Hello everyone. I know it’s been a year since I shared my story. Everything that has happened, was so hard to keep up with, I wanted to wait until it was all over to share the rest. Here is the beginning of your closure.
Casey Jones.
There she stood, feigning fearlessness, but her trembling arms gave her true demeanour away.
She scowled, her deep smile lines protruding around the sides of her mouth.
She did not look happy to see me. If anything, more confused and angry.
”Who are you?” She barked defensively, hands practically glued to the bat.
My words failed me. I didn’t know whether to be overjoyed that Dustin’s dead girls were rising from the dead, or fucking terrified.
”What’s a matter wit’ ya? Huh? Cat got your tongue?” She shouted in what appeared to be a thick Brooklyn accent.
”C-Casey Jones?” I asked, standing like a deer in headlights.
I meekly stuck out my hand. ”I’m Fiona. Fiona Holiday.”
She stood, staring deeply at my now quivering hand. ”Hold up, that dead girls grave next to me? That’s you?”
I swallowed a lump in my throat.
”Christ,” she laughed manically. ”What’s going on here? Because I would really like to know,” she said, raising the bat behind her.
”Whoa whoa whoa. Hey. I was the first one to wake up,” I said, easing the bat from her hands.
”Alright blondie, why don’t you tell me how this all fuckin’ happened.”
”Okay, Casey. A couple days ago, I woke up in a coffin. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.. and I managed to claw my way to the surface. I don’t know how long that took. I noticed the bracelet on my arm...”
Casey glanced down toward her bracelet, and then at mine. Gold and engraved.
”Okay, so what?” She waved her hand, motioning me to get to the point.
”I looked around and noticed 5 more makeshift tombstones. Three to my left, and two to my right. You were the one directly to my left. I didn’t believe anything that was happening. I started to dig up your grave and...”
”I wasn’t in a nice little coffin like you,” she interrupted, finishing my sentence.
”...yeah. I grabbed your hand and saw the same bracelet on your wrist that was on mine. I realised that all 6 of us were victims of some man who-“
”Pfft. Man? You call the psycho who probably played poker with the night stalker and decided to kidnap underage girls a man? C’mon, blondie. Don’t humanise the fucker,” she quipped.
”Honestly, if he had the balls to show his face around here right now, I would make sure he can never jack off again.”
She blew a strand of fiery red hair away from her face.
”You didn’t see him?” I asked, remembering the shocking discovery I made in the first place upon arrival.
”Who? this ‘Dustin’ or whatever the fuck he calls himself? Goldilocks, if I did, do you really think he’d still be alive right now?”
”I smashed his head repeatedly with the very bat you’re holding in your hand right now. Then I left to seek shelter so I could figure out what to do...”
”Looks like I underestimated the strength in the size of you .”
This time, I shot her a look.
”What? You look like a daisy. Nothing wrong with it.”
”Anyway,” Casey continued. ”You didn’t go to the fuzz did ya?”
”No, of course not I-“
”Do you have any idea what they would do to us? Send us off to some science lab and attach us to machines, and experiment until they kill us. Heh. Sounds about right.”
”Anyway, if you smashed Dustin’s brains in, where the hell did he go? Don’t tell me he rose from the dead in seconds whereas for us it took fuckin’ years,” she scoffed.
”I’m not sure.. honestly, I thought I hit him good. Hard enough to be unconscious for a long time. He seemed to have recovered quick enough to up and run.”
” ‘Unconscious’ isn’t good enough. Comatose, or dead. Otherwise you didn’t do the job,” Casey sneered.
”Alright Merida, if you know what’s best, why don’t you go ahead and decide what to do next?”
”I’m no Scott Princess. I just wanna find the dude, properly bash his brains in, and go back home to my old man.”
”What about the other girls? What happens to them?”
”They’ll figure it out. If we take the problem out, they’ll be fine if or when they wake up.”
”Don’t be cold. You woke up a day after I did, and you died a year before me. What’s not to say.. err.. Vanessa Walters won’t wake up tomorrow? And Delilah Woods the next?”
”Vanessa Walters. Huh. That girl was a train wreck.”
She really had my attention now.
”How did you know her?”
”He took me 10 days before he killed her. She loved him to death. Even that, was an understatement. Girl had a big bad case of Stockholm syndrome. Gave me the heebie jeebies, but I felt bad for her. What can you do? If a sicko can easily take a girl in broad daylight. he can just as easily get into her head. But not mine!” She retorted.
”Right. I say we stay here tonight and see if there’s a chance that Vanessa wakes up tomorrow.”
”Are you nuts? I’m not staying another night in H.H Holmes’ Murder Castle. You picked the wrong girl to be stupid with.”
”You’re also the only girl with me right now. If we stick together, we can wake the others up and have a chance at finding Dustin.”
”How do you think this’ll help us find him?”
”Every girl must have different memories and experiences with him. Maybe he took them places, or told them things he never told the others. Was Vanessa his favourite?”
”Oh yeah. For sure. I went garbage diving while she got sugar cubes and TV dinners.”
”Haha. I’m serious, Casey.”
”Yeah. She seemed like the only girl who actually developed an obsessive attachment to him, just like he wanted. Don’t know why he killed her. He couldn’t get that from us.”
”Why did he kill her?” I asked with sadness in my voice.
”Look blondie, I just said I don’t know, alright? He was giving me more attention than usual one night, which I resisted, and she got a bit jealous. The next morning, she was gone and he told me he released her. I knew it was a fuckin’ lie, though.”
I started to laugh.
”What’s so funny?”
”You’re not at all what I pictured. Maybe you really were a different person before everything happened.”
”The hell is that supposed to mean?” she snapped.
”Casey, when I left yesterday up the mountain to find shelter, I hitchhiked and a man picked me up and drove me 5 miles to a woman’s shelter,”
”Your point?”
“I think he was your dad. Frank Jones?”
Her horror-ridden face softened for the first time.
”How- where is he? Does he still live with mom back at home?”
”He didn’t tell me much, just that his 15 year old daughter went missing in 2016. And, since you were killed in 2017, that would make you around 18 years old now..”
For once, there was no remark from Casey Jones.
She was stripped back down to a scared little girl, crying for her Father in the back of a van with a man she once trusted.
Flashback
Red and green girl, swinging on the swing set. She’s trying to see how high she can swing. The tips of her cherry worn-out sneakers touch the sky, and pierce through the clouds.
This is the most free she had ever felt, and the last, for the duration of her first life. Her perfect, undisturbed, cookie cutter life. A perfect cookie cutter family in a new cookie cutter neighbourhood. The friendly Californians brought pies to the Jones’ residence, who just moved from Brooklyn. A squeaky clean “Welcome” mat on the spotless swept ground.
Tuesdays are the worst. After enduring expensive piano lessons she was forced into for an hour, the swings at the local park were the only taste of relief she could get on a Tuesday.
A misplaced van with rotting colours enters the perfect scene. Paint chips that look like claw marks flash all over the sides. Tinted windows. Curiosity and Casey were never a good team. Red and green girl runs over to get a closer look. A hand snakes out the abruptly opened door, and takes the fifteen and pristine girl, scribbles all over her, until she’s fifteen, obscene, and dark all over.
She saw 5,475 sunrises and sunsets. She was supposed to live to her 30,000 goal.
The Cookie Monster took the crumbling cookie girl from the cookie cutter neighbourhood, and devoured Casey Jones until she was spat out bitter.
”Casey? Casey?” I asked. Fanning my hand in front of her face. She was in a daze. After getting a good look at her eyes, they weren’t intimidating at all. I know this now.
”Yeah. That’s my dad. After all these years I can still hear the way he snorts when he laughs. And the way he mispronounces ‘February’ “.
So she did have her memories back.
”What about you? You got folks?”
It stung.
”My mother ate a bottle of pills a few months after my disappearance, and my dad found her. I don’t know his whereabouts.”
”Ouch. I’m sorry. To be honest, my mother was pretty selfish. I wouldn’t be surprised if she forgot I existed.”
”Don’t be silly. A mother’s love is the most powerful thing.”
”Sometimes. Unless you’re their mirror, but a reflection of everything they wanted to be, and they secretly resent you for it.”
There was a long pause, until she broke the silence, once again.
”Fuck it. We’ll sleep here tonight. Inside by the door. But not at the same time, one of us has to keep watch in case Hannibal Lecter comes back. I’ll take first watch. I’m not going to sleep so soon again, for christ’s sake.”
I did a double take at the silver cross necklace she had hiding underneath her stained shirt.
”Is it the walking dead escapee outfit or the necklace?” she snorted, catching my gaze.
”Whatever. I got murdered, I came back to life. I ain’t never seen that in the whole goddamn bible. You best believe I’m a changed woman now.”
We shared a genuine laugh together. My first real laugh in years.
”Better get a head start on the rest blondie. I don’t think there’ll be coffee around here.”
”Right, right. Goodnight.”
”Awe man, don’t you go saying that, you’re closing your eyes for a hot minute. Stay alive for me until I wake you up.”
I sighed in response and rested my head on the wooden floor. I wondered how many bodies had been dragged across this floor. Had been killed on this floor. Had clawed at this floor. Had hit this floor. I sat upright, and decidedly positioned myself against the door frame instead. I’m safe.
I was shaken violently awake, an hour later.
There was a noise coming from outside in the backyard. Casey was the first to jump up, swinging the baseball bat blindly against the air in the darkened house. She crept toward the back garden, and I stayed low behind her.
She turned to me, gazed into my dilated pupils and put her finger against her lips. Our rapid breathing could make us heard.
She slid open the back door, and we stepped out onto the cool concrete.
We abruptly looked both ways, multiple times, before finding middle ground on the soft grass. In front of the other 4 graves.
”Come out, fucker,” she mumbled under her breath. My body betrayed me, and I coughed. Loud.
”Shit shit shit...” she said, the noise we were trying to locate ceased.
I mouthed ”I’m sorry” and we crouched down low. I couldn’t help but gaze down at my left. Vanessa Walters laying just beneath me. I was trembling so much, i could’ve swore it was the dirt beneath us.
”I think it was an animal,” Casey groaned.
”Hey! Earth to Fiona!” She said, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
”We got bigger problems missy.”
I pressed my hand against Vanessa’s tombstone one last time, and stood back up, stretching my arms above my head.
We walked back into the house and sat ourselves back down in the same spot as before. It was 1am. There was nothing left to do but wait.
I had nothing on my mind but Vanessa Walters, and the what if’s and the should haves. Would she stay loyal to Dustin? Or would she want revenge?
As for Casey, the girl was half hell. But, that night, the look in her eyes said she wished she never woke up

