)
THE PIT OF SNAKES** (4/1983)
HUNTING THE HUNTERS* ** (5/1983)
BREAK THE SERPENT'S BACK (6/1983)
SWAMP FLOWER* **(8/1983)
FIVE MINUTES MISSING, HERE AND THERE** (9/1983)
PLAYING AT WAR (10/1983)
THE GREEN MIST* **(12/1983)

1984:
THE VOLENCHAK SAVIORS (1/1984)
DEAD MAN SINGING** (3/1984)
A STORM OF STEEL** (4/1984)
DEATH THREW A PARTY** (5/1984)
MUSICAL CHAIRS OF THE MIND** (7/1984)
CHASED BY SKINWALKERS** (7/1984)
RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES* **(8/1984)
ALL FOUR OF THE SERGEANTS-MAJOR** (9/1984)
COLDER THAN ICE* ** (12/1984)

1985:
THE EXPERIENCE WHICH COMES LAST* ** (2/1985)
GODS AT WAR (3/1985)
THE LAST STAND OF KID CHAZ** (4/1985)
CODE NAME PENTAGRAM: KITE AND SKATER** (5/1985)
CODE NAME PENTAGRAM: THE KILLING MACHINE** (6/1985)
YESTERDAY, TODAY WAS TOMORROW** (7/1985)
ALL THINGS MUST END [The Battle of Bruenig] (9/1985)

1986:
GOLGORA** (1/1986)
RUMOURS OF WAR* **(3/1986)
THE SIEGE OF ANDROVAL (5/1986)
BARNABUS AND BEN HAVE THE BEST SUMMER EVER** (6/1986)
THE NIGHT GORILLAS OF DANARAK* ** (7/1986)
GOLDEN SUN* ** (8/1986)
THE MASTER PLAN OF AREM KAMENDE (9/1986)
THE PREINCARNATORS* **(10/1986)
THOSE WHO REMEMBER* **(11/1986)
BRIGHTBOLT** (12/1986)

1987:
THE JACKAL-HEADED SERVANTS OF MENEKARTES** (3/1987)
KING HOLMIR'S TREASURE HOUSE** (4/1987)
THE SHIP OF SKULLS* **(5/1987)
THE WHITE WOLVES OF ZIMBORLIN* ** (6/1987)
LET SLEEPING DRAGONS LIE** (8/1987)
YOU SAY YOU WANT SOME EVOLUTION** (9/1987)
THE FINAL TOURNAMENT OF WU LUNG** (10/1987)
DREAMS WITHIN DREAMS** (12/1987)

1988:
HEIRS OF BULIWYF (2/1988)
DANCING ON QUICKSAND* ** (3/1988)
THE SCROLL OF ULTIMATE TRUTH** (4/1988)
I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN** (5/1988)
FOOTPRINTS IN RED** (6/1988)
THE MONGOOSE HUNTS ALONE** (8/1988)
PROJECT REGULUS I: THE PEOPLE BREEDERS** (9/1988)
BACK TO THE GRAVEYARD YOU GO** (10/1988)
THE SKULL MUG OF TI-YUAN** (11/1988)
THE NINE BEAST HELMETS I: BEASTS OF THE SOUTH** (12/1988)
THE NINE BEAST HELMETS II: BEASTS OF THE EAST (12/1988)
THE NINE BEAST HELMETS III: BEASTS OF THE WEST (12/1988)

1989:
WORSE THAN MERE MURDER** (1/1989)
THE MADNESS OF JOHN GRIM (2/1989)
GOLDEN WOLF** (3/1989)
BLIND ILLUSIONS* ** (4/1989)
THE KNIGHTS OF ANDROVAL** (5/1989)
PROJECT REGULUS II: EVERYBODY LOVES A CLONE** (7/1989)
CABIN OF THE BEAST* **(12/1989)

1990:
HARBOR OF DREADFUL NIGHT* ** (1/1990)
ROUGH NIGHT AT BASS LAKE** (5/1990)
PROJECT REGULUS III: A PACK OF DIRE WOLVES** (6/1990)
WELL OF THE SEA BEAST** (7/1990)
THE SECRET OF JANOS PELT* ** (8/1990)
THE FINAL HALLOWEEN (10/1990)
THE SHARK THAT WALKS** (12/1990)

1991:
DEATH OF A DOBERMAN* **(3/1991)
UPRISING IN THE GREEN KINGDOM (4/1991)
TWO BLONDE UNICORNS* ** (5/1991)
INVISIBLE FIEND* ** (6/1991)
FIGHTING WORDS* ** (10/1991)
PROJECT REGULUS IV: THE CAULDRON OF NEW LIFE** (12/1991)

1992:
FUGITIVES FROM A FUNERAL PARLOR** (1/1992)
CEMETERY BLUES** (2/1992)
THE REVENGE OF DOS MANOS* ** (4/1992)
OUT OF THE UNBEARABLE SILENCE** (6/1992)
TERROR REIGN OF THE PUDGE** (8/1992)
THE ASTRONOMY MURDERS* ** (10/1992)
BASEMENT BOY** (12/1992)

1993:
THE ANNOYING CHALLENGE OF THE PUNSTER** (1/1993)
PROJECT REGULUS: EPILOGUE** (3/1993)
TOURNAMENT OF PYSCHOS** (4/1993)
BUSINESS FOR THE UNDERTAKER** (5/1993)
SHAM WOLF** (6/1993)
THE MAD BARON OF SIGNARM** (8/1993)
AN EVENING AT THE MUSEUM** (9/1993)
JUST ANOTHER CRISIS** (11/1993)
THE KING OF SKELETON ISLAND** (12/1993)

1994:
NECROPHILE PALACE** (1/1994)
MOCK THE DEVIL IF YOU DARE** (3/1994)
TOO MANY SKELETONS FOR ONE CLOSET** (4/1994)
THE FOUR HEIRS OF EMILIO CANTERO** (5/1994)
THE CONQUERING RATS** (8/1994)
DEVIL LIGHTS IN THE SKY** (9/1994)
INDIGO THE ILLUSIONIST** (10/1994)
SLEEPERS WAITING FOR THE TRUMPET** (12/1994)

1995:
THE CENTAURS OF ARIZONA** (3/1995)
ALWAYS LATER THAN YOU THINK** (6/1995)
OPEN SEASON ON MONSTERS** (8/1995)
THE CHILL WITHIN** 9/1995)
SWAT THE FLY** (10/1995)
PASSING FOR LIVE PEOPLE** (11/1995)
SOLDIERS OF MISFORTUNE** (12/1995)

1996:
THE SHADE OF ACHILLES** (3/1996)
THREE DAYS AT THE STYGIAN RETREAT** (4/1996)
THE SMILING BRETHREN** (5/1996)
AWAKEN THE DRAGON WITHIN** (6/1996)
NIGHT COURT NIGHTMARE** (7/1996)
JAR OF THE DJINN** (10/1996)
THIS FALLEN WORLD** (12/1996)

1997:
ASPARA GUS** (1/1997)
THE MONSTER MAKER** (2/1997)
FUNNY LITTLE KID NAMED BENNIE** (4/1997)
BUSINESS FOR THE UNDERTAKER** (5/1997)
EXECUTE HIM AGAIN** (6/1997)
PINE BOX, ARIZONA** (8/1997)
COME SLYLY, DEATH** (10/1997)
GOLDEN RING AND COBALT LAMP** (11/1997)
TWO-THIRDS GOD (12/1997)

1998:
MESA OF DAMNED SOULS** (2/1998)
WHEN SHE COMMANDS, THE WISE OBEY** (4/1998)
NEW FACES WHILE YOU WAIT** (5/1998)
THE OPEN FIST OF FURIOUS BUDDHA** (6/1998)
BLONDE GODDESS OF THE JUNGLE** (7/1998)
MERCURIO'S LAST HEIST** (9/1998)
MEGISTUS** (10/1998)
BLINDED BY THE LIGHT** (11/1998)

1999:
INSTANT MUMMIES** (2/1999)
THE RED SPECTRE** (3/1999)
RUNNING OUT OF THRILLS** (4/1999)
SMALL RIDER** (6/1999)
GET THOSE ATTACK FROGS OUT OF HERE!** (8/1999)
GLARING WITH THE THIRD EYE** (9/1999)
INKSANE** (10/1999)
SLAVES OF THE RED SQUID* **(12/1999)

