Mr. Jeff Gruber lay on the side walk below in a pool of his own blood having fell head first from the window of third story apartment. Framed in the window was a man who could have passed as the twin brother to the corpses on the side walk! As Jeff Gruber looked the body below he wondered: if you kill the parallel universe counterpart of yourself is it murder or suicide?

He sat on the edge of the low cliff that made up the shoreline. He stared deeply almost brooding into the yellows and oranges of the sunset that silhouetted the land in the distance. So lost in his thoughts he was that the lush green carpet of grass beneath his feet went unnoticed.

The young man's rumination was interrupted by the arrival of the brunette. The sea breeze teased her hair and the low hanging hems of her gossamer dress with a white kirtle beneath.

She placed a hand on his shoulder and he knew her touch though he never stopped looking at the horizon. "What is on your mind?" She asked with concern.

He answered, "The men, the old men whom I sat and talked with are far behind me now. They are few and fewer still are the young ones like us who want to sit and glean their storied wisdom. I guess they can't be blamed. We all thought we had more time."

"Time for what?" asked the maiden

"Everything," he said, placing such emphasis on the compound word that it almost sounded snappy, "There is business I left unfinished. Now the great unseen hourglass is counting down."

Silence reigned supreme in that space broken only by the lapping waves and seabirds.

"Yes, but something better will come about once the sands reach the bottom," the girl said.

"I know," said her male companion,"And I hold on to that, hope for it even. Nevertheless I still wished I had not seen the passing of the Sages."

Nothing else was said. The girl departed leaving him to stare into the sunset.

A hexagonal,gold coin, one of numerous galactic currencies, spiraled into the air and landed in the palm of a hand clad in a black glove. This had gone on for a half hour as he sat at his selected table.

He was a scruffy looking character with black hair grown out so that it touched the middle portion of his neck. His skin was bronzed and red from life among the elements.

The face told much about him as well. Hard lines did it bear, wrinkles in their infancy. He was most likely in his 40's or late thirties– at least by our measurements of age– and he sure looked the part. His eyes were dark brown and ever alert. His nose was hawklike. This was a man of mystery who was not to be trifled with.

The duster upon his shoulders was the same hue as his hair and gloves. It as well as the silver body armor and brown pants were covered in dust accumulated over a long journey that would end here one way or another.

The stranger's eyes had sized up the interior of the cafe upon his entrance. He made it one of his life's goals not to cross the brutox seated at the booth a few feet behind him. They were a race composed of rock hard bodies of brown, toad-like skin, a gorilla shaped head, four arms and a real nasty attitude.

The only other occupants were a spindly alien from a species he'd never come across and the proprietors of the cafe,an elf-like race that aged slower than normal humans.

The daughters of the elves had taken seats on either side of the stranger. He tolerated this. He knew backwater towns on this planet saw little action and he must have appeared to these dames as one the romantic heroes from one of those mushy stories they liked to read. In truth he was anything but.

He currently put the coin in his duster pocket and sipped some more swill and waited like a hawk. He'd been asked the usual questions and gave vague answers. He was named Orthson–not an alias- and he was from out of town.

When asked whom he was waiting for he jerked his right thumb to a wanted poster on the wall by his table. It read as follows:

Wanted

Jeremiah Pax

For armed robbery, assault, and flight to avoid prosecution.

5,000 frend reward.

Dead or alive.

Along with this information was a photo of a human male who looked like a long haired caricature of a shady reverend or a turkey buzzard from our planet. At this time it should be pointed out that frend was a type of currency and a very valuable one.

" Ah," said Ma."You must be one of those bounty hunter types."

He smiled content to let her think that. He was actually on a mission of vengeance. Pax, who did very little to live up to that last name, which was derived from an ancient Terran word that means peace, had wronged the stranger's sister and he saw within the system a way to have his cake and eat it too! He'd turn over the slimebag to the authorities and live with the satisfaction of knowing he'd done so. Jeremiah Pax would rot in a galactic prison delivered there by the hands of Angie Orthson's brother.

"What makes you think he's going to come here?" asked the Pa.

"Well Sir, I've studied this varmint for a mighty long while. He don't do the smart thing and get lost in crowds.

"He thinks his chances are better in little places like this one which only makes him stick out like…"

Instead of a sore thumb he used a for more course and colorful simile which caused the womenfolk to blush like a dance hall floozy and the Pa to scowl.

"Sorry, folks, I forget myself now and again," the stranger apologized quickly.

The awkward silence that followed for an eternity after that was broken by the entrance of another customer, Pax. He glanced around the cafe & smirked at his wanted poster. He looked just like the photo but now with dark circles under his eyes and sickness that emphasized his vulture-like characteristics. Yes, he looked like a man that was losing a fight with his conscience.

Suddenly he spotted his sworn adversary staring at him with the smile a cat gives before consuming a bird.

He gasped,"You!"

"Yeah,me."