Chapter 20
The dream was always the same. Terra found herself in a familiar place. Behind the control stick of her MagiTek armor. The burning rubble of a bell tower sat ablaze behind her as she continued her attack deeper into the city. Terra did as ordered, opening fire on the city and laying waste to any soldiers dumb enough to attack her. She would quickly dispatch them with her Ifrit Canon. As she stomped through the city streets, the buildings burned and crumbled all around her. She was surrounded by death and chaos as she laid waste to the city. Terra watched in horror as the destruction burned all around her.
But then the dream changed as the world slowly faded into darkness. Terra looked down and could no longer see her armor. She stood there. Alone in the void.
“Terra…” The voice whispered.
The gentle voice returned. That familiar beacon in an otherwise unfamiliar world. Terra tried to remember where she heard the voice. As if it were an itch in the back of her mind, an itch that was near impossible to scratch.
“Who are you?!” Terra screamed.
“Listen well, and think clearly.” The voice replied in the distance, and then it was gone. Terra ran in the direction of the voice. Her feet were moving fast. She needed answers, the voice had them. But she noticed that no matter how fast she moved, she gained no ground. The darkness faded quickly as Locke shook her awake.
“Alright, pal. Up and at, em’.” He said with his grin. “We got a long hike ahead of us, so eat something, and let’s get going.”
The mood was different for Terra as they journeyed South. She found herself finally being able to relax a bit as Locke and Edgar let their guard down. Though they received no escort, word traveled to the scouts. Patrols were roaming the lands and protecting the king as he traveled on foot with his companions. Her worries melted away as she found herself marveling at the beautiful sights.
Figaro was truly a bountiful land. Though her castle stood in the great desert, her countryside was not nearly as unforgiving. The weather was pleasant. The gentle sunlight beamed down on the grassy fields. The sun warmed Terra’s bones and calmed her spirit. Figaro’s snow-capped mountains looked picturesque, like from an oil painting. Not like those dreadful, sharp peaks of Narshe. Even the rains were gentle, warm and sweet. She made it a point to listen carefully to the world around her. The chirping of birds, the winds moving through the grassy fields, even her own breathing. They brought some peace to her frantic mind.
Edgar was leading the party to a remote hunting cabin that King Edwin had insisted on building for his queen, though she seldom used it. Edgar’s mother believed that sleeping outside and tempering the body to the elements was the only way a king should live. “It toughens up the blood” She would insist. Edgar would always secretly wish for a hot meal and a soft feather bed, and although he was too proud to admit it, his dad was the same way during a hunt.
Edgar caught himself chuckling quietly as he looked back on better times. The Knuckleheads were making chaos, causing a ruckus and making the castle their playground. The King was wise and good. The Queen, loving and strong-willed. “But those days are long gone,” he thought. He looked away as the smallest bit of sadness washed past his eyes.
The sadness was short lived when the sight made them stop dead in their tracks. They looked to the sky to see a massive ship sailing across the heavens. Her wooden hull soared above as countless propellers briskly spun. The ship was flying west towards the sea. Terra’s jaw dropped at the sight. Locke looked on begrudgingly while the king looked on with wonder.
“What is that?” Terra finally asked.
“That is The Blackjack, the flying casino.” Edgar said. “She’s one hell of a machine. The only one of her kind.”
“Yeah, but the Captain is a real piece of work.” Locke said before spitting on the ground.
“What do you mean?” Terra couldn’t keep her eyes off the ship.
“He gallivants around the world, living the high life.” Edgar explained. “He spends his days wandering, wooing women, and hosting high stakes poker games.” Edgar looked sullen. “I tried to buy into his last game and he said that I wasn’t rich enough for his blood.”
“But you’re a king!” Terra exclaimed.
“Indeed. That is what I told him.” He said with a sad look in his eyes. “But he assured me I couldn’t afford his price.”
“Yeah.” Locke agreed. “We’d never have a chance in hell of getting on board that thing.”
“What I wouldn’t give to get on board that ship.” Edgar said longingly. “I’d love to find out what makes her tick.”
“I wonder what the world looks like from up there.” Terra said hopefully.
They stood in silence as a warm breeze blew in their direction, as if to beckon them on.
Chapter 21
“Are you going to play or are you going to fold?” Commissioner Allyn asked as The Captain swirled his fine crystal wineglass. “You’re wasting my time, and my time is not yours to waste”. Setzer loved playing against The Commissioner. The Nikeah Trade Union always had plenty of money to burn, and its leader knew how to light a fire. Setzer quietly looked at his cards and placed them on the table as he took a long drink as he pondered his next move.
The Commissioner was on a hot streak. They had been playing for the better part of 12 hours and he was getting nothing but aces and kings. The Captain, on the other hand, was getting rags. Setzer Gabbiani hadn’t had a good hand all night as he quietly looked at his chip stack. He was short. In one bad hand, he could lose everything, even his fine doublet, quite possibly. The very thought excited him. Setzer looked at Allyn and gave him a cool smile.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” Setzer teased. “I didn’t know you were in such a hurry to leave my establishment.”
“I’m in a hurry to buy your vessel.” Allyn shot back. “I’m in a hurry to get this thing back to Nikeah.”
“That would be most unfortunate for me.” The captain responded before taking a sip of wine. “So tell me, how exactly are you going to take my wings from me?”
“You saw the bet. Five million gold pieces. From the looks of your stack, I’d say you have a couple of thousand at best.” He pointed out before taking a drag from his cigar. “Now, unless you just so happen to have 5 million, you’ll need to put something up. Now I’m sure that all of the luxurious finery you surround yourself isn’t worth that kind of money. But, I bet this ship is.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet.” Setzer said with a smirk. “She’s worth a lot more than that.”
“Not to me.” He snapped. “Five million is the bet. Your time’s up. Make a decision, what are you going to do?”
Setzer sat up from his seat and revealed the inside of his doublet. Just inside the coat pocket sat three bar room darts made of solid gold. He pulled one out and studied it. He played with the dart for a moment as he pondered. He looked to a dart board hanging on the wall to his right, then back to Commissioner Allyn. The look of tension on his face was almost comical to Setzer. Allyn may have been a man of leisure, but he couldn’t relax worth a damn.
“Well, I suppose I’ll let fate decide.” Setzer’s violet eyes met with the Commissioner's as he stared him down. In a quick flash, without aiming, he threw the dart at the board and it landed with a satisfying thud. A smile grew on his face as he kept glaring at Allyn. After what seemed like an eternity. Setzer looked over to see the dart sitting dead center in the double bullseye.
“Well, there you have it.” He said with certainty. “Looks like I’ll call you.”
Commissioner Allyn laughed heartily. “You are out of your mind, Setzer!”
Setzer shrugged. “Well, there is no point to living life if you’re not willing to gamble with it. Now, are you going to show me your cards, or should I just take your money now?”
The commissioner showed his cards. “Full house.” He said with a satisfied smile. “Jacks and Nines.” He chomped down on his cigar and looked at Setzer’s face. It showed him absolutely nothing.
Setzer sighed. “I am afraid I only have two pair.” He flipped over his cards. “Pair of deuces with another pair of deuces.”
The Commissioner's smile disappeared as the rage took over. His face turning beet red as he violently stood up. “You dirty little cheat!” he accused.
“Come now, my friend.” Setzer said as he leaned back comfortably in his seat. “You know I would never stoop to such low standards just to win a card game. Lady luck merely flashed me her grin, nothing more. Now, I am more than happy to give you a chance to win back your money if you desire.”
“Win back? No. I’m taking it back, alongside your ship, as payment for your cheating!”
“Sir, I have tolerated your blustering for the better part of 12 hours,” Stezter stated firmly, “I have taken it in stride as this has been a friendly game up to this point. However, if you continue to make such disgraceful accusations, will deal with you in an equally disgraceful manner.”
“I’d like to see you try, you son of a-”
Setzer picked up the 2 of diamonds and threw it at the Commissioner. Allyn laughed at the thought of being attacked with a playing card. Then he felt the side of his head start to sting. Then it started to bleed. Then it started to hurt. Allyn groaned in pain as he put pressure on the bleeding wound across his head. Setzer got up and walked over to him.
“Well, I believe that is enough excitement for one evening, wouldn’t you agree?” He said casually.
“You’re a dead man, Setzer Gabbiani. Mark my words.” The Commissioner Threatened.
“No, you mark mine.” He retorted. “I was able to disable you with the 2 of diamonds. That was one card. Now I’d like you to take a moment and imagine what I could do with the remaining 51.” That was exactly what The Commissioner did. He looked at his hand, he was bleeding more than he thought. The thought of what could happen turned his stomach. And that is when he noticed the friendly and playful demeanor of the gentleman gambler had disappeared, a cold and merciless look had taken over.
“However, I am more than willing to overlook this misunderstanding. After all, what’s a mistake between friends?” Setzer offered as he extended his hand. “All I expect is an apology.”
The Commissioner took his hand quickly and stood up. “Of course, I apologize. What I said was out of line. You played a fine hand, Captain”
“Think nothing of it.” Setzer said as he painfully tightened his grip on The Commissioner's hand. “Now, if you ever forget your manners in my establishment again, I promise you will spend the last moments of your life trying to fly. Have I made myself clear, Commissioner?”
“Yes. Perfectly clear, Captain.” Allyn responded immediately.
Setzer’s playful smile returned as he led the Commissioner out of the poker room. “Marvelous!” He exclaimed. “Let us retire to the lounge for a refreshment as I ferry you home. Are you still a rum drinker?” Setzer asked.
“I am.” Allyn replied humbled.
“Excellent. Shall I set a course for Nikeah?”
“That would be fine. Thank you, Captain.” Allyn said.
Setzer went above deck to the ship’s wheel. A crescent moon was shining in the night sky above the clouds as he steered his ship east towards Nikeah. He smiled as he felt the wind breeze through his long, silver hair. Setzer knew exactly what he was going to do to celebrate.
First stop: Jidoor for the appetizer.
It had been a long day and he needed a proper meal. Then a hot bath with a thinly rolled cigar. And to end the evening with a gorgeous woman and a good night’s sleep in his suite at the Silver Lantern Inn. Then after a glorious breakfast, off to his tailor’s to get fitted for a new doublet and maybe a new suit.
Second Stop: The Opera House for an evening of refined culture. It was opening night and Setzer was looking forward to the show. Aria de Mezzo Carattere was always one of his favorites. And a blonde goddess had been chosen for the part of Maria. Rumors of her beauty had traveled far and wide. He had to see if the rumors did her justice. He made a mental note to drop by the Jewlers in the banker’s district to pick out a diamond ring.
Setzer found himself in the mood for romance.
​
Writer's note: Yeah...been a while...
There really isn't much of an interesting story about why it's been almost half a year since my last post. Sufficed to say, life happened. Well...that and a move to the opposite side of the country. I have been working on the story on and off for a little bit, but nothing ever major. Because I got hit with a horrible case of burnout.
Then I started listening to Nobuo Uematsu's "Awakening" and the spark came back for a little bit. I wanted to switch things up as Setzer is one of my favorite characters in the game. I always had an interesting view on his character and I hope to explore that more now that I've gotten off of my butt and started to do some work once again.
But if I'm going to do that, I REALLY need to pace myself. So I'm hoping to do 2 to 3 chapters a month, hopefully more. I sincerely apologize for the delays. I really want to keep working on this. Thanks to all of you who were reading this since the beginning. I'm hoping to keep working with this story as time goes on, so thanks for sticking with it!