2000:
REPEL* ** (1/2000)
LION SEEN ON TENTH AVENUE** (2/2000)
THE ARMOR OF HELL** (3/2000)
THREE WITCH QUEENS** (4/2000)
THE LEAGUE OF PREDATORS* ** (5/2000)
REVENANT** (6/2000)
SCEPTRE* ** (7/2000)
THE BRAND OF SUBMISSION* **(8/2000)
DUSTY HEROES: THE UNDERWORLD COULD USE A SCOURGE** (9/2000)
DUSTY HEROES: CURSE OF THE BRIMSTONE KID** (9/2000)
DUSTY HEROES: HELLSPAWN** (9/2000)
BURIAL BY STOMACH** (10/2000)
DESTROYER OF WORLDS** (11/2000)

2001:
A WISDOM BEYOND WEAPONS** (3/2001)
PRISONERS OF THE PHANTOM REALM** (4/2001)
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE COMES TROUBLE!** (5/2001)
THE CITY STEALERS** (7/2001)
DOUBLERS OR NOTHING** (8/2001)
MUMMY WANTED FOR QUESTIONING** (9/2001)
WOLF WAR** (10/2001)
THE SECRET WISDOM OF THE DEAD** (11/2001)
THE RETURN OF DR KOBAL** (12/2001)

2002:
THE HEARTLESS MEN** (1/2002)
THE RASPUTNIKS** (2/2002)
HAG OF THE MOUNTAINS: DAUGHTERS OF SUNRISE** (3/2002)
HAG OF THE SEAS: GOOMBAH ISLAND** (4/2002)
HAG OF THE DESERT: GARDEN OF BLADES** (5/2002)
CHILDREN OF THE GOLDEN JAGUAR** (6/2002)
WASTING AWAY ON WINSOMEBERRIES** (7/2002)
GOD HAS FANGS** (8/2002)
WATER DEMON IN A GAMBLING DEN** (9/2002)
THE LAND BEYOND THE LAW** (10/2002)
EVERYWHERE AT THE SAME TIME** (11/2002)
THE HORROR FROM THE FROZEN WASTE** (12/2002)

2003:
THE UNGRATEFUL DEAD** (2/2003)
DOC VALENTINE AND HIS PAL BOGUS** (4/2003)
WITH A NAME LIKE HOLDEN MAGROIN** (5/2003)
THE NECKLACE OF SHRUNKEN HEADS** (6/2003)
MIDNIGHT AT MAHONEY'S GYM** (7/2003)
THROW A DROWNING MAN AN ANCHOR** (8/2003)
VERONIKA PETROV AND HER KILLER APES** (9/2003)
THE TOWN THAT DARED NOT SLEEP** (10/2003)
THE DUST OF FORGOTTEN TEMPLES** (11/2003)

2004:
YOU GIVE UGLY A BAD NAME** (2/2004)
SQUID VICIOUS (3/2004)
MR NEVER** (4/2004)
THE PHANTOM OWLHOOT** (5/2004)+
SEARCH FOR THE TZUMATLI WHEEL** (6/2004)
SEVENTEEN TWINS** (7/2004)
OLLIE MOONGLOW AND THE SHARKS FROM OUTER SPACE** (8/2004)
THE GRUESOME CASE OF THE HUNCHBACK OF HOLLYWOOD** (9/2004)
LOVE THAT GRAVEYARD** (10/2004)+
THE PUMPKIN FACE MURDERS** (11/2004)
CAPTAIN CADAVER** (12/2004)+

2005:
NOW, THE OTHER FOOT IN THE GRAVE** (1/2005)
SECRET OF THE YELLOW SHIELD** (2/2005)
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GREEN DEVIL?** (3/2005)
THE FINAL NIGHT OF ROSA'S CANTINA** (4/2005)+
THE CURSE OF SAGUTAI** (5/2005)
I NOTICE YOU HAVE GILLS** (6/2005)+
THE ANT FARM HORROR** (7/2005)
DEATH AT WYNGAERTS FALLS** (8/2005)+
HOUNDS OF THE UNHOLY** (9/2005)
THE SHERIDAN-MCDONNEL PAN-DIMENSIONAL VIEWPORT** (10/2005)
THE WHITE WEB MURDER CASE** (11/2005)+
WAR DANCE OF THE FERAL BOYS** (12/2005)

2006:
BOULDER AYMER IS DEAD** (1/2006)
WORST ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT EVER** (3/2006)
DR NIGHTMARE** (4/2006)+
MY FAVORITE GENIE** (5/2006)
THE WANDERING NIGHT CACTUS** (7/2006)+
THE MAN FROM INTERCEPT AFFAIR** (8/2006)
BULLETS HAVE NO HEART** (9/2006)
THE WALKING WEAPON** (10/2006)+
COMMIE BUSTER VS THE RED WIDOW** (11/2006)
THE WHISPERING SKULL** (12/2006)+

2007:
PARDON MY WHISTLING** (1/2007)
THE REVOLVING GRAVE** (2/2007)+
THREE DEATHS FROM A GYPSY CURSE** (3/2007)
THE STRANGE DEATH OF PERDITION SMITH** (4/2007)
WHEN LOOKS COULD KILL** (5/2007)+
NOW ENTERING SABERTOOTH COUNTRY** (6/2007)
BARELY DESCRIBABLE** (7/2007)
DANDELION DON'T TELL NO LIES** (8/2007)
THE HAUNTED TRAILER** (9/2007)
THE AWOL PHONE** (10/2007)
BENEATH THE CITIES OF MEN** (11/2007)
SQUATTERS IN YOUR BRAIN** (12/2007)

2008:
FROSTY THE GOLEM** (2/2008)+
THE TRICERATOPS MURDERS** (4/2008)
THE MIRRORS OF CHIJ** (5/2008)
NOPE, NO SPIES HERE** (6/2008)
THE REVELATIONS OF PROFESSOR SLACK** (7/2008)
KNEELING BEFORE THE ASP** (8/2008)+
MACHINE GUNS IN PARADISE** (9/2008)
NANCY SINISTER** (10/2008)
JUST FOR SHRIEKS** (11/2008)
PRINCESS OF DARKNESS** (12/2008)

2009:
CROSSING RUBY KAHN** (1/2009)
EMPIRES IN THE EARTH** (2/2009)
SLAUGHTERMAN** (3/2009)
BASILISK I: THE PATHLESS LAND** (4/2009)
BASILISK II: PEOPLE ARE TARGETS** (4/2009)
BASILISK III: KINGDOM OF THE LOST** (4/2009)
SEVEN NOOSES IN SEVEN WEEKS** (5/2009)
SISTERHOOD OF THE ALL-SEEING EYE** (6/2009)
THE CALIGARI CENTER FOR SLEEP DISORDERS** (7/2009)+
CASTAWAY** (9/2009)
MEGAVAC LIVES** (10/2009)
THE BEST MEMORIES MONEY CAN BUY** (11/2009)
OUR POLICY IS DECEIT, BETRAYAL AND DEATH** (12/2009)

2010:
DEATH COMES TO FINAL VINYL** (1/2010)
THE DISAPPOINTING RETURN OF MEGAVAC** (2/2010)
NINE LIVES ARE BARELY ENOUGH** (3/2010)
THE LIGHT THAT BRINGS DARKNESS** (4/2010)+
THE BONELESS PLAGUE** (5/2010)
FIND THE ASSASSIN YOU NEED ON FACEBOOK** (6/2010)
A WILDERNESS OF MIRRORS** (7/2010)
DON'T DROP MY COFFIN** (8/2010)^
THE WITNESS WIPER** (9/2010)
FIST FOR HIRE** (10/2010)^
THERE GOES THE RED RUNNER** (11/2010)^
OCTAVIUS** (12/2010)

2011:
LET IN THE VOID** (1/2011)
THE HARRY HUNG MURDER CASE** (2/2011)^
THE KINGDOM OF GATOR JOE** (3/2011)^
CHILLER NIGHT WITH GOTHICUS** (4/2011)^
THE BURNING SKY** (5/2011)
BETWEEN THE BLINKS** (6/2011)
THIS AIN'T NO PARTY** (7/2011)
THE MEDUSA MASK** (8/2011)
DEATH IS BUT A DREAM** (9/2011)
THE EVISCERATION EFFECT** (10/2011)
BOTH WAYS LEAD NOWHERE** (11/2011)
MY TRAUMA IS YOUR PLEASURE** (12/2011)^