Continuing...
“I say that you’re way the fuck out of line, Chuckles. Are you an educated, experienced, fully licensed and internationally renowned master blaster?” I asked.
“No, but…” he tried to continue.
“But nothing, Scooter.” I said, “What, other than your insane xenophobia and nationalism, causes you to come to such unfounded, not to say stupid, conclusions?”
He looked down at the deck. Evidently, he was not used to being challenged in such a manner. He realized he walked face-first into a metaphorical wood chipper.
“I’m waiting for your answer, pally.” I continued.
Still nothing. He was either deep in thought or ill at ease from newly soggy undergarments.
“Want to know why I chose what I did? Fine, meet back here in 15 damn minutes.”
He looks at me with a most perplexed, and ignorant, look on his face.
“Dax, Cliff? I need you.” I say.
We go back to the weapons locker and I explain my idea.
“Let’s load a case of typical, TYPICAL Chinese-made dynamite. Then let’s load a case of American C-4. Be very careful with that leaky Chinese shit. Wait one. I’ll do it if you want and you can handle the C-4.” I say.
“Ah, Rock; yeah. We’d appreciate it. You being the Pro from Dover, after all.” Cliff agrees.
“No worries”, I say, “I got this. You make me up a nice, tightly packed case of C-4. For demonstration purposes.”
I find a near-empty case of dynamite and begin to judiciously fill the thing with random samples of shitty and leaky Chinese manufactured and Korean not-too-well-cared-for dynamite.
This stuff was so incredibly shitty and poorly manufactured that even when leaking and nasty, it was nowhere near as dangerous as its Western counterpart. It was loaded with so much and many interstitials, like sawdust, diatomaceous earth, literal horseshit, and shredded newspaper, the nitro denatured itself to some degree as it oozed out.
Plus, in the non-climate controlled weapons locker; the high humidity, salt air, and poor circulation from the small open grate facing the sea, the nitro had desensitized somewhat and evaporated. It left only sticky, thin, fly-ridden films rather than the usual ‘waiting for a good reason to explode’ puddles.
It was in no way as twitchy as that locker back in Nevada. Oh, but be assured, it was still a shit show.
If I really wanted to, I could blow myself, this boat and all occupants into the next dimension rather easily, but it was nothing like that old locker back in that disused Nevada mine. I still needed to be scrupulously careful as there could potentially be puddles of the pale yellow, viscous liquid explody stuff, instead of the thin films I was mostly finding.
Either way, it required caution and judiciousness.
Nitro’s twitchy as fuck and the last thing I need is a dropped nail, blasting cap, or hunk of the rotten box falling into an errant nitro wet patch…
Extra attention was exercised.
Dax and Cliff are halfway through, and I’m still picking through the leaky, smelly bundles.
“Next time”, I mused to myself, “I‘m writing in a ‘Handling fucked-up explosives”-clause in my contract. No matter how much I’m being paid for this, it ain’t enough…”
We find a couple of expendable, dry-rotted ‘life preserver’ floaty-rings, upon which we secure both cases of explosives. They’re tethered with a rope and primed with a number of blasting caps.
I let the head local Korean crank examine both to ensure that I’m not trying to pull a fast one.
He did not notice the 3-pound bag of Tannerite (an impact-actuated explosive) I snuck in the middle of the box of Chinese TNT.
“Now. Satisfied that they’re equal?” I asked. “Nothing fishy here. Just dynamite in bundles, with caps. Then, over here, C-4 blocks with cap. OK?”
He was satisfied; but only after letting a couple of the shiny suit squad check as well.
“Well”, I smirked,” So much for your ‘covert observation’, asshole.” This guy was DPRK secret service or equivalent.
“Holy cold-pack cheese-food product fuck”, I cogitate, “They are so goddamned suspicious”.
I ask Dax to go over to the pilothouse and borrow the mauled AK-47 I saw hanging on the bulkhead there. They keep it for run-ins with cranky sharks, walruses, and lovesick blue-footed boobies evidently.
“OK, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll float each out, and I‘ll trail with demolition wire. Once we’re a few hundred meters out, you can press the big, shiny, green button and detonate your dynamite. I even used 6 blasting caps, to give each bundle its own. You saw that. We green?” I ask.
He was, although suspicious of what I had in mind. He agreed although he refused to use my terminology, the stodgy prick.
So float away the dynamite case we did.
The case of Chinese dynamite floated out and away from the boat, leaving an oily slick in its wake. As it got to around 200-225 meters or so, I requested a rendition of the Korean version of the Safety Dance, as it was just too fucking hilarious to watch.
Once completed, I handed Doubting Korean Thomas the detonator.
“Your turn, Tweedles”, I said, “Hit the button to spark off your “much-better-than-the-West’s” Oriental dynamite.”
He grabbed the detonator, gnashed a tooth in my direction, and mashed down on the big, shiny, green button with a vengeance.
PFftt! PAH-foof! fuff
There was a cheery little pop, a puff of acrid smoke, and not much else.
Let it be said from the onset that I just selected examples of the Oriental manufactured dynamite at random. I didn’t look for the worst or leakiest. Though truthfully I really didn’t have much too choice in the matter.
“You! You swindled me! You knew the dynamite wouldn’t explode! Somehow you knew it!!” he swore in my general direction.
“Try it again”, I said after retrieving the detonator and doing a quick re-wire to another bank of blasting caps.
“Gumeong-e bul!” [“Fire in the hole!”].
MASH goes the big, shiny, green button anew.
Pfffft!” *Pop. Poooof! Piffle. Blerp.
Nothing but a cute little pop, a poof, and a few acrid puffs of smoke.
He was crestfallen.
He had taken on the Motherfucking Pro from Dover in a necessarily explosive subject, with inevitably disastrous results.
I asked if anyone here was weapons trained. A couple of Coasties raised their hands.
“And you are? “ I asked the closest one.
“Lt. P'an Tae-Hyun, Sir”, as he snaps a snappy salute.
“Groovy.”, I reply and retrieve the AK from Dax.
“Can you squeeze off a couple of shots and hit that floating box of dynamite?” I asked.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, smiling.
“OK then”, I replied and turned to the crowd.
“Dynamite is usually pretty stable stuff and won’t detonate without a blasting cap or impulse source. A bullet will most certainly not detonate it. However, I’ve stuck in 3 pounds, imperial, of Tannerite, which is a type of binary explosive used for targeting. Tannerite will most definitely and energetically explode when impacted by a high-velocity bullet. I think we can agree that an AK-47 round is high-velocity?” I asked.
There were nods and a buzz of general agreement.
“Now, there’s the better part of a case of unexploded dynamite out there. That’s what we in the business call very, very fucking dangerous. Now those three pounds of Tannerite should vaporize everything within a 10-meter radius if it detonates as designed. Agreed?” I asked.
Again, there were nods and a buzz of general agreement.
“Lieutenant P'an?” I asked, “At your discretion. Fire at will. Or the dynamite case, as it were.”
He nodded. He walked over to the furthest point on the stern, checked to see everyone was back and out of harm’s way, as he was a consummate professional. He futzed around with the old AK for a bit and took a shot.
It was low and outside.
“Ball one”, I snickered.
“Sights are off. Not any problems.” He remarked.
The next round found its mark. The Tannerite exploded adeptly.
It threw sticks of unexploded Chinese dynamite over a 20-meter radius. They each sank into the briny deep leaving only an oily spot to mark their entry and eventual watery grave.
The top of the case of dynamite was blown off, but the floaty ring remained. We reeled it back in to find a few more scorched, but unexploded, sticks of fine Oriental manufacture explosive on the bottom of the case.
These were motherfuckingly dangerous. Cantankerous dynamite has no place on a ship.
I remarked, however, that this would be no problem. Dax and Cliff brought up the case of C-4, which I had wired with one single blasting cap and booster.
We had Korean Doubting Thomas and his shiny suit buddies give it the once over to ensure I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one.
He agreed, it was nothing but C-4 as advertised.
One of the more expendable Coasties jumped down on the stern transom-rack which is just above the waterline on the back of the boat. He wired the two rings together and set them adrift, tethered by a good nylon rope with my nasty, silky demolition wires trailing.
Dax was working the rope and I was handling the spool of demolition wire. I had a good 350 meters of the stuff on the spool and wasn’t about to return a single centimeter.
Old habits and all.
As they floated away, Mr. Kwan asked if we’d like a bit of refreshment, as, gosh, it sure was dusty out here today.
Of course, we agreed in unison.
Good old Mr. Kwan.
So, we’re unspooling our lines slowly, drinking our end of the day refreshers, smoking cigars, and watching our Oriental colleagues getting antsier every minute.
I knew what a case of C-4 was going to do when detonated. It would be one hell of a show.
I was so confident with my design I had Lt. P’ay return the AK to the pilothouse. Wouldn’t work here anyways if the C-4 failed to detonate.
But that’s not going to happen.
Dr. Pro from Dover Rocknocker has spoken.
Finally, I’m almost out of demolition wire, and Dax has tied off the tether.
I motion over to Herr Doubting Thomas and hand him the detonator.
“For ye of little faith”, I smiled, recalling the entreaty that even Satan quotes the Bible for his own nefarious uses.
But first, an encore of the Korean Safety Dance. They're guaranteed to raise a smile.
I look to the character fumbling with the detonator.
“At your convenience, good sir”, I say, dripping insincerity.
“Gumeong-e bul!” [“Fire in the hole!”]. Mash goes the big, shiny, green button.
KA-MOTHERING-FUCKINGLY-HUGE-BOOM!
Even over 300 meters away, every one of us not only saw but felt that shock wave. It was like a solid Savate kick to the chest. The boat even rocked a bit in appreciation.
I smile, retrieved the detonator, safe it, and reply: “And that is the singular reason why I used good old American manufacture C-4 as a sonic seismic source rather than shitty, leaky Oriental dynamite. Any further questions?”
He shook his head in agreement, bowed slightly in my direction, slunk away, and that was the very last we ever saw of Mr. Korean Doubting Thomas.
The Captain saw and felt the detonation. He put the boat in park, actually, he handed it over to the sub-pilot for station keeping and came back to the fantail.
He wanted to know if we were now officially finished with our project.
We maintained that we were and it had come off very, very successfully; in no small degree because of his boat handling abilities.
He came over to me and shanghaied one of the translators.
“Doctor Stone?” he asked.
“Hrmph. Close enough.” I smiled.
“May I be first to congratulate your team. In eight sorties, you and your teams are the first to fulfill mission parameters. I am pleased to say that this will go on all our permanent records. It will mean bonuses for all present. I salute you.” And does with a naval flourish.
“No shit? Well, thanks, Cap”, I reply, “But I’m just the den mother for this special education class. Without them, and all their hard work, it’d never have happened.”
“I knew you would say this”, he smiled, “You are leader of men. We see that. You are teacher, but also not afraid to work. You should do this more often. Use your education and experience to train and teach others.” He says, shaking my hand.
Now it’s time for me to wonder. Did he hear of my offer back home? I don’t think he did, I’ve been playing those cards very close to the vest, as it were. I am now officially confused and bebothered.
But, since I don’t believe in anything, much less coincidence, I’m going to chalk it up to happenstance and just gratefully consider the source.
He asks that we wait here and he’ll return forthwith.
“On a boat this size, there are not too many places we can sneak off to…” I chuckle.
He returns with a very, very old bottle of something quite unidentifiable since it appears to be lacking a label. He yells something in official Korean and suddenly, a tray with little, itty-bitty demitasse-style glasses appear along with some smoked fish, I think, nibbles of some kind.
He pours a dram for all present. No one dares take as much as a preemptory sniff until he’s finished with the ceremony.
Everyone thusly charged, he begins a toast.
“Shoo-buddy”, I think, “I’ve been down this road before.”
It was quick, succinct, brief, and laudatory.
According to him, we had ‘hung the moon’.
I liked this style of toasting. Left more time to drink and for camaraderie.
The project thus finished, as we were running out of potables, especially freshwater, victuals, and toilet paper; we were headed back to base. That is, back to the hotel to see what our comrades who chose to stay onshore had developed.
But, that was going to be for another day. First, we needed to chug our way back to port, both literally and figuratively.
Ahem.
Before which, though, there were some housekeeping and paperwork chores. Dax, Cliff, and I did a quick reconnaissance of the explosives locker and created a ‘used’ manifest; which all three of us signed.
They may be officious, they may be obtrusive, but damn, they certainly love their goddamned paperwork over here.
We gave copies to the head shiny suit, one for the Captain, and we retained copies for our records. Along with notes that we expended two rounds from the pilothouse AK, as we were trying to out-officious these officious paper-pushers.
We made certain the keys were returned and logged in the proper logbooks and the explosives locker was locked securely, solidly, and soundly. Before which, we policed up the weapons locker and actually offered to the gods of the briny deep, quite the quantity of unsafe, leaky dynamite, and other ordinance that was more a disaster waiting to happen rather than inventory.
Seawater would neutralize the nasties and in the case of anything metallic, it’d be gone within a fortnight. and the phosphates might provide some nice fertilizer for some lucky passing Cnidarians. We were in water of near 45 fathoms. This stuff would never hurt another living thing.
The Captain was very pleased that we had taken that task upon ourselves. He wasn’t allowed to do anything about what was in the locker, but he was responsible for it and keeping the wrong people out of it. I commented that was a fairly stupid way of handling things, and he mentioned that he’d appreciate it if I made an official note of it to the powers that be once we go feet-dry, i.e., get back to shore.
I assured him we most certainly would.
From then on, all we had to do was putt-putt our way back to port.
It was going to take some hours and we’d end up berthing during the wee hours. This would not be a problem as our bus and driver would be waiting for us no matter what the time. He would briskly and without fanfare, return us to our hotel.
That we were actually looking forward to bunking back in the old hotel sort of gave one an idea of the Spartan arrangements we had endured for the last three days.
Most of the Westerners groused and complained in a humorous manner. Hell, it was only three bloody days. Some of our Oriental friends were so totally aghast they vowed to lodge formal complaints once they returned to dry land.
Landlubbers.
Odd that once we hit the beach, they all scattered to the four winds and not a single letter nor either a peep of protest was ever forthcoming.
Yes, this is an intensely weird place.
We wandered down the gangplank, cigars a-fume, and drinks recently and for one last time, refreshed by Mr. Kwan. The shiny suit squad was supervising the offloaded of the seismic data we had collected and had seen it soundly sealed and concealed in the very living bowels of the bus. It was to return with us to the hotel, where we’d demand a receipt. Then it would be off to the ‘Technological Center” on Scientific Street for processing.
They assured us that they’d handle that themselves. Evidently we were good enough to acquire the data, but not good enough to see the finished product.
Ack, Volna, and Ivan chuckled.
“OK, you pirates. What did you do?” I asked
“They can try with all their might. But without the decryption key, they’ll spend years processing encoded compressed nonsense.” They snickered. “We did offer to come and help set up the decryption for the decompression of the raw data, but they said they could handle it themselves. Oh, well. We tried. Seriously, we did.” Ack and Volna snickered.
“Well, keep it handy in case they come to their senses before we get out of here,” I said.
“Always our intention, Herr Denmother”, Volna chuckles.
“Oh, you heard that?” I snickered quietly.
Back at the hotel, the majority of us sent our sea-gear to our rooms via the on-site laundry. That being settled, the majority of us retired to the catacombs of the basement.
We needed strong drink, decent, non-tinned food, and seats that didn’t slop around every time you sat down.
Well, with the acquisition of our sea legs, two out of three wasn’t bad.
Since the hour was much too late, I decide that tomorrow, well, later today, would be a day of R&R for everyone.
Moreover, I was informed that tomorrow would be the “Day of the Sun” celebration, the insanely earnest celebration birth anniversary of Kim Il-sung, founder and Eternal President of North Korea. It’s supposed to be some sort of big, hairy nationwide deal. But aside from a couple of small posters, we heard little and knew less about the holiday and its celebration.
Everyone’s being even more uncharacteristically low key. It’s odd like there’s something weird going on here.
“What? Something weird and covert and sneaky going on in Best Korea? Pshaw, you old fart. You’re letting the paranoids get to you!”, I mused to myself.
This place will do that to you after a while.
I asked the front desk to place a note that made the rest of today a day of R&R in everyone’s mailbox. After another cigar, some decent prawn stir-fry, and a couple-twelve really stiff drinks, we were all ready to invade the land of Nod for a few hours.
I went downstairs for a drink, a nosh, and a smoke. I ran out of NK won as we tend to use them in Western Expat high-stakes poker games, so I needed to trade some of my weird Middle Eastern currency for weird Best Korea currency.
I was used to the 900:1 won:US dollar (equivalent) trade-off, but after cashing in the equivalent of US$500 in Middle Eastern dinero, I walked off with 650,000 won, not 450,000.
“Pardon me, Ms. Cashier”, I said to the nice little local woman behind the bird-cage security wires, “I do think you gave me too much.”
She took my stack, re-counted it, and proclaimed it correct.
“I thought the exchange rate was 900 to the dollar?” I asked.
“No”, she remarked, “Now 1,336.”
“Any idea what’s causing the fluctuations?” I asked.
She just smiled and shook her head ‘no’. I smiled back and tipped her 50 UAE dirhams for the information.
“Weird. Now what?” I mused.
Little did I know…
The next morning dawned dim and early as there some sort of something going on outside.
Oh, yes, it was ‘The Day of the Sun’ celebration. I discovered it was is an annual public holiday in North Korea celebrating the birth anniversary of Kim Il-sung, founder, and Eternal President and local Poobah-in-Charge of North Korea. It is the most important national holiday in the country, and is considered to be the North Korean pseudo-secular equivalent of Christmas.
“Well,” I thought to myself, “I picked a damn good day to call for an R&R break.”
Then I found out, why no one told us about any of this is still unknown, that the next two days after the holiday would also be considered a holiday.
Come to find out, there are all sorts of intrusive, inconvenient, and wholly unnecessary nonsense that accompany these high holy days here in Best Korea. There are exhibitions, fireworks, song and dance events, athletics competitions, idea seminars: “Think about it!”, and visits to places connected with Kim Il-sung's life, including his birthplace in Mangyongdae.
Shops close, the hotel televisions block any other ‘programming’ and show only ‘special’ movies. Either ridiculously fake documentaries on the life of the also ever so ronrey Kim Il-sung or movies he especially enjoyed. People parade to his statue on Mansu Hill to deposit flowers; later in the day, it resembled a pollinated glacier.
There’s general obviously forced elation, all of which is extraordinarily strained and appears fake. People are trucked by the groaning busload to the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun where the dead maniac lies in state.
“Fuck this”, I said in the exact spirit of international amity, “I’m going to the bar.”
I go downstairs to the basement bar, and even though it’s a high holy day, it’s open early. It didn’t used to be open until the afternoon, but since we’ve arrived, they have adjusted their hours for us.
They have also doubled their daily receipts. So they’ve got that going for them, which is nice.
One of my favorite barkeeps was station keeping that morning. I greeted him in the usual style and expressed to Mr. Ho Gun the best holiday wishes.
“Hi! Ho!”, I said, “Annyeonghaseyo”, which comes out ‘Annie young eez-yo!’ in my Baja Canuckian dialect.
Mr. Ho laughs at my attempt at Korean, but he does appreciate the effort.
“Doctor Rock”, he says, “Dawn greetings. You will drink what?”
Nice and direct, I like that.
“Ye’ ken Greenland Coffee, me ol’ mucker?” I asked in a swirl of different dizzying dialects.
Koran confounds me, so I thought I’d return the favor.
“No, but I’m sure it’s coffee with some of your usual high-proof liquors, correct?” he smiles as I hand him a nice, oily Oscuro cigar.
“For Best Most Happy Returns: Day of the Sun”, I said, waggling the stogie, as I hand it over.
“However, you are correct. Normally, ‘authentic’ Greenland Coffee is a paltry 1/3rd ounce each of Whiskey, Kahlua, and Grand Marnier with excess coffee. Well, I don’t cotton to those liquors or measures. So my Greenland Coffee recipe, really from Greenland, by the way, is Siku Vodka, or any other high-octane vodka, as long as it’s premium. Then Immiak, which is Greenland’s version of Jagermeister, so let’s just go with Jager. Then finish it off with a shot of Tia Maria or Kahlua, if available. Oh, yes, then hot coffee. Silly me, almost forgot…” I conclude.
“And measures?” Mr. Ho asked.
“Whatever fills the cup”, I replied, in a bastardization of an old Russian toast.
“OK, how about a 35 mils (~1 ounce) stiff shot each booze, then hot coffee to fill your mug? With a chilled vodka chaser, as per usual?” He asks.
“Make it so, Mr. Ho,” I say. “No whipped cream or crème liqueurs, please. I’m lactose intolerant, and, well, no one wants to hear that…”
He laughs and whips together a very nice morning sunriser.
It’s a real day off.
In a very, very weird land.
It’s Festival outside and I stayed up most of the night calling people back in the world, creating and updating dossiers, doing explosives-tracking paperwork, worrying over logistics, and how and when the fuck we’re going to eventually get out of here.
Fuck it, double front. I’m doing my ‘people watch’, perched high on Mahogany Ridge. I’m taking, for the first time since, hell, I left the Middle East, some real downtime.
I figured I deserved it.
I was the only one at the bar, but after a short time, there were festival-goers who infiltrated down into the hotel's subterranean catacombs. They didn’t know of the bar’s recently expanded hours and when they saw me sitting high up on Mahogany Ridge, smoking my ubiquitous cigar, they rejoiced.
Obligatory Festival and alcohol! Better than beer and power tools.
In the Baja Canada time-honored tradition, I have a pile of the local currency sitting on the bar. At the new exchange rate of 1,386 won to the dollar, I’m making out like a bandit.
Drinks here are cheap, really cheap, to begin with. With this fluctuation in exchange rates, which I figured reflected the holiday, I was flush. In the chips. Well-heeled. I've got a lot of what it takes to get along.
So, I was feeling magnanimous. I was tipping people very well.
“Paper?” one local asked.
“Sure. How much for a week-old English version of the Daily Worker’s Manifest and Pork Belly Futures Digest? 100 won? Here’s 1,000. Keep the change.”
Not wanting to become over-caffeinated, I switched from Greenland Coffees after a couple to my usual potato juice and citrus concoction. Each one came in a tall, frosted gimlet glass, a very nice touch, and was expertly made my Mr. Ho after I showed him once when we first arrived.
Each one, with the current exchange rate, was about 500 won; an exorbitant sum for any local. It was about US$0.40 for me. I bought several for people who bellied up to the bar and tried to engage me in conversation.
I was used to handing out business cards, hell, one never knew where contacts could lead; and not receiving one in return.
Today, I collected four new business cards; two from various European ex-pats, and two from locals.
I guess Festival! time brings out the best and least paranoid in people.
It’s only 1000 hours in the AM and people here are already seriously lubricated.
This will be a fun few days.
I decided to get a rather tall drink in one of my 100-ounce Kum-n-Go travel cups. With all the hoo-ha going on around here, I haven’t seen a handler, translator, or guide since we got off the boat. I decide with all the shenanigans and goings-on around the place on this festival day, no one would give me nor my wardrobe a second look if I were to venture outdoors for a walkabout.
Besides, we’re on a bloody island. It’s not like I can go too damned far.
So, quicker than a bunny fucks, I get my drink, fire up a cigar, and walk around the lobby of the hotel. There are the usual comings and goings of tourists, local workers, the security forces, and all that allied tat.
I wait until a tour bus pulls up and all eyes are somewhere besides me.
Pfft! And I’m standing outside the hotel, looking at all the sights.
Which, truth be told, weren’t much.
Yanggak Island is a slovenly-manicured island with shrubberies, tracks, trails, and assorted support buildings. The river is basically hidden behind stunted shrubs and nevergreens, and the remains of the defunct golf course. There’s a stadium on the island, which was thronging with festival-goers today. I don’t know what sport, if any, they play there, and didn’t care enough to ask anyone.
There was a cinema hall, which was currently empty and looking in need of some dire repair. There’s some sort of Chinese health complex in the process of being built or torn down, it was hard to tell which. Needless to say, the scenery paled almost immediately.
I did, after a concerted effort, find a small platform that overlooked the Taedong River. It was a very nice little observation platform with a couple of new-Tudor-esque electrical replica gas lights and two concrete benches where a weary traveler could sit and just watch the river.
So I did.
I was interested in the fish of the river, and wondered if any of the locals did any fishing; or if it was forbidden, as are so many ‘proletariat’ activities are in town.
I did see a few locals, huddled out of plain sight, down by the shores of the river fishing with long, 10 meter, reel-less poles. In Britain, they would call this type of fishing ‘noodling’.
I didn’t see them catch anything, but in the bar later, I spoke with a local who told me that they catch various species of fish here. These include Asian Aroana, Blue Guppy, Catfish, Crab, Eel, Halibut, Hucho Perryi, Octopus, Orange Guppy, Pacific Flying Squid, Rainbow Trout, Salmon, and Tuna.
I’m not saying my informant was lying or embroidering the tale, but from the nasty condition of the river, I think Coney Island Whitefish, Cotton River Horse, Dumpster Trout, and Bugle-Mouthed Salmon would be the more common species.
I had enough perambulation and even though I wasn’t given the least look, I felt a bit uncomfortable out here. That unfiltered sun and equally unfiltered air. After that, I wandered back to the hotel and went to enter to go to my room.
“HALT! Who goes there?” some door guard yelled at me.
“An American tourista who was out on a walk”, I replied.
“Impossible!”, he replied, “Tourists are not allowed out without their guides.”
“Look, Herr Mac”, I said, “I’m Dr. Rocknocker, and I am an invited Western Petroleum Scientist with the UN special-invited group here to evaluate the country’s oil and gas potential.”
“You are not allowed.” He replied loudly.
“My good man”, I replied, equally loudly, "Not allowed? Not allowed? I’m a geologist, I’m allowed everywhere.”
With that, I grab the handle of the ornate door, take a slurp out of my drink, and sally forth into the hotel.
Of course, he goes non-linear. He follows me and is making all sorts of bad noise. He is almost literally dancing around me, pointing, and exclaiming that I’m not allowed.
Then, he made a bit of a mistake.
He grabbed my arm.
Really, really poor career move.
I switched my drink to my left hand and executed a pretty spiffy opposite-side wrist grab on the noisy little nerf herder.
He was so shocked by this turn of events, he went slightly white and was rendered mute for a short time.
I frog marched the little irritant up to the front desk and asked the head clerk there to explain to my captive audience who I was and why I was here.
The clerk smiled and gave the character whom I was dragging around a quick background on the guy who was currently holding him captive. When I heard “닥터 락 노커” [dagteo lag nokeo, “Dr. Rocknocker”], I dropped this guy’s hand and just took a few steps back.
After a minute or two, he comes over, very, very abashed. He apologizes as he wasn’t told that any Americans were allowed outside the hotel.
I told him ‘No problem’, as I really didn’t have any special permission and didn’t want to get the guy into any trouble. I offered him a cigar, which he refused, but he readily accepted the half-pack of Sobranie pastel cigarettes I had in the pocket of my Hawaiian shirt.
I decided from that point to just stay inside the hotel to smoke, drink, and avoid any further Imperial entanglements.
I wandered on down to the casino because I was bored and it was unusually quiet. Too hepped-up to sleep, too tired to work, it was that odd interarea between “should I be giving a fuck” and “who the fuck cares?”
Leaving the basement, I wandered around the ground floor, just taking in the sights, and looking at the “Festival Specials” at the hotel shops.
I found an empty, unlocked conference room that looked inviting. About two dozen chairs, a large wooden table, TV monitors, and a southern view of the city from slightly above ground level.
I walked in like I owned the place, as it is always monumentally easier to get forgiveness than permission, sat down at the head of the table, propped my feet up, found an ashtray, and began playing with the remote to see what was available.
Evidently, these rooms were available for rent by various factions, cadres, and other sorts of like-minded individuals. However, whoever was here last forgot to re-set the filters on the satellite television.
There was real the BBC, real-time. There was German TV, Russian TV, Japanese TV, and even some American TV; all the best of the absolutely prohibited hit parade.
I shut it down and left immediately. I went to find my comrades. They simply had to see this.
I located Dax first, as he was losing won at a rapid rate down at the basement casino. He said he’d spread the word to any of the team members down in the tunnels and we’d meet at Conference Room #1.
I had taken the precaution before leaving to move the “Occupied/Unoccupied” placard to indicate it was in use and that if you hadn’t reserved the room, you’d do best to stay the fuck out.
I waited the obligatory 20 minutes for the elevator and went up to ‘our’ floor.
I knocked on all the doors where I knew they were occupied by our occupants. I found a few of our team and informed them that if they were so inclined, there would be an unannounced, impromptu, and wholly illicit meeting down in Conference room number 1; complete with refreshments and real, uncensored television. They all agreed and said they’d rouse the rest of our team on the floor.
I was feeling so brazen, that when I went down to the ground floor, I stopped at the front desk and ordered lunch and drinks for my team in Conference Room #1.
“Oh, sir”, the desk clerk responded, “We don’t have any reservations today for Conference Room #1.”
“Well”, I replied, “We are in there and if it wasn’t reserved, how would that have happened? The room would have been marked as unavailable, which it clearly was not; as it was open and available and we are now occupying it. Therefore, it wasn’t marked unavailable so it must have been available; not unavailable as you postulate. It’s almost a simple example of the single equation theory of universal containment. So we are meeting there now and requiring refreshments. It’s simply a logical progression of the facts of the matter.”
“You are, of course, correct”, she immediately responded, distracted by all the Festival goings-on in the hotel, “Now, you said you’d like to order 4 dozen assorted meat and cheese sandwiches, two cases of beer, and a mixed case of bottled liquor?”
“Yes”, I replied, “You see, it’s only going to be a brief meeting. I’ll also need ice, carbonated and non-carbonated mixers, sliced citrus fruit, and an on-call bartender if you have one available.”
“Oh, yes sir,”, she replied, “That will be immediately arranged. Anything else?”
“Yes”, I replied, “I’ll need about a dozen ashtrays, of the larger variety. Also, I am going to leave explicit instructions with you to disseminate to hotel staff that we are not to be disturbed. This is a very high-level meeting of the scientists of the IUPG. We will be discussing, umm, ‘sensitive information’”.
I used the international ‘don’t-even-think-of-bothering-us’ buzzword to let her know were being very serious indeed.
“Oh, yes sir”, she stiffened.
“Marvelous”, I said and slipped her 1000 won for her troubles. All sighs of nervousness instantly disappeared.
“Excellent. Excellent service.”, I said, rubbing both hands together most Mr. Burnsly.
I go over to the conference room and see that our order has begun to already arrive. Have to hand it to them, you call for room service and you get room service. Especially if you’re well known around the hotel to be free with imported cigars, pastel cigarettes, and lavish tips.
One by one, my teammates filtered in. There was everyone from out earlier pleasure cruise, and most of the force that remained back in the hotel to prepare the paperwork for our ground assault.
Cigars, cigarettes, and pipes were lit. Sandwiches consumed and drinks were downed. After everyone had a chance to see their home-town, or at least home-county, version of the news, I decided that it would indeed be a good time to have a bit of a meeting. It was going nuts outside with the Festival, and as long as we were in here, we were being left alone.
After the obligatory facilities break, I returned from a 40-minute round trip to my room to get a couple of my field notebooks. I wanted a record of the proceedings, no matter how spur-of-the-moment.
When I returned, I thought the room looked a bit spare. I did a quick headcount and I noted we were missing someone. I glanced through my notes and saw that our Bulgarian geomechanic, Dr. Iskren Dragomirov Dinev, or ‘Iskren’ was not present.
“Hey, guys”, I asked aloud, “Anyone seen Iskren lately?”
There was a brief conclave and the answer was a solid negative.
I called the front desk and got his room number. I asked them to ring his room for me. His room phone rang and rang and rang, but no answer.
“Who last saw Iskren?” I asked the assembled crew.
The Finnish PT, Joon, recalls drinking with him at the casino the night before last. He seemed normally jovial as was normal for him.
“Anyone else? Or since?” I asked.
Again, the answer was negative.
“Something’s not right”, I thought, my rock sense was tingling. “Dax, Cliff, you’re with me.”
We all left, stopped by the front desk, and asked for medical assistance. We explained where we were going and the sudden absence of our Bulgarian friend. We expressed deep concern.
25 minutes later, Dax, Cliff, me, the hotel security chief, and hotel doctor were standing outside Iskren’s room. We had pounded on the door for a good 3 minutes. He certainly wasn’t in the shower.
No answer.
“Fuck this. Open it”, I said.
“Under whose authority?” the chief of hotel security asked.
“Mine. Dr. Rocknocker. I’m the team leader of the IUPG crew. Do it.” I said.
The door was laboriously opened, as both door bolt locks had to be breached. The room was dark, silent, and entirely unnerving. In the gloom, it appeared that there was a human form, unmoving, on the bed.
“I’m a rock Doctor. I think we need a medical doctor here.” I said to the hotel sawbones.
The hotel doctor went in without switching on the lights nor touching anything. He examined the mound on the bed. Apparently, it wasn’t a pile of dirty laundry.
“Was the occupant of this room a large Caucasian male, approximately 60-65 years of age?” He asked.
“Yes”, we all answered together.
“I’m afraid he’s dead.” The doctor replied.
Dax looked at Cliff who looked at me. In unison, all that was heard was a tripartite:
“Oh…fuck.”
To be continued...