2012:
THE WALLS BETWEEN THE WORLDS - UGAMESH** (1/2012)
THE WALLS BETWEEN THE WORLDS - AZALIN** (1/2012)
THE WALLS BETWEEN THE WORLDS - VENDIGOR** (1/2012)
WAR ON REALITY** (2/2012)
NOT THE PUNSTER AGAIN!** (3/2012)
FIVE OF THE UGLIEST CROOKS YOU EVER SAW** (4/2012)^
WINDCATCHER** (5/2012)
RATFACE** (6/2012)
FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE COSMETICS** (7/2012)
MAY DUSA - THREAT OR MENACE?** (8/2012)
WORST ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT EVER** (9/2012)
SLAVERS OF THE SECRET WORLD** (10/2012)
THE TEEN TYRANTS** (11/2012)
TIMOTHY LIMBO AND HIS FRIENDLY GHOSTS** (12/2012)

2013:
KAMIKAZE BUGS** (1/2013)
GROWLS FROM NOWHERE** (2/2013)
THE BRONZE NEEDLES OF SUFFERING** (3/2013)
KILLERS OF THE SARGASSO** (4/2013)
HALEY GETS HER HEART BROKEN** (5/2013)
THE FOUR ADAPTITES** (6/2013)
FAMILY OF TURNERS I: LET'S GO DO SOME SHAPE-SHIFTING** (7/2013)
FAMILY OF TURNERS II: BRING OUT YOUR FANGS AND CLAWS** (7/2013)
THE CITY BENEATH THE CITY** (8/2013)
WHEN THOUSANDS FLED IN TERROR** (9/2013)
WHO LET THE PTERODACTYLS OUT?** (10/2013)
WHAT REMAINS BEHIND** (11/2013)
SILK AND STONE, WOOD AND LEATHER AND IRON** (12/2013)

2014:
DANCE FASTER, THE STAGE IS BURNING** (1/2014)
FIVE DEAD RIDERS** (2/2014)
SPINNER OF WEBS I: THE BATTLE-AXE MURDERS** (3/2014)
SPINNER OF WEBS II: MASKS UNDER MASKS** (3/2014)
SPINNER OF WEBS III: WILD LIGHTNING** (3/2014)
TORSOBOT ISLAND** (4/2014)
SPINNER OF WEBS: USURPER** (5/2014)
THE CAVE OF HOURS** (6/2014)
THE SILK TIGERS** (7/2014)
KINGDOM OF MYTHICAL BEASTS** (8/2014)
PERVERTS FROM DIMENSION X** (9/2014)
IMAGINARY FRIENDS HAVE REAL FRIENDS** (10/2014)
THE SPACES BETWEEN SPACES** (11/2014)
MARRY A WITCH, YOU MARRY HER FAMILY** (12/2014)

2015:
WHEN YOU SEE THE RED BUFFALO** (1/2015)
RESURRECTION EMPIRE I: ALL THESE EMPTY GRAVES** (2/2015)
RESURRECTION EMPIRE II: PIMPING OUT ZOMBIES IN CORONA** (2/2015)
RESURRECTION EMPIRE III: LIFE IN THE MORGUE** (2/2015)
ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR I: FRAGILE SHORELINES (3/2015)
ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR II: THE SHARP EDGES OF HOPE** (3/2015)
ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR III: THE BOILING PIT OF FILTH** (3/2015)
SHE'D MAKE THE DEVIL NERVOUS** (4/2015)
SLAVES TO THEIR OWN SKILLS** (5/2015)
THE GOLDEN OGRE** (6/2015)
BROKEN KNIGHT** (7/2015)
WHAT NIGHTFALL BRINGS** (8/2015)
EIGHT PER CENT HUMAN** (9/2015)
INFILTRATOR** (10/2015)
ROBOT AND COSTELLO** (11/2015)
MY BEST FRIEND, THE SARCASTIC ROBOT** (12/2015)

2016:
YOU UNTHINKING HUNK OF TITANIUM AND PLASTIC, YOU** (3/2016)
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I AM HERE NOW?** (4/2016)
LAUGHTER IN AN EMPTY ROOM** (5/2016)
ENJOY THE TRAUMA** (6/2016)
NOT EVEN CLOSE TO NOWHERE** (8/2016)
THE TIKI DEATH MASKS** (9/2016)
OAHU FIFTY-NINE** (11/2016)
THIRD GENERATION UNICORN** (12/2016)

2017:
THE CAIRN OF BLACK STONES** (1/2017)
MR AND MRS TEMERITY** (4/2017)^
EVEN GOLEMS WANT TO BE FREE** (5/2017)
STARVE GOAT ISLAND** (7/2017)
YOU DO REALIZE YOU'RE MARRIED TO AN ALIEN BEING?** (8/2017)
HIDING BETWEEN YOUR MEMORIES** (9/2017)
THE AIR DEVILS** (10/2017)
INITIATION OF FURIOUS BUDDHA** (11/2017)
RED PINS IN A CLOTH DOLL** (11/2017)
SCREAMING INTO THE DARKNESS** (12/2017)

2018:
THE FINAL DAYS OF SUBMERGIA** (3/2018)
THE LAND THAT KNOWS NO LEAVING** (4/2018)
SEA STAR** (5/2018)
QUEEN OF THE HUMAN PETS** (6/2018)
VAMPIRE ROAD TRIP** (7/2018)
THE FLYING FOOL** (8/2018)
PUT THAT BRAIN BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT** (10/2018)
WITCH, DEVIL, GHOST** (11/2018)

2019:
DISCOUNT MIRACLES FROM THICKETT AND WICKE** (3/2019)
PURE LIFE** (4/2019)
PRINCESS OF THE FERAL BOYS** (5/2019)
HELL MUST BE FULL** (6/2019)
THE SHORE OF DREAMS** (7/2019)
DOORS BARRED FOR GOOD REASON** (8/2019)
MOUNT VANISH** (10/2019)
ASHES FROM A DISTANT FIRE** (11/2019)
THE BEAST IN THE BASEMENT** (12/2019)

2020:
ONE NIGHT AT THE HE'S-NOT-HERE** (2/2020)
SON OF MARDRAK** (3/2020)
EYES FORCED OPEN** (5/2020)
CHILDREN WITH AMBER EYES** (6/2020)
THE BROTHERHOOD OF FORTY HUNCHBACKS** (7/2020)
THE ANCIENT WINDS OF TROUBLE** (8/2020)
EDEN IN FLAMES** (9/2020)
SHIPS SAIL AWAY** (10/2020)
THE UNWILLING HOSTS** (12/2020)

2021:
THE WORLD IS OUR ARENA** (1/2021)
THAT DAMN RABBIT'S FOOT** (2/2021)
THE MOODY CREEK INCIDENT** (3/2021)
CARRYING LIGHTNING IN YOUR CHEST** (5/2021)
JELLYBEAN** (6/2021)
THE HOT RED SALTY RIVER** (8/2021)
AN ABOMINATION LIKE NO OTHER** (10/2021)
THE STEEL BREEZE** (12/2021)

2022:
TIGER NATION I** (2/2022)
TIGER NATION II** (2/2022)
TIGER NATION III** (2/2022)
ZOMBIE FIGHT CLUB** (4/2022)
CORONET I: FALLING INTO THE SKY**(6/2022)
CORONET II:EVEN COLD COMFORT IS BETTER THAN NONE** (6/2022)
CORONET II: LIGHTNING'S ONLY HAPPY WHEN IT STRIKES**(6/2022)
EVEN A CROOKED STICK CAN DRAW A STRAIGHT LINE**(9/2022)

2023:
TORTURE IS A WAY OF LIFE** (1/2023)

UNUSED TITLES

Spring Break At Skull Beach - The Cozy Coffin - Entering the Silence
One Manslaughter is Another Man’s Laughter - Cold House
Vishnu Verhere - Rick Shaw - The Skeeter - Babe Lincoln
Saturnius - Bloodless Thing of Evil - More Barren Than the Moon -
Dawn Damsels - Death Is the Poor Man's Doctor - Brokeface
Thunderstorm In Your Eyes - The Hand That Wields The Scythe
Early Onset Apathy - In Darkness We Dwell - Romeo and Zombiette
Revelations From the Grave - Stealth Scream - The Underverse -
Tough As a Cheap Steak - There Was a Crooked Man - Krieghund
Cure Paranoia, Kill Your Enemies - The Dead Do Not Forgive - The Maze of Forever -
Passing Lane On the Highway To Hell - Torture Is a Way of Life -
Reincarnation Is a Pleasant Surprise -
Try To Ignore Your Chains - The Wind Between the Gravestones
Watercolors In a Downpour - The Game Where Rules Change
Tears of the Moon - Mysterious Barricades
Dancing On The Edge Of The World -
There Are Horizons Beyond Infinity - Humanocide

"Twilight Riders"

12/11-12/12/1898

I.