Trigger warnings re suicidal behaviours, violent behaviours, self harm, and probably a bunch of other stuff.
I don't know if 3rd person recounts are okay here, feel free to remove if not (I have it saved) and if there's a subreddit specifically for this kind of thing I'd appreciate some pointers.
This writing process is just part of my catharsis. Maybe other's can relate, I don't know if it would be helpful or not to others, there's a lot of stuff in this story I am deeply ashamed of, but I figure this is a safe space to tell my story, even if I am probably the villain in the piece.
Fade out, into bedroom, morning...
He woke with a sharp breath, eyes wide open as a sudden shock of adrenaline flooded warmly from his abdomen, igniting his senses.
He wasn’t dreaming before he woke, nor did he remember where or when he fell asleep; this would dawn on him soon. For a minute at least, he had no idea where, or even who he was.
Muffled sounds of the television floated into the room from beyond. To his side, a grey wall confronted him, virtually featureless save for a deep, dark gouge that penetrated the plaster, chiselled at least an inch deep into the breeze block beneath by some strong, angular object.
A visceral instinct clutched at the rapidly fading vestiges of oblivion, steeling his slowly awakening mind against the inevitable clarity of day.
His eyes drifted downward, almost by their own will. A trail of colourful debris spread across the grey carpeted floor. He recognised these objects as his own junk: Empty wrappers, an unfinished book (still intact), a scattering of coins, some old shopping receipts, his glasses, some odd socks, and a small handful of odds and ends.
This was stuff that he usually stashed out of sight and mind in the drawers beside his bed.
Drawers that were oddly absent from their familiar place beside his head.
Propping himself up unsteadily on his elbow, he took a more sweeping view of the room. He groaned and sighed as his gaze finally came to rest on the object of destruction.
The heavy wooden bedside table lay near the foot of the bed, its drawers spewed haphazardly across the floor, beneath what must have been a spectacular flight path the previous evening.
Like a series of lead weights, pieces of the puzzle dropped into place, flashes of memories yanking his mind to sobriety.
The drinking.
The casino.
The staircase.
The plastic bag.
The wall.
The screaming.
He quickly packed these images away, but they lay in wait beneath the surface of his awareness, poised to strike at any moment.
Rolling again onto his back, he pulled the blankets over his head and tried in vain to retreat to the safety of oblivion. Sweet, peaceful nothingness was all he desired right then and there. If some spirit had entered the room and whisked his soul off into the beyond, he’d have welcomed it without a second thought.
His body shook with tremors, and the dull ache of injuries began to throb gently across his body. “Too much alcohol” he thought. “Too much fucking alcohol.”
As he lay in the dimly lit room more scraps of the previous night assailed him, little more than still images in random order. Everything else was a blackout. He felt the bruises along his arms, his head ached, his fists were swollen. Probably had a serious concussion, hence the memory loss. That and the drinking.
In his fugue state, hours passed, it seemed, before eventually his wife entered the room with a soft click of the door handle.
He held his breath.
“You awake sweetie?” she asked in a soothing, caring voice. Such kindness only served to deepen his self loathing.
He exhaled. “Mmm.”
Wordlessly, she walked over to her side of the bed and lay down, laying her soft arm across his shoulders. He winced slightly from contact with some bruises on his back that he hadn't noticed yet.
He sighed deeply again.
“Oh, lovely...” she whispered, squeezing him gently.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered back, still unsure of the exact thing he was sorry for, but he knew it was pretty bad. “I’m so sorry...”
She squeezed again, the seemingly undeserved love in her touch flooding him with a rough mix of self-hatred and a tiny spark of hope.
“The wall...” he said, groggily.
“And the stairs. And your computer...” she sighed.
He struggled to visualise the relevance of these words. “The computer?”
“You punched the screen. It just shows colourful patterns now.” She giggled, an odd counterpoint that sliced through the sombre atmosphere like breaking glass.
Why does she accept this? He thought. I’m a fucking monster.
“Oh...” he said, wondering idly what the bill of damages would be. “Are you... okay?”
She hesitated. “You didn’t hurt us. Just... broke things. And you were screaming, just screaming. The neighbours must have heard...”
_Like a wild animal. A fucking monster. _
She continued. “You were pretty hard on the girls too, you were yelling at them. They hid in their rooms.”
Like I used to, when dad used to...
“We just got out of the way. They hid their stuff. You were wrecking everything.”
“Again...” he said dejectedly.
She squeezed him with her gentle arms, and kissed the back of his neck.
“You kept hitting the walls, and punching yourself in the head. You were pulling things out of drawers looking for plastic bags. Good thing I hid those last time.”
To suffocate myself with. Like last time. I wonder if there’s any around now.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered again. “I don’t know why...”
“It’s ok...” she said, with another reassuring squeeze.
They lay in silence for a while. He couldn’t understand why he deserved her affection. How could anyone love such a beast, such a monster? Wasn’t she afraid? What if he’d turned on her? He’s a big man, slightly out of shape but still strong enough to throw a 50kg bed into a wall in a fit of rage. All he could think was that he should be locked away immediately for other people’s safety, or humanely put out of his misery as a failed experiment in evolution.
But nonetheless he felt her love recharging him, her soft breathing warm against his shoulder, chest rising and falling behind him, her gentle squeezes soothing, all of which seemed to say that everything would be okay.
While his guilt and shame seemed infinite, her love pierced through his darkness like a javelin of light, fracturing an iron curtain of self-hatred, planting a small seed of hope.
Hope.
Was hope a blessing or a curse? Was there a point to hope when it just rekindled the cycle, kept him moving on thinking life would be okay, right up until the point where he tore it all apart again? Was there any chance of things being different this time around?
Or would he just continue to spiral around the rim like a shit in a blocked toilet, waiting for death’s plunger to set him free unto the depths below?
The feeling made him uncomfortable. Hope seemed like a venomous snake slithering in the grass waiting to strike.
He turned to her and embraced her, briefly. “I love you. I’m sorry.” He said, before slowly rolling to the side of the bed and planting his feet on the plaster-strewn carpet, seeking escape from these unnerving thoughts. But a shock of pain stabbed though his foot. “Ugh! God damn it. I think I broke a toe.”
“The bathroom door...” she said.
“Really?” he sighed, testing his weight on the outside of his foot, and, figuring it would hold, rising unsteadily to his feet. The sudden change in altitude caused his head to spin, and he immediately sat back down on the bed.
Why did I kick the bathroom door? Was she in there? Why can’t I remember anything?
“So, uh...” He said, laying back down. “Why are you still with me?”
“Because I love you.” She said, resting her arm across his chest.
“I’m scared. I don’t know if it will happen again. I thought after the therapy I would be okay, but this feels worse. I don't remember anything. And the kids... I don’t want to do this to them. This is why I moved away, I wanted to give you guys a chance to be normal.”
“But then you’d be alone over there, and I’d worry.”
“But it wouldn’t be your problem.”
“I’d still care.”
“You wouldn’t have to.” He said, matter of factly. But the way she said it, he knew she was sincere.
“You’ll get help. We’ll figure it out. We’ll get through this.”
I don’t want to always be figuring it out. I don’t want to have to “get through this” and I don’t want to fuck up other people with my shit. I don't want to be that stereotype abusive husband guilting his wife into staying through suicidal threats. They deserve so much better than me, can’t she see she’d be happier without me, he thought.
“But I don’t think I can handle too much more of what happened last night.” She concluded. “It was scary.”
He remained in bed for a few more hours, before cautiously emerging from the bedroom. The TV was still on downstairs, and he saw his wife sat on the couch. The kids were still at school.
As he descended, he took mental note of the damages. The stair rail was badly damaged, bent and twisted. Scuff marks at head and fist height marked the wall at each painful step. Downstairs came into view, and he saw the Ikea chair, frame snapped in half, and his computer monitor, vivid lines and swirls of colour radiating from a fist-sized oval of shattered glass in the centre. His laptop though was curiously still working, save for a slightly bent case that he twisted back into shape.
He noticed the poker chips on the hallstand. $1300 worth. He checked his bank account, he’d "only" spent $400 at the casino, so at least he hadn't lost the rent money for the week. “Big deal.” He thought. “What does it matter now?”
In total, he figured about a thousand dollars to replace everything he’d destroyed, taking care of his “winnings”, plus some paint and plaster to fix up the walls. The stair rails though, they might need some professional work, he decided to take a look at those last.
Wordlessly, he went to the laundry. As he passed through the kitchen, he got a vivid flashback of laying there on the tiles, repeatedly smashing the back of his head at full force into the ground while his wife, or was it his daughter, begged him to stop. He shook away the thought quickly, and fetched the plaster.
We have plaster on hand. He thought wryly. This happens too often.
Going through the motions, he filled the holes and gouges in the bedroom, the bathroom door, down the stairwell, and the living room walls. Next, he fetched an allen key and dismantled the Ikea chair, stowing the pieces in the shed out the back, to be surreptitiously deposited in the garbage over the coming weeks. The monitor, too, he dropped in the large green bin outside for the next week’s collection.
After placing the bedside table back in its rightful place and a quick run around with the vacuum cleaner, only a keen eye would spot any signs of trouble the night before.
He sat beside his wife on the couch and snuggled his head into her lap. She gently stroked his hair as the TV droned on in the background.
One by one, the kids came home from school. He asked them to come over for a hug, and apologised and explained that they did nothing wrong, that he was sick in the brain and needed help. He told them he loved them dearly. They hugged him back and said they loved him too. His eldest asked if he needed an icepack for his hand.
Perhaps a dark joke about the night before was made, nervous laughter broke the tension. They ate dinner and watched TV together, all on the one couch since the Ikea chair was gone. His kids snuggled in while they sat watching a movie on Netflix, and those earlier dark thoughts of ending it all seemed to fade away.
His shame remained, as did his guilt. But each step he took to piece things back together made the shame easier to bear. He managed to repair the stair rail with some tools and elbow grease. He replaced the broken monitor. The chair could wait, it was time to get something nicer anyway. Something too heavy to lift, preferably, his wife joked at him. He saw the humour, but he didn’t laugh.
He had a beast inside of him, always reminding him of its presence, and the man and father he tried to be every day felt like a fraud. But to their minds the beast was the interloper, it was the fraud that clawed its way out from time to time, and the real man and father was the guy who spent every day fighting to hold it in. They didn’t see the daily struggle, just the man who was husband and father.
He wanted to stop fighting the beast and just be himself, no more beast, so the next day he called a psychologist and spoke with them about what happened, his fears, his history. They didn’t judge him, they said they could help, and invited him in for his first session. Screw the cost, his shit needed to be dealt with properly, by a trained professional.
Then, he emailed work, who he’d ghosted for a whole day. This was the first time he felt that couldn't make some dumb excuse and get away with it. No more "I dropped my phone in the toilet" or "I forgot about it, gosh darn I'm so busy!" So, for the first time he opened up and explained (sans the gory details) what had happened, that he had mental health issues and had had a breakdown and needed some space to recover. He dreaded the response, surely he’d be out of a job. But instead, they replied saying they would support him in any way they could, that they loved working with him, and he could take as much time as he needed to get back on track.
The world that had looked so dark and terminal 48 hours prior suddenly again seemed normal, manageable. These weren’t life-ending events. They were serious, but they could be dealt with. Life would go on, there was literally no purpose to dying over this. Maybe some real therapy would help this time, and maybe the whole family should join in at some point.
Without his wife and kids, he feared what he might have done next. Maybe the shred of hope was a lie, but it was all he had to go by, and it had to be enough to see him through to the next day.
On a direct note - I am blessed to have a wife and kids that have put up with so much and yet still support me, and I know that I have a lot of work not just to fix myself but to support my family who have witnessed me doing some truly horrible things, especially my children who should not have to grow up knowing people are capable of such levels of unbridled fury. I have arranged professional therapy with a psychologist, and hope to work towards healing myself and my family. If she decides this is too much for her and wants to leave, then I will not stop her, at the same time I will not push her to do so. I have also suggested to her that she should consider counselling with the kids if she feels she needs it. I don't know how she deals with it, honestly. I am not proud and don't glorify what I did, but I can take steps to do something about it so I hope to never have to repeat this story again.