Strange flickering red flashes rushed horizontally across each night sky. During each day, grey gloom overcast the sky so that even at noon nobody cast a shadow. Winds were heard howling constantly but somehow the air remained still and stifling. Birds were seen fleeing south in great flocks. Animals went into hiding across the Northwest, people either quarreled murderously over trifles or sank into depressed stupors where no chores were done and no meals made. It was like nothing no one had ever seen before, perhaps the very End of Days.

Hurrying up from across the plains and deserts, seven riders began to assemble near a Miscagowie reservation at the Canadian border. They had not planned to meet up. Some had never met any of the others before. But those who would be called the Twilight Riders found themselves forming a camp on a flat-topped hill and asking each other for answers none had. Most notorious among them was Johnny Packard, the Brimstone Kid still living under his curse.

Still looking like a beardless youth despite being forty, the Brimstone Kid was wiry and active as a bobcat. Just five feet six and barely one hundred and fifty pounds, the Kid wore all black except a red work shirt. His black stetson was pulled low over sullen green eyes. In the beaded band of that hat was tucked a copper-colored coin older than the West itself, the curse of his life. If he was in contact with the Darthan coin after dark, he would become the demonic Brimstone Kid in reality as well as name.

Past sixty by then, Tom Pinto had gotten grizzled and weathered by a hard life. His untrimmed beard and hair had as much grey as blond in them, and deep furrows ran down his cheeks like dried creekbeds. Pinto's darkly tanned skin looked tough as worn leather and his deepset blue eyes were sullen. His jeans and shirt were brown, with a short spotted vest over them. It was this black and white vest, made from the hide of a Pinto pony once owned by the famous Indian chief Osawayatotha, that had given him his name. Buckled around his waist was a gunbelt with a single-action .44 tied down low on his thigh. Swinging down off his own horse, he greeted the assembly politely enough. He and Johnny Packard had crossed paths several times.

"Howdy, Kid," he said, "Appears we all came up this way because the weather's been a might dodgy lately."

Johnny Packard snorted from atop his black stallion Terror. "Hallo,Pinto! Red fires in the sky at night and this godawful haze blottin' out the sun all day. You doesn't suppose this might be one of them volcanoes kickin' in?"

"I don't know know much about them things," Pinto replied. He turned in the saddle and nodded at the shirt, rather stocky black man who was sitting on a chestnut mare nearby. "What's your take on all this, friend?"

Sundown, a brooding black ex-soldier who got his name by insisting on walking the streets of "sundown towns" after dusk, carried a Model 1873 Winchester repeater chambered for the .44-40 cartridge. This was a durable and powerful weapon that he handled as lightly as if he had been a walking stick. He rumbled in a deep voice, "I'm not one for omens and superstitions, hard-headed as I am. But a fellow would have to be willful blind not to worry about all this. Have any of you heard or seen a bird or a squirrel this week? I haven't."

"You are wise to feel uneasy," said the sole woman among them. She was known as Copper-Hair, a bounty hunter skilled with the gun but much deadlier with her hands and feet. Tall and slim in a long duster coat and black slouch hat, she was the latest Karina, a immortal warrior spirit who incarnated each generation in the body of a willing living woman. The woman had bright auburn hair, glossy and much brighter in tone than Johnny's darker brick-red shade. In a strong-featured face with a wide jawline and full lips, her grey-green eyes caught the sunlight with a flash like a cat's. "Deep down beyond words, you sense we stand at the edge of an abyss and our footing is uncertain."

Clay Hawk, Federal Marshal Agent, was neglecting his orders to answer the mysterious summons. Formerly known by his tribal name, Little Clay Hawk, the lawman was nearing fifty by then. Dressed in formal townsfolk clothing, black trousers and a white shirt with a floral-pattern vest and a string tie, Clay Hawk wore a flat-brimmed low-crowned hat. His Indian blood showed clearly in the glossy black hair, the strong eagle-beak nose and the deepset eyes which were always watchful. Strapped to his right hip was an old-fashioned Navy revolver. Hawk swung his arms in a casual way as he walked, not keeping his hands near the gun butt more than was natural. He had been watching and waiting, in his career he had heard much about all of these strangers.

"You've got a poet's way with words, ma'am, and that's for sure," he said as the others watched for his response. "What purely troubles me is that the air is still and yet I hear gale winds blowing somewhere. Tain't natural."

Wai Cho-Lan had come walking in from the forest without a horse or indeed without much more than a bedroll and what he wore. He was a tall, lanky man in plain long-sleeved work shirt and pants, with heavy walking shoes that had seen a lot of wear. His head had been shaven but showed a five-o'clock shadow across it. The hair growing in was white. He seemed Northern Chinese, with a single eyelid fold and a long solemn face whose tawny skin was darkened by severe sun exposure.

Several of the other riders had heard wild stories about Wai. Called by some the Tiger Fury, he was said to be able to catch arrows without being cut, to fight a half dozen men at the same time, to recover from wounds that would kill a mule. He himself made no such claims and spoke little. He said only that he would help in any way he could. The taciturn exile from mainland China, was in fact a Kumundu master and knight of Tel Shai. He alone carried no gun and refused to accept one. His unarmed combat skills had become well known campfire tales across the plains. Never one for unnecessary talk, he remained as silent as possible.

Peligroso came from Northern Mexico, an aristocratic Castilian with a driving restless taste for violence. He wore two revolvers butts forward and carried both a whip and a dueling sword with him. Peligroso was normally quick to laugh or sing, but the uncanny gloom and whistling winds had dampened his spirits. Surprisingly, the young bravo did not dress in obviously Spanish-flavored clothing but wore plain brown pants, a yellow silk shirt and short brown jacket, with a bowler derby rather than a sombrero. Nor did he affect a thin mustache but was clean-shaven and kept his glossy black hair short and neat.

Peligroso would not reveal his true name, but then neither would Tom Pinto or Sundown. Peligroso did say he came from a prominent Madrid family which he had disgraced by dueling even after stern warnings. When he killed the governor's son, he was quickly shipped to California to stay out of prison. Tall and excessively handsome, well-dressed and eloquent, he often claimed it would be unchivalrous to turn down the young women who swarmed to him. With so many outraged fathers and husbands out for his blood, he had taken to living on the trail. With sudden seriousness, Peligroso told the other Riders he had never taken much seriously in life... until now. He feared this was indeed The End Days and his soul was not ready.

( the rest of the story )

"Lion's Eyes In Green Stone"

6/1219 DR

I.

A weary Romal the Mongrel was working as bodyguard and bouncer for a cynical man named Turan, who owned a tavern and gambling den in neutral border town Thonigar. "Turan's Three Flagons" attracted a varied clientele, including Darthan officials, refugees desperate to reach still unoccupied Signarm, and the heartless riff-raff who preyed on them. Although Garan professed to be aloof from all matters, he had smuggled refugees from Evaho earlier to help them escape Darthan tyranny and he had fought on the rebel side in the Skandor Resistance. Despite feigning indifference to everything except coins, he demonstrated sympathy for the refugees' plight and disdain for the cruel regime of the Darthim.


Thonigar was unique. A small hill town on the northeast corner of Evaho, surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs, it had become a strange no-man's-land where exiles and drifters from every realm and all the Seven Races mingled freely. Here, perhaps inevitably, refugees trying to escape the unbearable sadism of the Darthan overlords gathered, hoping to flee through the narrow pass into still-defiant Signarm, the last independent Human realm. But the skies were thick with Orgelim, the large dark red crows who reported to their vicious masters. It was rare that any got past them to freedom and escaped retribution from the Darthim. Thonigar was a rare place where Romal's notorious reputation was not held against him.

A petty crook named Ugane boasted to Romal of holding the "Lion's Eyes" which he had obtained by murdering two Dartha couriers. These emerald talismans (which neutralized spells) were valuable because they allowed the bearers to travel freely around Dartha-occupied lands without being detected by Darthan crow spies; they would be priceless to the refugees stranded in Thonigar.

Ugane had hoped to sell the gems at the tavern but he was certain the Darthim had found out about his doings, so he persuaded Romal to hold them. Before he could meet his buyers, Ugane was arrested by the local city guard under Captain Anthruhago, the unabashedly corrupt hireling of the Darthim. Ugarte died horribly under Darthan torture but before he could reveal that Romal had the Lion's Eyes. Romal hid the gems within the hollow hilt of his sword. The Mongrel pondered his next move in this dangerous game.

II.

Then the reason for Romal's bitter nature, his former lover Neldil, returned to the town. Romal was stricken to see Neldil. Adding to his distress, she was accompanied by her husband, Barkul, a renowned Human resistance leader. The two needed the Lion's Eyes to escape to Signarm as soon as they could, because Dartha Kje Stalminor had come to Thonigar to find Barkul.

When the disguised Barkul made inquiries, he met with the shady Red Agartham, an underworld figure and employer of the late Ugame. It was Red Agartham who explained that the Lion's-Eyes had been crafted by the great Danarkan mystic, Walimbe himsef. Agartham divulged his suspicion that Romal had the Lion's Eyes and offered great wealth to get them. He had sought them for many years. Barkul returned to Garan's cafe that night to beg for the Lion's Eyes. Romal refused to confirm he had them.

III.

Later, Neldil confronted Romal in the deserted café; when he refused to give her the talismans, she threatened him with a dagger but then confessed that she still loved him. She explains that when they met and fell in love in Emaryl, Evaho's only city two years ealier, she believed her husband had been killed while attempting to escape from a Darthan torture camp. Their affair had been passionate and under the ominous shadow of the coming Darthan takeover. While preparing to flee with Romal from the city at the last minute, Neldil had learned Barkul was alive but seriously injured and in hiding. Distraught, she left Romal without explanation to find her wounded husband. He thought she had abandoned him and hardened his heart beyond sympathy for any living thing.

Romal's bitterness faded as he heard her story. He agreed to help if she would stay with him after Barkul leaves. When Barkul unexpectedly showed up, having narrowly escaped a city guard raid on a Resistance meeting, Romal had a friend spirit Neldil away. Barkul, aware of Romal's love for Neldil, tried to persuade him to use the Lion's Eyes to take her to safety.

So both Barkul and Neldil were willing to sacrifice themselves if it meant the other would escape to safety. A deep pain he had never felt before gnawed at Romal. He realized he himself had never known love, only a mixture of last and amiability. There was more to the Human heart than he had ever suspected.
IV.

When the city guard detained Barkul on a flimsy charge, Romal persuaded Captain Anthruhago to release him by promising to set him up for a much more serious crime: possession of the Lion's Eyes. To allay Captain Anthruhago's suspicions, Romal explained that he and Neldil would leave for Signarm, leaving Barkul behind. At the pass, Romal had two fresh horses with bags of provisions waiting. When Anthruhago tried to arrest Barkul as arranged, Romal forced him at sword-point to assist in their escape. At the last moment, Romal made Neldil mount the horses with Barkul, telling her that neither of them would live with any self-respect if she stayed behind under his coercion. Stalminor Kje, tipped off by Captain Anthruhago, rode up with two Darthan minions.

When Stalminor ignored Romal's warnings and attempted to take the horses, Romal stabbed him dead with a single thrust. He was astonished to see Red Agartham slaying the other two Darthim.

Agartham explained he had been trapped in the town but had not dared risk angering the Darthim by trying to leave. Romal agreed that neither of them could remain in Thonigar after this. While the Lion's Eyes were still blinding the crow spies, they should flee.

Agartham suggested to Romal that they should join the Free Men Volunteers in Skandor. As they walked away into the storm, Romal mentioned how haunted he was by Barkul's crusade against the Darthim. He envied the man's courage, Agartham asked, "Have you been looking for something bigger than yourself?"

"The Devil's Dummy"

2/26/1935

I.

Wrapping his scarf more tightly around his lower face, Jack Denver quickened his pace down the deserted dark streets. The double life of a mystery Man was for the birds. As tired as he was, he knew there was no hope of getting any sleep until he went where the Cat's-Claw was tugging him. It seemed clearer every day that he hadn't found the mysterious talisman, it had found him.


After a few more minutes, he realized he had to turn right onto East 18th Street. It would have been difficult to put into words how the Cat's-Claw hanging from his neck was pulling at him in the direction it wanted him to go. To Denver, there was a great discomfort, a physical ache, that eased up when he complied.

Absolutely no one was in sight on this heartless winter night. At a corner streetcars, he tugged up his coat sleeve to check his watch. Three-forty AM! Once the restless nervous energy from the talon left his body, he was going to useless the next day.
___________

Between his legs, a ropy tail whipped back and forth furiously.

"Let me guess," sang out Little Nick in that infuriating nasal voice, "As I sort of live and don't breathe, you seem to be that Lion Man the papers speculate about."

The great beast opened his muzzle and said quite clearly, "Duff Grady. I used to like your show."

"You can TALK? Really?"

"I want some answers now," rumbled the Lion Man, stalking closer.

"You won't get them!" laughed the Dummy.

"Not from you." The weird beast ignored Little Nick and bent over the old man tied to the chair. "I won't sugarcoat it, Grady, you don't have long. Talk. Go out with a clear conscience."

As the black and white patrol cars screeched to a halt at a rather crooked angle against the curb, Denver stowed the rubber mask away in the lining of his suit jacket. Logically, he knew he would be better off wearing a plain cloth mask which would be thinner and easier to hide but he couldn't help being a little flamboyant. Denver felt a strong irrational urge to make some kind of costume for the Lion Man like heroes wore on the covers of those pulp magazines."

Two uniformed cops got out. Acting excited and out of breath, Denver ran up to them and waved his press card. "I'm from the MESSENGER, boys, what's the scoop? What were those shots?"

The older officer fixed a sour gaze on him. "Out walking at four in the morning, are you?"

"Recovering from a romance that went sour," Denver replied blithely. "Here's my credentials, now how about some juicy details?"

"Stow it! Settle down until after we go check it out." The officer was an older italian man with a heavy five o'clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes. "Frank, you ready?"

Frustrated and unhappy, Jack Denver watched the broad blue backs go through the door. His hat was still up there. He had always been careful to remove any possible clues from his clothing, whether laundry marks or matchbooks or scraps of paper. Everything he wore when going out on a possible Lion Man case was second hand and anonymous. This just meant he was out one perfectly good hat.

Against the drawn curtains of the window above, black silhouettes moved and he could hear their voices but not make out any words. Suddenly Denver wondered what the cops would make of that man's story. The guy had witnessed the horrifying Lion Man and had seen a ventriloquist dummy walking around by himself. The cops were no doubt rolling their eyes and tapping their own temples to indicate their opinion of the man's mental state.

Denver suddenly realized he was exhausted. The adrenalin driving him had burned out. He became aware of the freezing night air a, but he had to stay here and maybe snatch an exclusive story for the MESSENGER. A reporter's life was not an easy one. What a night. He couldn't escape the memory of that Dummy moving around. It hadn't been a midget with a mask, he was sure of that much, but it hadn't seemed to be anything living either. And what was Duff Grady's story? Why had those mugs been pounding on that man up there. Denver shot out a cuff and checked his watch, finding it was four-twenty AM. He shrugged. Being a mystery man was not as glamorous as the pulp magazines made it seem.

10/8/2000

"ATRUMO THE CONQUEROR I: Fragile Shorelines'

3/3/2015

I.

Snow-topped mountains were made blue by distance. High on the wind-scoured hill overlooking the harbor, the King's Grand Hall stood on a foundation of huge stones. The dark wood of the outer walls was elaborately carved with abstract shapes in recurring patterns. On the landing by the main door, two posts rose up sixty feet with green flags snapping in the stiff breezes. The one to the right as one approached bore the rearing outline of Skandor's Standing Bear, while the other showed a front view of a bear's head. This was the emblem of the province Kyldal.

Long before the three KDF members made it up the flag-stoned road to the front approach of the hall, guards in mail coats and wielding long barb-headed spears had lined up at the bottom of the twenty-three stone steps. They seemed to be typical Skandorin, tall brawny men with dark blond hair in braids and thick, close-cropped beards. The pale skin, often freckled, was reddened by exposure to the whistling winds at this altitude.