Old big houses are supposed to be scary, right? The creaks, the groans, the shadows you see or think you see, it's all just part of living in an old house. That's what my parents used to tell me, back when I’d cry out for them in the middle of the night to protect me from whatever imagined threat my imagination had conjured. The long unlit hallways with doors that seemingly led nowhere, the cellar that had rusted shut, and the untold horrors that might lurk within, all provided the perfect fodder for my undeveloped mind.
It can be both a blessing and a curse to be a child and have such an overactive imagination. The dreams and fantasies are the stuff of legends, the nightmares and terrors, not so much. Little things like making sure your feet and head are covered and night lights only work so far. You either eventually overcome your fear, or it overcomes you. Fortunately for me, the soft lullabies from my mother and the stern yet comforting assurances from my father eventually won out, and my nightly terrors and fever dreams became a relic of my distant past.
The prospects of college and a life outside the family nest lured me away as soon as I graduated high school, and eventually contact with my family began to taper off. There were no harsh words exchanged, no bad blood. Life simply took me in a new direction. My family was supportive. They had their dogs and goats to keep them alive and working. I still wrote and called as often as I could, and holidays on the homestead were an annual tradition.
Yet still no matter how old I got, no matter how many times I would sleep in my old bed as a grown man, I never forgot those early years, the night terrors, and the dread of something crawling up through my sheets and on top of me.
The last few years were harder than the ones before. My work would take me all over the world on endless trips, and so my pilgrimages to the house became less and less frequent. The phone calls began drying up on both ends and I settled into my new normal as work swallowed me whole.
Then the call came. The call every child dreads past a certain age. I was just heading out the door to catch my car to the airport when the call came. It’s said that when an offspring loses their parents, they can truly feel their own mortality for the first time. My autopilot turned on swiftly as my father’s lawyer Harold laid out the entire story during my long car ride. But right from the beginning, nothing was sounding right.
They had been dead for the last several weeks, Harold told me, his words thick with cold and corporate verbiage used by most practitioners of his profession. Weeks? Why was I hearing about this now? My heart sank and immediately I was plagued by an inescapable current of guilt. My thoughts raced to recover the last memory I had of my parents, the last phone call I had made. But I couldn’t place the specific memory. Had it really been that long?
Harold couldn’t tell me much more than a vague time of death, as there was still an ongoing investigation by local, state, and federal agencies. That was most unusual of all. What could possibly have happened that so many law enforcement agencies would be involved in the deaths of an elderly couple? Harold was incredibly restrained in what he would divulge, and I was more than a little frustrated with him after only a few minutes. Worse yet is that all their dogs and goats were missing and assumed to have run away, though no one’s seen them since.
My parent’s will had been very clear, however; all their assets, money, and yes, the old homestead, were to be left to me, with a small portion going to the various charities they supported over the years. I barely had time to process the situation before my driver announced that we had arrived at the airport. In a hazy blur, I was guided through customs, and before I knew it, I was across the pond yet again. Attempts to drown my guilt and sorrow with my work only ended in sleepless nights with only a morning hangover to remind me I was alive. Mercifully, this trip was a short one, and once I was back home, I packed a bag and began my journey back home.
That was when I made my biggest mistake.
I hadn’t wanted to bring Ollie along with me for this trip. Something, right from the very beginning, was gnawing at the back of mind, telling me to stay behind. Ollie was my beloved Australian Shepherd, given to me as a birthday gift by friends. He had only just reached the 10-year mark but was still as lively and energetic as ever. He’d also never been to the house, as it was an unnecessary expense to bring him along. I missed him during my long stretches away from home, eternally grateful for my neighbors who cared for him in the interim.
But now, I was torn between my grief and fear at being alone in the house for the first time in my adult life and the small seedling of doubt that grew little by little each day. After debating over it for a few days, I decided Ollie had to come along.
I wish I had left him home. I’m sorry Ollie.
The homestead was far enough away that a long-distance drive with Ollie in the car was out of the question. We flew quite comfortably first class. Well, I did at least, though I made sure Ollie was snug and well taken care of in the pet cargo. We landed in the middle of a tumultuous thunderstorm, and Ollie was not pleased having to run in the torrential downpour to the pick-up area, where my old childhood friend Christine was waiting patiently by.
Christine and I had been the best of friends growing up, her parents had lived only two houses down from ours. We naturally grew apart, as most childhood friends do, but kept in contact via Christmas cards and now the occasional Facebook chat. She had been devastated to hear about my parents, as she had helped care for them as they had gotten older. The entire town had been talking about it, though it was a hush-hush subject according to her. People would look over their shoulders to make sure they weren’t being overheard before asking any questions regarding the strange deaths. I hadn’t so much as heard the cause of death yet, and still, my parent’s deaths were the talk of the town.
Our ride to the house was uneventful. The storm raged on around us as we turned down familiar streets, passing a joint back and forth and making the occasional joke, just like old times. Under different circumstances, I had hoped to make Christine my wife someday. Our paths had crossed but had never intertwined long enough for a connection to truly take root. My work had made me a virtual recluse, and now with my familial connections gone, suddenly my world now seemed much smaller and lonelier.
Christine made the final turn onto the meandering driveway that led to the house. Normally the lights from inside could be seen shining all the way from the road, even in the harshest storms. Tonight, with no one to keep the lights on, the scene was shrouded in by the inky black night sky. Ollie perked his head up, sensing he was close to a familiar spot. The dread in the back of my head began rearing its ugly head as the house came into view. Once upon a time, the shudders had been painted a bright red, the wrap around porch adorned with benches and flowers, and each window illuminated with a single candle. There was none of that now, and there never would be again. The shudders had long since faded and the paint chipped away, the benches and porch now overgrown with shrubbery.
The truck switched into idle, and all three of us sat there silently, taking in the scene before us. Nature had definitely taken its toll on the house, and with the storm flashing its rage right behind it, the homestead had never looked more uninviting.
“You going to be okay here by yourself?” Christine spoke up “You can always stay with me”.
I looked over at her smiling face. A tempting offer to say the least. My thoughts raced to our last night together before I left town for good, the way her face looked in the dim light of her bedroom, the way her lips had a taste of whiskey.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll be alright. It’s just for a few days until the estate is settled” I said begrudgingly as I reached into the back to get my bags. I went to leave the car but looked back at her to say goodnight. Christine was no longer looking at me, but out of her windshield at the house. Something about her expression concerned me. She looked cautious, almost scared. There was an intensity in her eyes I had not seen before. She wasn’t looking at the house, she was looking beyond it. Something nearby perhaps? Or maybe something inside?
“Something wrong?” I spoke up. Her response was delayed, she didn’t snap back out of it or anything like that. Just a moment's pause, then she looked back at me as she spoke.
“No, nothing. Just...” she paused again “Be careful. Ever since your folks passed, this house has been giving us all the willies. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people have been saying around town”. I was curious now. This had been the real bit of information I had gotten from anyone about their deaths since the news broke.
“Like what?” I asked though I’ll admit I was more than a little anxious.
“Just rumors. You know how people are here, they gossip when they don’t know or don’t want to find out on their own. There was some talk about the county sheriff’s office coming out here, someone thought they saw the FBI. Someone even claimed they saw Animal Control up here not too long after the bodies were found.”
“Animal control?” I said incredulously. I looked back at the house, now envisioning some monstrosity ripping its way out of the walls.
“I wouldn’t think too much into it. I think they just want to know what happened. Quite frankly so do I” Christine admitted.
“Me too” was all I could muster. A quiet, dark energy had taken over the mood. I took one last look at the house before finally reaching for the door.
“Well, wish me luck” I said as I opened the door, rain instantly soaking through my first layer of clothing. Ollie hopped out right behind me and was already sitting on the front porch before I had even gotten the rest of my bags.
“Call me if you change your mind. My home’s always open.” Christine said with a smile and a glint in her eyes. I certainly would. I laughed and waved her goodbye. She idled by just long enough to see me reach the porch and grab my keys. I watched her truck lights recede into the distance until there was nothing to see but the house and the story night around me. The rain had soaked me almost completely, and so the drafty empty house hit me like an arctic blast as I stepped in the door. I dropped my bags, flipped on the lights, and for the first time in what felt like years, took a look at my childhood home.
The damage was worse than I thought. The ceiling was stained with what looked like water damage, the grand staircase was missing several banisters, and every painted wall was cracked and peeling profusely. The wiring was also getting old, as the lights flickered in and out in sync with the storm. The most striking thing to me was the sheer number of cobwebs coating almost every corner and surface. Yeah, they had been dead for weeks, but just how long had they been in this house, unattended, while the rest of the world went on around them. I knew my parents’ condition had deteriorated in recent years, but I had no idea it was this bad.
I walked forward and became aware of the echoing chattering of my teeth from the cold. I swung around to close the door behind me, only to see Ollie still sitting on the porch, looking directly at me. It was unlike him to not enter a house after I entered. I called Ollie over to me, but he refused. Very strange. I called out for him again, this time a bit more urgently, but still, he remained cemented to his spot on the porch. The rain was starting to wash inside the door frame, and I was getting chillier by the second, so I once again called for Ollie, this time in a commanding voice I used only when he was bad. Ollie reluctantly crossed the threshold, holding his head down and refusing to look at me. Closing the door, I shrugged off my Ollie’s odd behavior and looked back at the mess around me. The paint, cobwebs, water damage, this was all going to cost time and money to fix, time and money that I didn’t really have.
What little I was going to be able to do would have to wait until the next day, so I lifted my bags and walked up the stairs to my old bedroom. I hadn’t stayed in my actual bedroom in years, preferring the comfort of the guest room and king-sized mattress inside. But something in me was feeling nostalgic, so I passed the guest room and rounded the long hallway to my room. I was surprised to find Ollie riding my tail, as he normally would follow at a distance. Now, he was practically attached to my hip.
My parents hadn’t so much as touched my room in the years since I’d been gone by the looks of it. A fine layer of dust covered every surface, even the bed which was still fully made in the same sheets and blankets I had graduated high school in. I ripped the covers and pillowcases off, causing clouds of dust to fill the air. I grabbed some new blankets from the closet and fitted them on the bed. Not two seconds passed before I flung myself onto the bed. Instantly my eyes began to droop and I could feel sleep beginning to wrap its fingers around my subconscious.
A sharp growling jolted me away just seconds before I drifted away. I spun my body to face the door, where Ollie was sitting, once again just outside the threshold. He was in his defensive pose, head leaning down and growling at something down the hall.
“Ollie,” I asked quietly. There was no way there was anyone in the house, yet I couldn’t help but feel Ollie’s aggression was warranted. Without warning, Ollie took off down the hall, making no noise as he went. I dashed over to the door to catch him, but he was around the corner, and from the sound of it, had already made his way downstairs. I dragged myself after him, having half a mind to go to bed without him. The house, while no mansion, was big enough that Ollie’s growling echoed off the walls, and so I had difficulty locating him.
I followed the sounds of his growls until I finally found him around the corner from the kitchen. Irritated, I called for him to come, but as was becoming the new normal, he appeared to not even hear me. His gaze remained fixated on the wall. I had had enough of his antics by this point, so I regrettably jerked him by the collar.
“Let’s go, Ollie, it's time for bed” I yelled. His loud sudden barking took me completely by surprise, so much so that I let go of him and his gaze fell back to the wall. For the first time, I looked at what he had been so fixated on. It was the basement door. I had never been in the basement. My parents had the only key but told me they kept it locked due to water leaks and mold that was down there. I had never questioned this story, as I had no desire to spend any amount of time in that basement. I just remembered the rusted cellar doors and the vivid night terrors from my past. Ollie must have sensed its dark aura. Why else would he be triggered by this place? I had never taken Ollie here for a good reason, and I was beginning to deeply regret it at that moment, much as I do now.
I tried one more time to call Ollie, but as far as he was concerned I might as well have been on another planet. “Fine, sleep out here,” I said dejectedly. I marched back upstairs, leaving Ollie to continue his stare down with the basement door. On the way up the stairs, I could feel wisps of cobweb brushing by my face. This place needed a serious cleaning, but it would have to wait until tomorrow. I had barely taken my shoes off and laid my head against the pillow before I was out.
I was jolted away by loud distressed whimpering. I jolted up to see Ollie at the foot of my bed. Happy to see him, I reached over to comfort him when I saw a small amount of blood coming from his neck. Panicking, I picked him up in my arms and took him to the bathroom, where I hoped there was still emergency first aid supplies. I was in luck, and treated the wound the best I could. It was hard to tell with all Ollie’s fur in the way, but I could make out three distinct entry marks, all deep purple from the swelling. Ollie didn’t appear injured beyond that, and once the bleeding stopped I taped some bandages on.
I had trouble going back to sleep after that. Ollie would lay at the foot of my bed, then perk up and start growling at the walls before attempting to sleep again. The storm petered out just past one in the morning, and soon my ears were alive with the creaks and moans of the old house. Just like old times, I thought to myself. Several times, just before I was about to fall asleep, I registered something, just below the normal threshold. I wasn’t sure if I had heard it the first time, then I heard it again. The unmistakable, pitter-patter of tiny legs, walking up the wall. I forced these mental images from my mind in the vain attempt at fading into a nightly slumber.
At around 6, just as the tiniest shades of blue were beginning to appear in the sky, I decided I had tried enough. It was only a few hours, but it was obviously the only sleep I was going to get. Ollie was at last sound asleep, so I thought it best not to wake him.
It was odd, going about my morning routine at the homestead. I hadn’t used the shower or brushed my teeth, or even made coffee in this place in so long. I still racked myself with guilt over not remembering the last time I had been here. What were the last things I ever said to them? Did they miss me before they died? Did they know in their final hours, although I hadn’t been as close as I once was, that I had loved them dearly with all my heart? I must have hit a nerve, as the floodgates opened and I found myself on the floor of my shower, crying hysterically. I didn’t know how long I was like that, I only snapped out of it when the hot water began running out. I fixed myself up and went to the kitchen, where I was greeted by Ollie, who was once again staring at the basement door.
Ollie’s behavior hadn’t made much sense to me last night, but I was too tired to care. Now, it deeply unnerved me. What was she sensing behind that door? The key must be around here somewhere. Now was my chance to face my fears as an adult. I searched feverishly around the house, opening draws and raiding closest, but finding nothing but dust and more cobwebs. I had showered just this morning, yet I was already beginning to look like a coal miner. The whole time, Ollie never stopped looking at the door or growling just under his breath, even when I laid out his food for him. I was just about to search the upstairs when the doorbell rang, out of tune and almost too low to hear it. I hadn’t been expecting anyone, so I was surprised to say the least.
When I opened the door, I was immediately relieved. Harold had told me he was coming over in the morning, but I had completely forgotten. He was adorned with his top hat and leather briefcase that I think every lawyer is required to own.
“Good morning! Come on in Harold” I greeted him as he let himself in. We had chatted some more over the phone since he contacted me, but this was the first time I had actually seen him in person. My parents had mentioned him on occasion when talking about their will and plans post-death, so they had obviously trusted him. And yet something inside me resented having him hear. He was a bit younger than I expected, probably around my age. His plain grey suit and pants were so average I almost wanted to take him shopping. Only his pink bowtie set him apart from any other lawyer.
“Can I get you anything? “
“No that’s okay I won’t be here long,” he said curtly, just as stoic and detached as he sounded on the phone. He looked around him intensely, as if he were inspecting the house.
Without another word we went into the kitchen and got to business. The funeral services had already been paid for and arrangements had mostly been made already. The director still needed me to sign off and approve of everything first, which I told Harold I would do later today. All the monetary assets would be transferred to me after all taxes and final expenses had been paid, and the house was for me to do with whatever I wanted. I asked them if my parents had left behind any specific items, hoping that maybe he had the key. He disappointingly told me they had not. The entire time we were talking, he had kept his eyes around him, barely looking at me. After tossing it around for a second, I finally got the nerve to speak up.
“Did something happen here?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked unconvincingly. He knew exactly what I meant.
“The whole time you’ve been here you’ve not taken your eyes off the door. My dog is freaked out, everyone in town is freaked out and saying crazy shit. I just want to know, what happened to my parents in this house?”
Harold looked at me, studying my expression and plotting his next move. He had an ulterior agenda here and I knew it, I just didn’t know what it was.
“I don’t know what the people in town gossip about, but it’s none of my business. I’m sorry, I don't have the information you want, all I know is what the police told me.” he told me sternly. His expression was serious, and although I still suspected he knew a little more than he let on, I had no reason not to trust him, so I let it go. After signing some papers, he wished me a good day and left without another word, not even bothering to let me walk him to the door.
I sat at my kitchen table, puzzled more than ever. Ollie had finally left his spot by the basement door to eat, but had only nibbled his food before going back to the door. I looked all around me. I wanted nothing more than to just unload this place and never return. Even if nothing had happened here, this place was cursed now, and it could never be home for me again. Part of me thought about how satisfying it would be to watch the entire thing go up in flames. I wasn’t rich but I had enough money that I didn't need to sell it. I could just keep it and let the elements do their thing.
I looked at the dusty clock on the wall. It was just past noon. I figured I might as well make my way to the funeral home and get that nightmare over with. I went upstairs to change into something presentable, brushing past several more cobwebs on the stairs. These little critters, whoever they are, sure work fast. Once ready, I went back downstairs to wish Ollie goodbye. He actually looked at me when I called him from the basement door. His eyes looked worried and his wound, while no longer bleeding, looked more swollen than before. I made a mental note to pick him up some medicine from the vet as I leaned over and gave him a big kiss, which he returned in kind. I bade him one final farewell and then left.
That was the last time I ever saw Ollie.
My drive to the funeral home was the most peace I had felt since arriving in town. My driver didn’t bother me once I placed my headphones on, and I was able to sink into the world of my favorite podcast, even if only for a few minutes. Putting some distance between me and that house was exactly what I needed, as I was feeling positively cheery when I arrived at the funeral home, which must have confused the director.
There wasn’t much to go over, as my parents had elected to be buried side by side in matching caskets. Seeing their photos and the rows of caskets made everything real again, and I was at risk of breaking down again. The director, as kind a man as he was, didn’t pressure me into buying anything extra and did his best to offer his condolences. As we were wrapping up, I asked him a question, which I already knew what his answer would be.
“What happened to them?”
“I beg your pardon?” the director asked.
“My parents, how did they die? No one will tell me, no the coroner's office, not the police, no one in town knows. You’re the funeral director, please, tell me.”
The man looked sympathetic to my plight, but his expression said it all before his lips could.
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” he told me, a reply that was so forced and so scripted, I knew it had to be so. Someone had told him to say that.
“Why not, why can’t anyone tell me what happened to them? What are you hiding from me” I was beginning to lose my cool, and the director did his best to calm me down.
“No one in town knows what happened, only what they found afterwards. Bodies were found together in their bed. Apparently, they had been dead for almost a month. No sign of the cause of death. I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I was told.”
“Well you’ve seen the bodies, what do you think happened?” I asked. He didn’t respond, he just looked away to avoid my gaze. Something right underneath his eyes was telling me it was bad.
“I” he paused. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” the director was quiet and almost remorseful as he spoke.
“Can I see them myself?” I pleaded with him. I knew he wanted to say no. It’s what he had been told to say, by whatever shadowy figures that were keeping this thing under wraps. Enough was enough, it was time I got my answers.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, the amount of degradation and” I cut him off.
“I don’t care. Please, I need to know for myself.”
He turned around to face me again. Whatever fight he was giving, he was losing. He mourned for me and my family and wanted to do what was right, even if it was potentially placing himself in danger.
“Very well” was all he said. I followed him to a back room, which turned out to be the area my parent’s caskets were being kept until the service tomorrow. The room was dimly lit as was the rest of the building, and the chilly air was slowly beginning to creep up my arms and legs.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” he said and left, closing the door behind him. My parents had never been the flashy types, outside the home they kept. Their caskets were simple white adorned with gold trimming. Graceful. Elegant. It was everything they deserved. I ran my hand down one of the caskets, unsure of who was even underneath. Just one look. It didn’t even have to be both of them. Whoever was laying underneath me right now, and then that’s it. I braced myself, grasped the bar, and lifted it up.
There are some things in this world that God himself can never prepare you for. Somethings which you can never recover from. I could only look for a second. That's all it took. One second for the image of my mother’s emaciated and near skeletal corpse to be burned into my mind forever. I jumped back, almost knocking my father’s casket to the ground. The lid slammed shut thankfully, and I did my best to keep from screaming as I bolted out of the room. I bumped into the director, but I was already out the door and down the road by the time I was aware of him yelling my name and trying to flag me down as I left. I ordered another driver and while I waited, I dry heaved and did my best to keep from freaking out over the possibilities.
What could have done that? She looked as if she had been drained of almost every bodily fluid imaginable. Gone was her radiant beauty and warming smile. Stripped of everything that made her my mother, now just the dry husk of a corpse. I was on autopilot yet again as my driver picked me up, not speaking a word the entire ride. I asked her to drop me off several hundred yards away from the house, and as she drove away, I just stared dead ahead. I don’t know for how long. Maybe an hour. Maybe a minute. Time had a funny way of losing meaning around this house. I thought back to when I was a child, how even in my most frightening night terrors, I never once felt in danger in the house. It was always just pretend. Just my imagination.
Not anymore
I studied every crevice of that house, thinking of every room, every nook, every cabinet, every closet. Any possible space that could be a hiding spot. But even as ideas and possibilities came to me, I knew there was only one place I needed to look. The basement. No way, I thought to myself, no way was I going down there. Why did I have to know? I had never played detective before, never had a thirst for danger. So why was I in such a hurry to die now? This is nuts. I just needed to get Ollie and book it out of there. Stay with Christine like I should have done last night.
I walked the remaining distance to the house and up to the front door before stopping. The door was slightly ajar, not how it had been left. Cautiously, I walked forward and nudged it open with my foot. Peering inside, I almost gasped aloud. The ceiling was covered fully with an intricate wall of webbing. The was clinging and hanging from almost every surface, with a literal maze now taking up a bulk of the staircase. Icy chills charged up and down my veins.
This was not natural. Whatever was spinning this web was doing so far faster and in far bigger quantities than I thought possible. A gut reaction was telling me Ollie was already done for, but I couldn’t leave him behind without knowing for sure. I stepped inside as quietly as possible, propping the door wide open in case I needed a quick escape. I whispered for Ollie, hoping if he was still here he’d be able to hear me. I waited, but my beloved animal did not come racing forward to greet me as he would normally.
I called out a little louder, still keeping my voice down, but still no sign of Ollie. I listened carefully for any noise. That’s when I became aware of the house’s usual creaks and moans. It’s was eerily calm and quiet, the kind of silence you hear in the woods, when your heart of hearts tells you a predator is close. Every natural instinct I had was telling me to leave, to never come back and leave Ollie to whatever fate awaited him.
I pressed onward, brushing more cobwebs out of my face. When I turned the corner, I could see the kitchen and the basement door looming ahead. No sign of Ollie. I was just about to turn to go upstairs when I heard it again.
The sound from last night. Little tiny legs crawling up the walls. I leaned forward a bit to see where they were coming from.
Closer.
Louder.
Closer.
Even louder.
I pressed my entire face against the door. It sounded like little drums, all going in unison. I listened for something, anything else. Nothing.
Then from the other side of the door, somewhere in the basement, the unmistakable yelp of an injured dog. My fight responses kicked in immediately. I began pounding at the door, tearing at the hinges, doing anything I could to break the barrier. I cried out for my dog, screaming threats at whatever abominations dare lay their claws on him. But the door stood firm and immobile.
There was no way I was getting down there. I slumped to the floor. What was I going to do? There was no way I could leave now. Not when I knew I could still save him. But there was no other way into the basement.
Then I remembered. I got up, armed myself with the only weapon I could find, a fireplace poker, and walked outside. The sun was already slipping behind the clouds, casting a violent orange glow on the house. I followed the stones my mother had laid almost five decades previously, guiding the path to the cellar we never used. I stopped right in front of the rusted doors that had never been opened as far as I could remember. Until today.
Without thinking, I tried prying the lock off with the poker, but 40 years of rust wasn’t going to give without a fight. I was persistent though and started hearing creaks in the metal. I wedged the poker under the bent lock and slammed all my weight onto it. The lock snapped off almost instantly, and I ducked just in time to avoid it ricocheting off the cellar and into the air. I looked back up and opened the latch, pulling open the doors.
The basement floor lay exposed beneath me. There was a step ladder at the bottom, and I stepped inside to jump down on it. The ancient wooden stool splintered into pieces the second my feet touched it. I fell against the wall, hitting my head pretty hard. As I recovered, I took note of my surroundings.
So this was the cellar, the place I had dreamt of so much as a child, now home to some ungodly nightmare. There were a fair amount of cobwebs down here as well, along with a layer of dust so thick you could slice it like butter. I couldn’t see much from the light filtering down from the cellar, but I could tell I was in a large space from how my voice echoed off the walls. There was a work table close to the window that I dragged in front so my escape could be fast if needed.
As I stepped forward, I felt my feet catching on something hard. Whatever it was, it was everywhere. I felt around my pants for my phone, found it and switched on my flashlight.
I really wish I hadn’t.
Bones. Animal bones. Dozens of them. Hundreds maybe. They covered almost every inch of the basement floor about 6 feet away from the cellar. I could make out dried blood smears on the walls and in the cracks between the bones. The room stretched on into the pitch black. Some of the bones still had shreds of skin and flesh clinging to them. It took every bit of strength I had not to hurl violently onto the floor, but I knew whatever was down hear would smell it and discover I was here if it hadn’t already. I scanned the room with my flashlight, looking for any sign of Ollie, any hope that he might still be alive.
That hope died the instant I saw his bloodied collar on the ground. There was no body, no skin or torn appendages. Just this one memento of my best friend, now gone forever. I crossed the room and grabbed it, shoving it in my pocket. As I did, I caught something out of the corner of my eye with the flashlight. I shined it over in that direction and saw a collection of knives hanging from the wall. Beside them were rows of shelves, all containing jars of liquid. I couldn’t see them with the glow of the flashlight, so I got closer.
That’s when I was that the jars weren’t full of just liquid. Severed body parts. Hooves, ears, paws, what I assumed to be genitals.
I never paid attention to the high turnover of goats and dogs at the farm. My parents told me animals got sick easier on farms, and it was normal for them to drop dead or run away and disappear. I believed them when they would tell me my boxer of seven years runaway because I left the back-door open, or that Sadie our mother goat was attacked by a fox the night before.
Now I was beginning to wonder. Did my parents know what was down here? What else were they keeping from me? What other secrets will I never know?
I took a step backwards and could feel a light thread land straight across my face. More webs. I brushed it out of my face and turned around when I felt another thread of web string across me.
And then another
Then another
It started coming down very fast and without warning. My flashlight caught a glimpse of something moving overhead, but it was gone the second I looked for it. They were coming from every direction. Panic began setting in. I could barely move. I kept swatting the web out of my face, only for it to be replaced with more strands.
A large bone behind me caught my leg and sent me plummeting to the ground. I could hear the breaking and snapping of bones underneath me, as well as the crawling sound I had heard in the house.
I was petrified This was how it was going to end for me, alone in my parent’s basement, just another meal for whatever horror they were keeping down here. I called out for Ollie, even though I knew he was gone. I called out for my mother, even though I had just seen her decomposing body only an hour ago. And I called for my father, even though I now knew he had lied to me all these years about the basement, about this house.
It was then that I heard the pitter-patter of tiny legs again. Only this was different. I wasn’t hearing them. I was feeling them. Up my back. On my neck.
Then….a lone rattle.
That’s all it took for my fear to vanish instantly. I kicked myself off the ground, brushing aside the webs that kept falling around me and pushed myself with all my might. I leapt onto the table and hoisted myself out of the cellar and back into the receding daylight. Without missing a beat, I slammed the cellar doors back in place, though now I was without a lock to seal them back up. I hesitated, waiting for the moment the cellar doors gave away and the monster from within burst out. But all was quiet. The wind blew slightly, cooling off my burning head and giving me some peace of mind.
It was now or never. Whatever was in that cellar, it was going to come out if it wanted too, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near hear when it did. Nothing was stopping it now, and I had just destroyed the one barrier keeping it locked up. I took one last look at the house before turning around and bolting down the driveway. No matter what, I had to put as much distance between me and that house.
I ran all the way to Christine’s house. She looked alarmed to see me so dishevelled and out of breath. I told her there was an infestation at the house, nothing more, and asked if I could sleep there tonight. She asked about Ollie, but I could only tell her I couldn’t find him, just his collar. She didn’t ask any more questions after that.
I’ve been racking my brain since I got here. What was in that basement? Did my parents know? Were they feeding it? Why? Did it turn against them? So many questions I’ll never know the answers too. I’m writing all of this down now because I have to go back to the house in the morning. My belongings, my clothes. The keys.
But there’s more.
I need to know the truth. I have to know what happened to Ollie, to my parents. I’ll write again once I’ve gotten my answers.
God speed.