Past the humbler thatched-roof huts and cottages of the villagers, past three lesser Halls where the noblemen and trades masters resided, up to the Grand Hall itself they strode. Jeremy Bane stopped at the base of the wide steps with Haley and Jocelyn on either side. Against the blue of the morning sky and the white snow, his grey eyes reflected even paler than usual.

One of the guards called down, "Halt and be recognized."

"We are Knights of Tel Shai seeking audience with King Birgun,"answered Bane. "The Dire Wolf stands before you with his teammates."

"Well do we remember you, Dire Wolf, from dark days not long gone," the center guard replied. "You bear no swords, no spears nor axes nor other tools of war, as any eye can tell."

All three were being subjected to intense stares but, as was expected, it was Jocelyn Garimara who was the focus of most scrutiny. A short slender Aboriginal woman from the northwest near Wyndham, her smooth dark skin and distinctive facial features were like nothing these insular Skandorin had ever imagined. Their open curiosity didn't bother her. She had long since gotten used to it during her travels.

"And you, maiden" and here he pointed his weapon at the other young woman, "Beneath that cloak is no weapon?"

Haley Lawson threw back the heavy dark blue cloak to show she was wearing incongruous sneakers, blue shorts and a long-sleeved white pullover. "I'm armed with only my smile," the Windcatcher laughed. She was being less than honest, of course, because fastened on a choker around her neck was the ancient Air Gem crafted by Malberon ages ago. But her policy was never to volunteer that information.

The Dire Wolf held out the seven-inch combat knife strapped to his thigh without comment. None of them had brought the anesthetic dart guns or regular pistols. Skandor was a realm where gunpowder and other technology would not function.

Bane did not mention the matched ensalir daggers he wore under his sleeves. Expensive covers of molded silicone made the knives feel exactly like normal Human muscle even to a trained searcher. He had no intention of revealing any of this. Those daggers were made of silver ensorcelled by the immortal Eldanarin themselves and had slain creatures of the night of every description. The Dire Wolf stepped back and waited while a preteen page in rough tunic and hose ran into the hall.

In mere seconds, the boy galloped back outside and bowed his head to the visitors. "Our Lord says he will see you at once," he said and gestured with both hands for the strangers to follow him. While three of the guards remained by the doorway, one accompanied the Tel Shai knights into a cavernous single room supported by flanking rows of massive pillars and well lit by many high narrow windows covered with oiled cloth. Tables for dining had been pushed back against the walls with their benches. In each corner of the the Hall, a fireplace roared and crackled with hunting hounds lying in comfort near the heat.

On a raised dais, upon a wooden throne inscribed with many esoteric runes and images, sat King Birgun son of Evanmir. Past sixty but dstill athletic and imposing of build, he watched with sharp perceptive eyes at the three. Birgun was dark for a son of Skandor, with glossy brown hair that reached his shoulders, but considerable white strands mixed in.

His heavy robe was trimmed at collar and cuffs with brown bear fur, and his crown was of stiff leather set with a white cameo of the bear head. "Come be admitted, Dire Wolf, Jeremy Bane of the outside world, both you and your comrades."

With Jocelyn and Haley, Bane bowed deeply but did not drop to one knee as was customary. Their status as Tel Shai knights set them apart from many courtesies and protocols. "Hail, Birgun, King of Skandor. It's been years since the last time I was in your land and, once again, I regret that I come with grim tidings to bear."

"I would expect no less. Dire Wolf! You are known to race ahead of every breaking storm, and there are those who say you bring said storms with you."

"Your late father, respect to his name, must have related tales of what urgencies brought me here and how we stood together to defend this land."

Standing slightly behind the throne, an old woman with white hair done up under a tiara stared. Her right eye bulged out considerably larger than its mate, red-veined and hot. She whispered, "When has great misfortune come to our land without this Dire Wolf arriving before it? Does he bring warning or does he bring the evils with him?"

Before Birgun could respond, Bane said, "Has your majesty received word on the fall of Thamulkor?"

To his credit, the king kept his face from betraying any reaction and his words were cautious also. "What word do you bring me, Dire Wolf?"

"That realm has been overrun completely," Bane answered. "The cities have stopped burning because there is nothing left to burn. The Almadim were slaughtered. Some of the smaller female children were carried off. You can guess why. Even the cattle and sheep and goats were cut down."

"How is all this known to him?" hissed the old woman from directly behind the king.

Not looking toward her, staring directly at Birgun, Bane asked, "Who sits on the throne of his fathers, ruling Skandor by grace of great Jordyn Himself? And to whom should I speak?"

That stung the king's pride. He sat up straighter and raised his head. "One land, one king. That is the law. Give a name to these invaders and their leader, if you can."

Jeremy Bane had the quiet self-assurance from a lifetime spent in the Midnight War. He did not raise his voice but remained steady. "It's a genuine army, tens of thousands strong. Humans serve as its herders and whip hands but the soldiers are not fully alive. They are Ghulgols, 'the living filth,' And their master is the Melgar conqueror Atrumo."

( the rest of the story )

"The Other People In My Head"

1/22/1944
.

I.

Kelly O'Connor had long dreaded being unmasked when she was out as the Green Devil. Yet now it had happened. She was again tied securely to yet another solid wooden chair in another basement lit by a single naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. The two abductors had removed her motorcycle helmet with the short curved horns she had glued on it herself and then yanked off the silk kerchief she wore as a mask under that. Her wavy hair, of the true blazing red hue, dropped down to her shoulders. In a lovely oval face with a snub upturned nose and full lips, two bright green eyes narrowed in anger. She bit her tongue to stop from cursing.

The larger of the two men was a massive hulk four inches over six feet in height, with rounded muscles any blacksmith would envy. The short black hair was going white over the ears. That battered face likely bore little resemblance to how it appeared earlier in life. He was wearing a plain black suit without a tie, the top buttons undone.

Yet his voice was gentle and mellow, not at all the coarse tone his appearance might suggest. "I don't know about you, Shrink, but I don't recognize her at all."

The man addressed as Shrink nodded. He was much shorter and out of shape, with protuberant brown eyes and a nasal Hungarian-accented voice. He met Kelly's furious glare with a detached amusement. "Neither do I, Etruscan. But then, what are the odds we would know her? Unless her picture had appeared in the newspapers or magazines, the chance her face would be familiar was very small."

This lifted Kelly's spirits slightly. With the sublime confidence she had in her abilities and in her luck, she was entertaining no doubt that she would get out of this mess. There was almost no chance that these two would ever happen to run into her again out of all the millions of people in the New York City area.

Her riding boots, black trousers and dark green leather jacket with the white trident on its back had not been disarrayed. Aside from having been wrestled to the ground on the back street and carried down here to be tied up, she had not been abused. This didn't guarantee mistreatment wasn't coming up, of course. She had a definite feeling these two were working for someone higher up in the badlands.

"On the other hand, your unfortunate mug does ring a bell with me," she offered. "Mick Galway, right? Former heavyweight champion with quite a list of victories until you went up against Jumping Jeff Hewitt. Those newsreels between the cartoons and the B picture showcased you an awful lot."

"No, you got me wrong," scoffed the big man, folding arms across that massive chest. "I'm the Etruscan. I get by doing some strongarm stuff. You know, roughing up welshers who don't pay their debts, breaking a leg or a wrist of some store owner who doesn't want to pay for protection. When people hear the Etruscan is on his way, they change their minds and cooperate real fast."

Since these men did not know her, to her great relief, Kelly was not about to reveal that she was a crime reporter for the NEW YORK MESSENGER. This man absolutely was Michael 'Mick' Galway. She had scored a scoop on other papers when Mick had been arrested shortly after he had lost the title. The verdict was involuntary manslaughter with consideration of self-defense as a mitigating factor but she had found witnesses to the barroom brawl who had said otherwise. In her opinion, a drunk and belligerent Galway had struck a man with no provocation and killed him with one blow. Those meaty scarred paws were deadly against normal untrained men.

But there was no reason to mention any of this. Let him claim to be someone called the Etruscan if he liked, it didn't matter considering the situation. Instead, she forced a smile. "If you're hoping for a juicy ransom, good luck. Not only don't I have any money, I don't even KNOW anybody with any money."