"Be excellent to each other... and party on dudes!"

He is Bill S. Preston, Esq.! And he is Ted "Theodore" Logan! And together, they are Wyld Stallyns!
To everyone else in late-80s/early-90s San Dimas, California, Wyld Stallyns may look like the impossible dream of two slackers with no skill in anything else. But in truth, the music of Wyld Stallyns is so bodacious, so non-heinous, so excellent that it brings about an era of prosperity, both across the earth and to the stars beyond, and technological advancement so advanced that even time can be accessed as freely as a 10-digit phone number from the nearest payphone. Because of this, agents from the future utopia have sent back a time-travelling phone booth as well as information about the future to make sure that Bill and Ted are able to continue having most excellent adventures and fulfill the destiny of Wyld Stallyns.

Key

Movies:
^EA = Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure
^BJ = Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey
^FtM - Bill & Ted Face the Music
Shows:
^CSxEy = Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventures (DiC Animated Series) Canon; Season X Episode Y
^LAEx = Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventures (Fox Live Action Series) Canon; Episode X
Comics:
^M#X = Bill & Ted's Excellent Comic Book (Marvel Comics Canon) Issue #X
^BVx#y = Boom! Studios Comics Canon; Volume X, Issue #Y

Vol. 1 = Bill & Ted's Triumphant Return
Vol. 2 = Bill & Ted Go To Hell
Vol. 3 = Bill & Ted Save the Universe
BV1#xS = Boom! Studios Comics Canon; Side Story

^DH#X = Dark Horse Comics Canon (Face the Music Compliant) Issue #X
Games:
^AL = Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure (Atari Lynx Canon)
^NES = Bill & Ted's Excellent Video Game Adventure (NES Canon)
^WS = Wyld Stallyns (Mobile Game Canon)
Live Show:
^EHAyy = Bill & Ted's Excellent Halloween Adventure Canon; 19YY/20YY

Bill and Ted

Strength

• Twist around several amps while running as a blur. ^CS1E7
  
• Run straight through several tentpoles. ^CS1E7
  
• Hold themselves against the winds created by a giant monster that toss around buses and tanks. ^CS2E5
  
• Push around large stone slabs. ^AL
  
• A version of Bill and Ted from a bad future become super jacked and help curbstomp a robot. ^FtM
  
• [Limitation] Struggle to do push-ups. ^BJ
  

Speed/Agility

• Dodge a stone discus launched hard enough to embed into a marble pillar, and a falling chandelier. ^CS1E2
  
• Dodge around weapons swung by Roman gladiators. ^CS1E3
  
• Dodge a speeding horse and a flying coffin. ^CS1E9
  
• Able to dodge a frog mid-jump. ^CS1E11
  
• Run off fast enough to kick up a trail of dust. ^CS2E1
  
• Intercept a cannon shot. ^CS2E1
  
• Dodge a cannon shot just before it hits. ^CS2E3
  
• As babies, able to run off hidden behind a cloud of baby powder. ^CS2E7
  
• Duck underneath a swinging pendulum. ^AL
  
• Very good at jumping really high. ^NES
  
• Dodge a booth as it falls from time jump. ^LAE2
  
• Disguise themselves as a doctor and a cadaver in the time it takes for a woman to leave a room. ^LAE3
  
• Scale up the snout of a large, metal dragon. ^BJ
  
• Attempt and almost succeed at intercepting a bullet, moving a good distance in the time it takes to go from a gun to a person feet away. ^EHA08
  
• Outrun several species of dinosaur. ^M#2
  
  • Outrun a T-Rex running fast enough to kick up large rocks in its wake. ^BV1#3S
• Dodge a superhero sent flying hard enough to leave a comet trail behind him. ^M#10
  
• Dodge around machine gun fire. ^M#11
  
  • Again. ^BV1#5
• Able to see the two drivers in a high speed chase. ^BV1#2S
  
• Hit a button that causes the spaceship they're in to lurch forward fast enough to send everyone inside tumbling, then run off before anyone else can catch their bearings. ^BV3#1
  

Durability

• Get tossed across a bar, their heads smashing through a thin wood wall. ^EA
  
• Fall from a second floor balcony into some bushes and walk it off. ^FtM
  
• Has Death thrown at them bodily and get back up. ^DH#3
  
• Crushed under a mountain of falling china. ^CS1E1
  
• Are sent flying back by their amplifier's exploding to little ill effect. ^CS1E1
  
• Have a stove dropped on their heads. ^CS1E2
  
• Launched through a window and fall a story down into a stone fountain. ^CS1E2
  
• Fall from the top of a three-story building into some bushes. ^CS1E4
  
• Get slammed into a brick wall hard enough to indent. ^CS1E7
  
• Get launched into the air by their inflatable shoes and then fall back down. ^CS1E9
  
• Get kicked out of a stadium hard enough to send them flying, toppling a food cart. ^CS1E9
  
• Get blasted high into the air by a jet of water strong enough to blow away a stone statue, then land in a river. ^AL
  
• Get blasted back by the explosion from this huge gun. ^M#8
  
• Punch themselves. ^M#11
  
• Get zapped in a clash between Darth Vader and Gandalf and walk it off. ^EHA02
  
• Fall down a trap door a dozen feet and get up fine. ^BV3#1
  
• Hit a button that causes the spaceship they're in to lurch forward fast enough to send everyone inside tumbling, then run off before anyone else can catch their bearings. ^BV3#1
  
• Take hits from the Death Quills of Koloko IV, the Lightning Web, the Fire Bones of Kykartian Dragodon, the Cyberwasps of the Robot Zoo Planet, and the Lavaspin of Sector 487. ^BV3#2
  
• Roll into a snowball then crash into a building hard enough to demolish it. ^DH#3
  
• [Limitation] A long fall from the top of this cliff is enough to instantly kill them. ^BJ
  

Skill

• Easily bat in a baseball game one-handed while focusing on other things. Ted even throws the bat so that it spins hard enough to hit the ball without him holding it. ^CS2E3
  
• Jump from an upper banister and swing down on ropes, knocking out two guys and stealing their weapons in the process. ^LAE6
  
• Briefly hold their own in a duel, despite neither having any dueling experience. ^M#1
  

Intelligence
Yes, really.

• Can comprehend and utilize stable time loops. ^EA
  
  • Leave a recording device hidden in the corner of a room with a timer to use as a distraction. ^EA
  • Leave a typed message for themselves at a printer with instructions to duck at just the perfect time. ^EA
  • Sets up a trash can to fall at the right time to trap Ted's father. ^EA
  • Outwit De Nomolos, setting up not only a sandbag and cage to fall at just the right time and place to disarm and trap him, but also set up a key for the cage and fake gun to trick him into believing that he would win the encounter. ^BJ
  • When they don't have access to a booth, they go back in time to ask Station to build one so that he's done in time for them to go back and ask. ^BV1#1
  • Loosen a chandelier just so that it falls on Vlad the Impaler's head while he's cornered them. ^BV3#1
• When they're being pursued by versions of them from a bad future, who remember everything they're about to do, they do something they can't possibly remember doing to escape. ^FtM
  
• Able to somewhat fix the booth's broken antennae with some fudge cans and a large wad of chewed gum. ^EA
  
  • Able to somewhat fix the booth's broken antennae with a magazine and a shoelace. ^LAE1
  • Able to more or less fix the booth's broken numpad by copying what they remember Station doing to fix it. ^BV1#3S
• Survive a long fall from within the booth by jumping at the last second. ^CS1E8
  
• Rig up a lever to launch Dracula out of the booth and onto a bed. ^CS1E9
  
• Make functional guitars out of laundry and string. ^CS1E12
  
• Make a castle display out of water sealant cans and boxes. ^LAE2
  
• Rewire a jukebox to play music from a walkman. ^LAE5
  
• Their advice helps their music teacher move on from heartbreak and live peacefully where before she was bitter and angry at everyone. ^LAE7
  
• Outwit Einstein, tricking him into delivering his speech about the Theory of Relativity instead of his bad stand up routine. ^LAE8
  
• Able to escape from Death with a Melvin. ^BJ
  
• Trick Evil Robot Bill and Ted into thinking they're the real good Bill and Ted. ^M#7
  
• Escape from a future prison by starting a fire to set off the fire alarm. ^M#8
  
• Impress Socrates with their philosophizing. ^EA
  
• Are able to convince Hyper-World, a planet who's entire society is predicated on comic book violence, to stop fighting... for a few seconds. ^M#10
  

Rockitude
Skill

• Wyld Stallyns' music eventually becomes good enough that it ushers in interplanetary peace. ^EA
  
  • Their music apparently brings about post-scarcity, or at least post-the need for money. ^CS1E12 ...NOT! ^M#8
  • Post-training and with full band backing, a televized broadcast of their performance is able to cause people of multiple different cultures around the world to jam. The newspapers of the following years also state that their touring schedule causes crops to grow in the American midwest and peace to come to the Middle East, that rumors of their split cause the stock market to plummet and when those rumors are disproven the stock market surges. ^BJ
• Seduce a pair of medieval babes with some off the cuff lyrics. ^EA
  
• Jam with Little Richard and a young Mozart. ^CS1E2
  
• Rock with Angus Young. ^EHA01
  
• Shred with James Hetfield. ^EHA06
  
• Tear it up with Fall Out Boy. ^EHA13
  
• Demolish with Axl Rose and Slash. ^EHA14
  
• Fuck it up with Kurt Kobain. ^EHA15
  
• Play the guitar very well with Freddy Mercury. ^EHA17
  
• Play a pocket organ well enough that the surrounding Roman guards are too busy dancing to notice them. ^AL
  
• Can play basically any instrument placed in front of them. ^FtM
  
• Calm an agitated baby dinosaur. ^BV1#3S
  
• Able to build guitars out of random debris in a gladiatorial death pit in a matter of seconds, then play well enough to pacify a rampaging alien monster who is also the most esteemed music critic in the galaxy. ^BV3#3
  
• Able to rouse a crowd of people from a society so downtrodden that the ability to smile has atrophied out of the gene pool. ^BV1#5
  
  • Writing one song is enough to uproot the entirety of said society and motivate Death to bring them back after dying even though he had lost the ability to do so. ^BV1#6
• Even God and Satan are fans. ^BV2#4
  
• Alien cultures that don't even speak English and who's entire cultures are predicated around war are brought to peace by hearing their music. ^BV3#1
  

Power

• Consistently blow out their amps while playing. ^EA
  
  • Blow out an amp and cause it to catch fire. ^LAE1
• Defeather a bird. ^CS1E1
  
• Shatter a porcelain cup. ^CS1E1
  
• Knock dozens of objects off of a nearby shelf and shatter windows. ^CS1E7
  
• A single resonant note is enough to knock out the Black Knight. ^CS1E7
  
• Even when hooked up to a boombox, are able to blow away people and tables. ^CS2E5
  
• After Bill rewires the amp, it causes Ted's guitar to melt through the floor. ^CS2E7
  
• After Station alters the amps a little, cause any avalanche. ^DH#4
  
• Destroy robots with their riffs alone. ^WS
  

Ghost Bill and Ted

• People can pass right through them, though it causes some unnerving (though not totally unpleasant) sensations. ^BJ
  
• Can possess the bodies of the living. ^BJ
  

Other

• Build the Great Wall of China in a couple days. Although not particularly well. ^CS1E1
  
  • They arrive in China on Saturday and have finished and leave before Monday. ^CS1E1
• Summon rain with an Incan rain dance. ^CS1E3
  
• Play a single player game co-op and one-handed. ^CS2E7
  
• Are able to beat Death at Battleship, Clue, Electronic Football, and Twister. ^BJ
  
  • And Monopoly. ^M#5
  • And Rock, Paper, Scissors. ^EHA17
• Can fly after being zapped by the F-Ray, which only convinces the brain that it is capable of flying, thus allowing it to fly. ^M#10
  
• Spend a week without sleeping and only eating snack foods trying to devise a plan to save Abraham Lincoln. ^M#11
  
• Are temporarily given God's divine enlightenment, able to see everything past and future, and on a micro and macro scale. ^BV2#4
  
• Surf on a black hole. ^BV3#3 They're obviously going through some form of spaghettification, but also given the size of the black hole, the audience, and the official helping them do it, it's likely that this black hole has been altered to be safe to surf.
  