The creepy little man addressed as Shrink allowed a smile to show on his face for a second. "Fortunately, we know some people who do possess considerable funds. There is one gentleman willing to part with five thousand dollars to have the Green Devil handed over to him. He resents the trouble you have caused."

"When trouble troubles me, I trouble trouble," Kelly laughed. If only these two would leave her alone for a minute, she was certain she could get loose. When first starting her vigilante career, she had sewn a single-edged razor blade in each cuff of her leather jacket. After many hours of practice, she was able to cut through bonds holding her wrists behind her. It cost a few nicks each time of course. But the way this joe and his palooka were standing, they would immediately spot any suspicious moves on her part.

"So I'm getting on some crime lord's nerves, huh? About time I was noticed. How did the Spinner of Webs know where to find me?"

"Never heard of any Spinner of Webs," the Etruscan replied.

"Oh, not him. Of course. I'm sure it's Baron Shogren, I've been wrecking his elaborate schemes for years now."

"No, it's not..." began the giant but he was shushed by the smaller man.

"Right now, I need to talk to Mick," Shrink said. Not getting any response, he repeated the phrase with variations over and over. "Hello, is Mick there? I'd like very much to speak with you, Mick. I need to talk to Mick. Mick, can I see you?"

To Kelly's horror, the big Etruscan slumped and bowed his head. His voice loosened, his eyes turned cloudy. His voice became that of a different person altogether. "Huh? What? Aw hell, Shrink, how long was I away this time?"

"Only a day," Shrink reassured him. "No harm done, Mick."

( the rest of the story )

"The Speaking Head of Malberon"

4/11/1218 DR

I.

The great central peak of Kylmor, white with snow that seldom left it entirely, could be seen thrusting up above the horizon. The rest of Androval could not be seen from this island, Nothing stirred on the Cold Sea but the shadows of seagulls wheeling overhead.
Down by the chill water, a shaggy black-haired head broke the surface. The sullen eyes, blue with strange amber specks, watched suspiciously for a moment. Then, heaving up from the Sea, Romal the Mongrel squeezed water from his tunic and pants before moving forward. Behind some boulders, he unrolled the travel cloak he had tied up behind his neck and took the heavy boots from where he had laced him to his belt. The straight sword, two feet long in its wooden scabbard, had been strapped across his back and he returned it again to its customary place at his right hip. It was a Signarm weapon with a blade one inch across, honed sharp on both edges.

Romal stood listening for another minute before starting to move up the slope from the rocky shore. With his wet hair tucked back, the strange pointed ears could be clearly seen. No Races other than the Darthim and Eldanarin had ears like that, except Romal who was unique unto himself. On either side of his neck, three parallel gill slits had closed up so tightly that only close examination under good light could have perceived them. Romal had needed no boat. He had swum the miles from Androval underwater.

Stealthily as any stalking beast, the Mongrel made his way up toward the level area of this island. The dark tower of stone blocks, eighty feet high, was surrounded by smaller wooden sheds containing workshops or used for storage. Head high pyramids of coal still stood at intervals. The pounding of hammers on metal and the low voices of craftsmen laboring together had ceased. From the tower itself, no black smoke rose to be dissipated by the salty winds from the sea. The fires had been allowed to die down.

Watching from his concealment, the Mongrel grew more unsettled than before. Had Malberon died? Had he stopped his crafting of the legendary weapons and talismans at last? Would there be no more Element Gems or Seven Swords or Brightbolts? Or had the greatest artisan of the Melgarin merely moved on to carry on his work somewhere else?

Surprised there had not been a single sentry watching from the shore facing Androval itself, Romal realized he had not seen anyone on this island. It was not at all what he had been expecting. He had to find out what this meant. Boldly as if invited, he stood up in plain sight and marched across the stained and chipped stone flagging of the courtyard to the open door of the tower.

Carved in the stone block over that door was a life-sized relief of a rearing horse.. the White Horse which the Melgarin revered and which they used to blazon everything from royal banners to war shields to infant's cradles. Clasping one hand on his sword hilt, Romal peered inside the opening and saw nothing but unused wooden tables and counters which had been stripped off all tools and scraps.

With an unexpected melancholy, Romal moved into the room. This abandoned tower, dark and silent where it recently had been filled with heat and activity, seemed like a dead thing to him. Where was Malberon? Was Romal too late?

The faintest scrape of a slipper on stone alerted him. Still gripping the hilt of his sword, the Mongrel swung over behind one of the pillars which supported the ceiling and readied for any attack. But it was a youth, unarmed, who had entered through the inner door. The la had not seen more than eleven years. He was both short and thin, his stick-like arms and legs exposed by the plain linen smock he wore. Thick untended black hair hair stuck out wildly over a narrow face.

"A thief will find little here that is worth his time," the boy said.

"I do not come to steal but to give warning. The most vile warlocks of this Age are on their way in their serpent-boats. Torture and anguish are the cargo they bring."

The youth did not react to the news. He faced an unknown intruder with as little interest as if he had found a mouse searching for crumbs. "They had better hurry then, if they hope to torment my master. Come this way."

Following the boy, Romal passed through a narrow corridor to a room little more than a nook large enough to hold a low platform piled with wool blankets. A single candle stub guttered on a shelf to show the wreckage of what had once been a mighty man. The blanket pulled up to his chin outlined a shrunken body still of more than average height but now reduced to little more than bones covered with skin and sinews. The exposed head was surrounded by a wild mane of white hair, the clean-shaven face so wrinkled that the features were hard to distinguish. But deep blue eyes opened as Romal entered.

"Ah. Good day," said the ancient one. "Please excuse me for not rising and offering you food or drink. I am not at my best."

"Master," the boy said, dropping to one knee. "I found him in the common room seconds ago."

"Thank you, Sirion. I was not expecting company. You must be Romal, called by some the Mongrel. Your features are so distinctive. The creation of Tollinor, are you not? A Human body with gifts from each of the Seven Races?"

Moving closer, Romal gazed down with a pity he seldom felt. His life had left him hardened and uncaring for the most part. "It is so."

"The strength of a Troll, the speed of a Snake man. Wiser than an Eldanar, crueler than a Dartha. I believe that is how the campfire songs go?" asked the withered face.

"It is so," repeated the Mongrel. "And I am addressing the great Malberon?"

"Heh, what is left of me. Human flesh and blood was never meant to live twelve hundred years. We are not the Eldanarin. I am a tree which will bring forth no more leaves, a stream which has gone dry. At least my greatest creation has been realized in these end days."

Surprising himself, Romal sank to one knee beside the swaddled old man. "More than all your ensorcelled weapons and talismans? What could this final product of your skill be?"

The weary eyes turned toward the small boy who stood in the doorway. "Sirion."

( the rest of the story )

"Wasn't Tomorrow Wonderful?"

12/3-12/6/1953


I.

"I'll do a lot for my Uncle Sam, but I do NOT want to be an executioner."

Darby Monroe glanced up from where he was sprawled back in an overstuffed easy chair. Like his partner, he was a trim athletic man just thirty years old, wearing a dark suit with the necktie loosened and the top button of the dress shirt undone. But Darby was black with very dark skin and thoughtful, rather sad eyes under close-cropped hair. He folded the local newspaper WELT NEUIGKEIT and sat up straighter. "I'd do it for you, but we both know your hands are steadier. That's the secret of our exemplary teamwork. I'm good with languages and negotiations, you're the best when it's time for fists and chases."

"But a man has to draw the line somewhere," snapped Hal Beckwith. He was a deceptively mild-voiced man with crisp brown hair and dark eyes. Being underestimated had saved his life in many desperate moments. Getting up off the double bed which had been pushed right up against the window, he glared down at the Rowling SN23 sniper rifle he had painstakingly assembled and checked out that morning. It only remained to wait until dusk when Bruckner would walk out of that dreary building across the street. "I love my country. We both do. Murdering someone wasn't what I signed up for."

"Your Boy Scout uniform doesn't fit any more," Darby told him.

"Easy for you to take so lightly, being all dismissive and blithe."

"Being dismissive and blithe is what I'm all about." Darby opened the newspaper again. "Harold my compadre, I'm not going to spend the day talking you into doing your job."

Hal paced across the dingy hotel room and stopped to stare at his reflection in the wide mirror that stretched across the dresser top. "I suppose it should help that Bruckner is such an evil man."

"Oh, he's a swine, all right. During the war, he pulled so many double crosses that he got more men killed for both sides than some battles. Ice water for blood, cash register for a heart, that's Herr Gerhart Bruckner for you."

Standing well back, Hal stared out through the narrowly parted windows down across the street. "Look at all that rubble. Whole city blocks are still nothing but ruins. Sometimes it seems like nothing will ever get back to normal."

Darby made his voice softer with an effort. "We were spared a lot, you know. We had an ocean on either side to protect us. Sure, there was Pearl Harbor but America itself wasn't blitzed down to the dirt."

"Remember all the speeches about the bright new future that was dawning? Instead, we're just stuck in a new kind of war that might go on forever. I miss the glorious promises of the new Atomic Age."

"Wasn't tomorrow wonderful?" muttered Darby.

The two men had a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Two years of traveling together had gotten them used to pauses while they thought things over. Finally, Hal said, "I liked my article in the new issue of SNAPSHOT."

"How's my photography coming along?"

"Better all the time. You know, we really do spend time all over Europe. We've been here in the American sector for three days now. Maybe the chief should let us write a bit ourselves and take a few pictures as long as we're here."

That provoked an actual laugh from Darby Monroe. "I'll tell you something, man, I can't see the Chief allowing us to start mixing up our job with our cover."

"It'll keep us out of trouble when we're not busy."

"No, no, you see, he'd want to send us to pay off a mole or something, and we'd be saying, sorry we have a deadline. We have to come up with ten thousand words today about how they're cleaning the Acropolis."

Hal persisted, "I think it's worth a try, Darb. Our articles start winning awards, we get better assignments, our Agency work starts getting cut back..."

"Part time spies? Come on, man, you know it's not that easy. We've done too much dirty work already. Maybe in thirty years if we make it, we might get desk jobs sending out the next generation of eager clean-cut young suckers to die or die."

"Getting dark out," Hal said.

"Yeah. Let's get set up." Darby helped his partner prop the sniper rifle up on the boards they had placed across the bed, fastening it down in place, getting the infra-red scope calibrated. They didn't talk further until Hal was stretched out with his hand near the trigger guard and his free arm propping up his head.

Across the street, a shell of a former apartment building loomed morosely in the gathering dusk. There were not enough working street lamps in this part of the city. In front of that burnt-out structure, jagged chunks of masonry and lengths of charred wood presented a short no-man's-land to the sidewalk. Much of Berlin was still like that. Much of Europe was mere wreckage and debris only slowly being cleared away.

"We're sure Bruckner's in there?" asked Hal barely above a whisper.

"As sure as we are of anything in this game. It's a mess. We know the Reds intercepted his message to have his transport pick him up there tonight but our big thinkers have decided Mother Russia wants to capture him and pick his brains. He's a uranium expert, he's valuable in our hellbent race to blow up the world."

"Can't let anything slow that up," Hal grumbled. "Bigger and better bombs. I swear, this planet's going to end looking like the Moon once the bombs start dropping."

"He absolutely won't work for us or England. Hates the West, too bad. Better concentrate now." Darby stepped back and crouched beside the bed, fiddling with high powered binoculars. "If it happens at all, it'll happen right quickly."

"Wish I was as cold and heartless as those KGB guys are supposed to be.." Hal said as if to himself. "This would be so much easier."

Darby muttered, "Is that.. on the roof..?. Get down!" He leaped forward, seizing Hal by the body and yanking hm off the bed onto the floor. The window blew in with a storm of glass fragments as the sniper rifle spun away. The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed from across the street.

( the rest of the story )

"Hell Must Be Full"

6/26-6/28/2019

I.

"Please excuse my unfortunate appearance," said John Burroughs Delver as Timothy was ushered into an office spacious enough to accommodate a softball game complete with bleachers. Under subdued fluorescent lighting, five staff members were working at separate desks. "I am afflicted with acromegaly. It's a glandular disorder. Modern treatments have slowed its progress and managed to keep my blood pressure stable but I'm still in some discomfort."

Trying not to stare and failing, Timothy Limbo saw that this incredibly wealthy developer was indeed grotesque. Several inches over six feet in height, Delver had thick arms and legs which ended in noticeably oversized hands and feet. Even the skillfully tailored dark blue Brioni suit could not conceal the barrel chest and unnaturally wide shoulders. Delver's misshapen, lumpy face had evidently received some plastic surgery with only middling success. The lantern jaw and protruding brow ridge were still bizarre, and even the excellent dentures and black wig were still dentures and wig when seen at close range.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Timothy said, offering his hand, which Delver engulfed in a rough-skinned paw nearly the size of a boxing glove. Dreading a bone-splintering grip, Timothy was relieved that Delver hardly closed his giant hand at all before disengaging.

Next, Delver demonstrated genuine authority by not having to raise his voice to get immediate obedience. "Everybody, take a ten minute break. Ava, hold any calls but do it from the outside office. Mr Limbo, please make yourself comfortable."

Four associates got up from their work stations at separate desks and briskly followed executive secretary Ava Morales out through the door. Timothy pulled out a chair next to a side table holding pewter trays of Danishes and bowls of fruit as well as a needlessly complex espresso machine. Delver promptly sat down facing him.

Despite his brand new conservative cut black suit with powder blue shirt, despite having shaved twice that morning and having had his normally abandoned mop of yellow hair cut and styled the day before, Timothy Limbo still felt like an oaf from the wilderness in that environment. It wasn't just the scale and layout of the office that unsettled him, it was the unobtrusive way all the furnishings were high quality. That was an original oil painting of a mountain with the Milky Way blazoned behind it and he could make out Simone Latrelle's famous signature in the lower right corner. From what he had read, that painting had been coveted by art fanciers for decades with bidding high into the millions.

"I have to admit I hadn't heard of your Kenneth Dred Foundation before yesterday," Delver began. "When the authorities strongly recommended I meet with you, naturally I had an assistant do some quick research."

Timothy's Kumundu training gave him skill at reading body language, micro-expressions and subvocal tremors. He decided right away that Delver was lying and trying to hide it. Worse, the man was boiling with anger and a barely repressed murderous urge. Why? He didn't know. The feeling of peril was like being in a room with a snarling tiger. But Tim kept his own face bland and his voice politely mild. "We're not a well-known organization."

"There are many wild rumors about your KDF, though. They read like scripts for horror movies or perhaps thrillers. It was two agents of the FBI's Department 21 Black who came here and advised me to meet with you." Delver shook his head in mock disbelief. "To be honest, they are another group whose activities are hard to believe."

"Yeah, our areas overlap," Tim said. "Mr Delver, I'm not going to try to convince you about the truth regarding the supernatural. My guess is the Midnight War is going to do all the convincing necessary. It all ties in with your new concert arena in New Jersey."

"Oh, do go on. Are you going to tell me my three hundred million dollar Stentor Arena has been built over a forgotten Indian burial ground?"

There was no humor in Timothy's voice. He was by nature a rather mild young man, but now the dark blue eyes were intense. "SOMEthing is going on, sir. For the past year, while construction was going on, households in the vicinity have been complaining of strange noises underground."

"Moles, presumably, if not mere imagination. Coffee?"

"No, thanks. These digging noises go on late at night, sounding as if they are coming from a considerable depth. Some people have felt vibrations underfoot when out in their yards. Of course, your project hasn't been shown to have any possible connection."

"Of course not," Delver responded with amusement. "The plumbing and electrical work was completed long ago. All that is being done now is cosmetic touches, paint and windows. Tell me, Mr Limbo, what exactly do you think is the problem?"

"Trolls."

"What? I don't spend much time online but even so I've encountered anonymous comments designed to rile people up. They are annoying but hardly the sort of people to be digging underground for months at a stretch."

"No, sir, I mean real Trolls. The creatures who inspired the legends. They are semi-human brutes with incredible strength and endurance. Most are the Digger type, five feet tall and not much threat. But the warrior Trolls grow up past seven feet tall and are strong enough to tear gorillas apart. It takes a lot of bullets to hurt them and they love to fight with stone axes and hammers."

Jonathan Burroughs Delver sat up straighter and clasped his hands in front of him, obviously flustered. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short, Mr Limbo, I do have a lot of business to attend to today.."

"I haven't told you the worst yet." Timothy leaned forward and his voice lowered. "Trolls farm mushrooms in their tunnels and they often trap small game or gather fruit and nuts and roots. But their favorite food walks on two legs."

( the rest of the story )