• Have sex. ^BV1#1
  
• Do drugs. ^EHA00
  

Bill

Strength

• Knocks over the Liberty Bell with an elbow. ^CS1E5 The Liberty Bell weighs over 2000 lbs.
  
• Easily pitches and bats cannon balls that Ted had difficulty handling. ^CS1E9
  
• Knocks Ted into the air with an accidental headbutt. ^CS1E9
  
• Floors Monomonop with a yo-yo. ^M#8
  

Speed/Agility

• Pulls Ted out of the way of a flail. ^CS1E3
  
• Snatches a flying chip bag out of the air. ^CS2E2
  
• Bats a baseball pitched hard enough to leave a trail of flames. ^CS2E3
  
• Escapes from being grappled by swinging on a noose while the floor is dropped from under him. ^EHA92
  
• Ducks a bullet at close range. ^EHA08
  

Durability

• Takes a punch from Evil Robot Bill. ^M#7
  
• Takes a punch from Ronda Rousey. ^EHA16
  

Skill

• Spars with Joan of Arc. ^EA

Other

• Strong poker face. ^EA
  
• Folds a paper hat into a to-go box. ^CS1E1
  
• Rewires an amp which causes it to melt Ted's guitar through the floor. ^CS2E7
  
• Beats up the Invisible Woman using dark force powers gained as Darth Bogus. ^EHA05
  
  • Force chokes a man to the ground in an instant. ^EHA05
• Save nearly 70 people from being used as a virgin sacrifice. ^EHA13
  

Ted

Strength

• Knocks out a man in a leather helm with one strike. ^EA
  
• Accidentally sends Marco Polo flying with the swing of a broom. ^CS1E1
  
• Flicks a paper football hard enough to knock an apple into the air. ^CS1E2
  
• Breaks a wooden plank off on the T-800 Terminator, then knocks him into a well using a skateboard. ^EHA92
  

Speed/Agility

• Takes a tumble down the stairs hard enough to knock him out of his metalplate suit and somehow hides before anyone notices. ^EA
  
• Flip jumps to the top of the booth. ^CS1E5
  
• Dodges a swipe from behind from Vlad the Impaler. ^BV3#1
  

Durability

• Takes a tumble down the stairs hard enough to knock him out of his metalplate suit. ^EA
  
• Takes a headbutt to the chin that knocks him off of his feet and into the air. ^CS1E9
  
• Takes a full punch to the gut from Officer T. J. Hooker and brushes it off. ^EHA98
  
• Gets tackled to the ground and waled on by General Thade. ^EHA01
  
• Doesn't seem bothered touching a lightsaber with his bare skin. ^EHA05
  
• Gets smashed over the head with a guitar hard enough to crack it in half. ^BV1#4
  
• Thrown across the room onto the coffee table and is back on his feet shortly. ^BV2#1
  

Skill

• Flicks a paper football in such a way so that it flies around and knocks an apple off of Bill's head from the side. ^CS1E2
  
• Lassos the Black Knight while he's riding a horse full speed. But then forgets to keep a hold on the other end of the rope. ^CS1E7
  
• Briefly holds his own against an Italian fencer. ^LAE6
  

Other

• Reads the time and place text. ^CS1E1
  
• Starts a fire by rubbing George Washington's wooden teeth. ^M#8
  
• In a bad future where Ted was sent to military academy, he was able to double bust a corrupt cop by posing as a drug dealer. ^LAE4
  
• Kicks the Sith out of Darth Bogus. ^EHA05
  
• Gets with Taylor Swift. ^EHA13
  

Good Robot Bill and Ted

Robots created by the most brilliant mind in the universe, Station, to combat the powerful Evil Robot Bill and Ted. ^BJ

• The can be controlled via remote control but also seem to be capable of autonomous movement. ^BJ

Strength

• Punch through a brick wall. ^BJ
  
• Decapitate Evil Robot Bill and Ted with a punch, then cause their bodies to explode with a second punch. ^BJ
  
  • Evil Robot Bill and Ted no sell a punch to the chin from Bill and walk off crashing through a window and into a brick chimney. ^BJ
• Chew up a phone reciever. ^M#3
  
• Punch out the demonic Colonel Oats when the princesses couldn't faze him with their strikes. ^BV2#1
  
  • The princesses were smashing up musical equipment and sending other women flying with their strikes. ^BV1#6S
• High five each other hard enough to destroy each others' hands. Keep the Evil Robot Bill and Ted scaling in mind. ^DH#1
  
• Walk through a wall. ^DH#4
  

Durability

• Still functioning while demolished down to just their heads. ^M#7
  
  • Or arms. ^BV2#3
• Robot Ted gets blasted through several brick walls. ^BV3#4
  

They Run On Car Batteries

• They do. ^BV1#1S
  
• Electrocute two men to death when they try to stab them with rapiers. ^M#1
  
• Cause the booth to randomly jump when they electrocute it after touching some slushie material. ^M#12
  

Other

• Have tape recorders built in. ^M#3
  
• Can receive temporal emails, and promptly get a virus from this. ^BV1#1S
  
• Their code is written in a form of binary compose of "Bill"s and "Ted"s. With a source code constructed entirely of Van Halen references. ^BV1#1S
  
• Become presidents of the United States. ^BV1#2
  

Mecha Bill & Ted

• Rocket away from San Dimas to Scandinavia. ^DH#4
  
• Transforms from houses into humanoids form, piloted by Good Robot Bill & Ted. ^DH#4
  
• Beat up and send flying giant mountain trolls. ^DH#4
  

Mobile Suit Bill & Giganto-Ted

• Burst out of the sewers and through the streets, creating a massive tremor that could be felt from blocks away. ^BV1#6
  
• Disarm an entire crowd of guards with powerful magnets. ^BV1#6
  

The Time Booth

Time Travel

• A time machine that can travel to any place and time on earth after dialing a specific number. The number for each time and place is listed in an attached directory which catalogues most important points in history. ^EA
  
  • If Bill and Ted don't know what time or place they're looking for, they can ask the operator for help identifying a landmark. ^CS2E1
  • Can travel all the way back to the big bang. ^M#2
  • Is able to travel to and from "the center of time" which seems to exist outside of the regular timeline. ^M#6/7
• It is stressed multiple times throughout the series that even while time travelling, the clock in San Dimas is running, so Bill and Ted still have a limited amount of time to accomplish their goals while time travelling. ^EA This isn't well supported by other events and usages of the booth in the series, but it is a consistent concern regardless.
  
• Bill and Ted can use the Phone Booth to interact with themselves in the past, giving themselves needed equipment or advice. ^EA
  
  • Find a note of advice from themselves and then go back and leave the same note without having to even write it. ^AL
  • Get called to go forward from a few minutes beforehand to help out their future selves. ^EHA06
• Allow Bill and Ted to leave and then return to the exact same point in time, with 16 months of training in between. ^BJ
  
  • Further emphasizing that they can return to any point they want and San Dimas time doesn't matter. ^CS2E1
• A trip through spacetime can be cut short and will cause the booth to reappear at a median point. ^CS1E2
  
• A trip can also be reversed, allowing the booth to return to from where it just came. ^CS1E9
  
• A trip can be rerouted mid-stream without too much issue. ^CS1E10
  
• While this is not usually the case, as most time travel trips result in loops, drastically changing past events can lead to alternate present timelines. ^CS2E5
  
  • Bill and Ted use the booth to go back 15 minutes and redo a botched conversation resulting in a different outcome. ^LAE1
  • A closer to canon example. ^M#11
• Time travel 2 seconds into the future to catch an evil robot off guard. ^BV1#3
  
• Falling into the wormhole behind the phone booth can let someone travel through the circuits of time with it. ^EA
  
  • Rufus is able to follow a different phone booth using a grapple electric guitar, despite not being anywhere close to it when it time travels. ^BJ
  • The black knight and his horse are able to follow the booth. ^CS1E7
• Able to travel and be gone in the time it takes for a killer robot to aim and fire a vaporization beam. ^FtM
  
• Can travel to a point in time and space selected by an actual phone number in use at the time. ^CS1E8
  
• Can travel to a different point in space without changing time. ^CS2E8
  
• Elizabeth and Joanna apparently use the booth to travel to alternate timelines, though this mostly happens off screen. ^FtM
  
• Can travel to alternate dimensions entirely. ^M#10
  
• Travels to heaven. ^M#11
  
  • And hell. ^BV2#1
• Teleports from heaven to the earthly timeline, all the way to the Boomerang Nebula, and back in a matter of seconds. ^BV2#4
  
• Using the infinity button, allows the occupants to be multiplied infinitely to interact with all points in space and time simultaneously. ^FtM
  
• The booth can't travel if all of the circuits of time are currently occupied. ^CS2E5
  
• Travelers through the circuits of time can see other travelers in the same area. ^M#2
  
• The booth can seemingly track individuals in a specific time frame as shown by the fact that the future Bill and Ted were able to trick Bill and Ted into thinking they were rich and successful by being in the right place at the right time. ^FtM
  
• Rufus gives Bill and Ted a new booth that can trace the calls of other booths, though it tends to show up a little late. Also it's a rotary phone. ^M#2
  
• Rufus gives Bill a mobile phone which can call back the booth with the correct number. The first time its used however, it calls Doc Brown's Delorean instead. ^EHA92
  
  • Shown here actually working. ^EHA96
• When Ted uses a magazine to try and fix the antennae Bill and Ted end up going inside of the world of the magazine by accident. ^LAE1
  
  • By connecting the booth to a cable box, they're able to enter the worlds of television broadcasts, though it's entirely dependent on what the tv is currently turned to. ^LAE3

The Squint System
An upgraded directory that allows the booth to travel to fictional settings, including books, CDs, movies, and games. ^CS2E2

• Use the booth to enter an episode of Leave It to Badger. ^CS2E4
  
  • Can also use the booth to skip around within the episode. ^CS2E4
  • Once the episode ends, every person in it, including Bill and Ted, disappear. It looks like this. ^CS2E4
  • Foreign objects can persist between episodes, if they're plot relevant. ^CS2E4
• Can bring characters from the fictional world to the real world. ^CS2E4
  
• Characters in the fictional world are fully aware that they're fictional. ^CS2E4
  
• Altering the interior of the fiction does change how the fiction appears in the real world. Also might cause that fiction to become unavoidable? ^CS2E4
  
• Showing places that aren't supposed to be there reveals static. ^CS2E4
  
• Shrinks Bill and Ted down to smaller than a bottlecap when they forget to put the 1 in front. To reverse this effect, they simply dial 9. ^CS2E2
  

Durability

• [Limitation] When the booth's antennae get smashed by a knight's flail it can still travel fine but where and when it lands becomes uncontrollable. ^EA
  
  • [Limitation] A thrown frisbee knocks out the antennae, preventing the booth from time travelling. Ted is able to partially fix this with a magazine and a shoelace, though it causes the jumps to become uncontrollable again. ^LAE1
• Crash lands upside down and works perfectly fine. ^CS1E2
  
  • Tears through the roof of a tent, crash lands upside-down, and then falls onto its side. ^CS1E5
• Slides along the ground, crashing into a horse hard enough to launch it into the air, taking no damage. ^CS1E2
  
• Gets knocked off a crow's nest with a cannonball and tumbles to the deck of the ship without damage. ^CS1E4
  
• Gets run over by a train. ^CS1E8
  
• Tanks a fall from the top of Big Ben's clock face. ^CS1E8
  
• In a cabin as its demolished by a cannon, and protects the people within. ^CS1E9
  
• Smashes up the wooden walls of a log flume. ^CS1E11
  
• Takes several blasts of energy weapon fire and isn't damaged until one hits the antennae. ^LAE4
  
• Gets shot up by Billted 1.0's machine gun arm and has enough in it to make a trip before collapsing. ^BV1#4
  
• Vlad the Impaler has trouble breaking the glass with the hilt of his sword. ^BV3#1
  
• [Limitation] The floor breaks falling onto a bear's head. ^CS1E13
  
• [Limitation] Destroyed by a large boulder falling on it. ^BV2#3
  

Landing Strength

• [Limitation] While operating normally, it doesn't land hard enough to seriously harm an old man. ^CS1E5
  
  • But it did harm this guy. ^LAE1
• While malfunctioning however, digs a hole into the earth in a second. ^CS1E5
  
• Still while malfunctioning, crashes up through some wooden floorboards, knocking aside a dresser. ^CS1E5
  
• Demolishes a small kennel. ^CS1E6
  
• Smashes through a thick wooden roof. ^CS1E10
  
• Smashes through the deck of a ship. ^CS2E3
  
• Sends Columbus ricocheting around the Santa Maria. ^CS2E5
  
• Sends two cowboys a distance away flying from the shockwave. ^EHA92
  
• Smashes Billted 1.0 which is capable of flying straight through walls and windows without damage. ^BV1#3
  
• While malfunctioning, lands hard enough to crater concrete. ^BV1#4
  
• Smooshes a pair of demon spawn. ^BV2#4
  

Other

• Can still make a trip while on its side and is able to land normally. ^CS1E11
  
• It also works while water-logged. ^CS1E1
  
• Sideways AND waterlogged. ^S1E12
  
• It hovers in the air for unsaid reasons while malfunctioning. ^CS1E4
  
• Has some video recording and playback functions, though seemingly a preset one for display purposes. ^FtM
  
• When their regular booth gets blown up, Rufus lets them use a payphone on a stand to much the same effect. ^EHA02
  
• Can sometimes require coins to make calls with. ^NES
  
• It can also make regular calls. ^EA
  

"Catch ya later Bill and Ted!"