The girls had rejoined their parents. It's a good thing because Jeremiah Pax drew his blaster from its holster and fired. He missed. Orthson whipped out his own one eyed dog and let it bark.

The smell of ozone filled the air and smokey specters danced across the cafe. The other patrons stood in shock and awe even the brutox.

The stranger was still standing. Jeremiah Pax was not.

"That was intense," said Ma, but I guess being a bounty hunter you get used to it."

"Never said I was a bounty hunter," the stranger replied as he grabbed the collar of Pax's jacket and drug the loathsome carcass to the sheriff.

It was a desperate gamble. I had to pick the right circumstances but there was so much to choose from. I could stop any number assassinations from John Lennon to John F. Kennedy.

Whatever I chose I knew the possibility of this being a one way trip. Project Paradox was risky anyway. Altering history just to see the effects? There were so many things that could wrong I have no time to list them here. Ironic, isn't it ,that I have no time.

I picked a doosy. There was one atrocity in particular I wanted to stop and for that I had to travel back France in a time of great conflict. I was going to stop the death of Joan of Arc. Foolish me. The moment I appeared out of nowhere to plead her case they assumed I was some sorcerer or the devil she was in league with. I'm sending this account back through the time gate hoping it reaches the proper destination. The only thing I changed was the number of people burned at the stake that day.

Like a knife through butter the craft entered the atmosphere of Rudax 1, a large planet that was comprised of a continent sized city and smaller land masses devoted to the agroarts.

The ship was shaped like an arrowhead within for wings jutting out of both sides. Affixed to the wing tips were solar cells in the form of acute triangles, the tips pointing straight ahead of the craft.

Inside the cockpit which was wrapped in a latticework of metal, sat the lone pilot of this single man freighter. He grunted as the crowded spaceport came into view. If he wasn't so worn out from the month he'd spent on this job he wouldn't even have bothered landing on Rudax 1.

He smoked the occasional cigar and could swear with the best of them if pushed to that point but he still lived something of a moral code. That code had led him to pass up several lucrative smuggling jobs and it was that selfsame code that balked at the decadence found in these large city planets.

The pilot rubbed his eyes and looked briefly behind his captain's chair at the cramped space where he kept his freight. It was empty. There was nothing there except for the stains of grease and various unnamed fluids from hauls past.

He'd converted the large storage unit in the starboard bulkhead into his sleeping quarters which consisted of one soiled bed and a picture of an old flame that had left him with the taste of unrequited love.

One more night here and he'd be heading home for the month he had off.

The ship docked and was inspected and soon the pilot was asleep. It must have been about the early morning hours by the measure of time upon Rudax 1. The sky was a creamy orange and the port was silent as a tomb. The pilot climbed out of bed and cast a quick look at a nearby Chrono reader. It was the day when worship of the Light Lord was worshiped all across the galaxy. A man of this faith himself, the pilot threw on his leather jacket,exited his freighter, and sat out to find a holy place. Passing the port side of his ship he gave one the solar cells–the point of which now faced towards the sky in the landing position – a customary pat.

How long he'd walked down the bustling street pacing humanity in all its space bred forms when a particular edifice demanded his attention. A golden dome at the top that was wrapped in a holographic banner that flashed the name, Church of the Holy Light in all the galactic languages. The congregation seemed to be filing in. They all wore hooded mantels of deeply colored silk, almost black but somewhat purple as well.

He walked up the entrance and was halted by a person clad in this manner with a theatrical mask on their face. The faux smile seemed positively bizarre in a setting such as this.

"Do you wish to worship us today?" asked the strange figure in an almost robotic tone.

"Yes," replied the pilot.

The man had been holding a stack of the masks and handed one to the pilot.

"We require those who enter to wear one of these."

He put on the face covering with a faux smile like all the others. He took his place among the crowd. The music started with some ancient hymn from a long dead bird. It was beautiful. The dim lights, the artificial smoke, all of it created an ambiance that sat off every chemical in the brain designed to make you feel like a million bucks. The head clergyman spoke in between songs. "Yes, everybody. The Light Lord is gracing us with his presence. Can you not feel it? He is here in all his glory!"

Was he? To the pilot something was different. This didn't feel like the time he'd say with members of the faith face to face having discussion about that galaxy's theology nor the times he'd spent on wilderness planets in the quiet of nature. In those times he'd almost heard the whispers of the divine melody that brought all into existence.

Aside from the display before him and the theater masks something else was noticeable. From the moment he'd walked through the door the pilot's nostrils had met with a pungent floral aroma. He'd been to many holy places but never had he encountered a copious amount of flowers.

Sometime before the clergyman gave his sermon he stepped out to relieve himself. On his way to the men's room he passed by dozens of flowers. There was a mystery here. Whatever was going on in this place was not genuine. He planned to quietly slip out the door.

So caught up in these thoughts and the perfume of the flowers which was making him dizzy that he bumped into a member of the congregation that was walking down the velvet corridor. The mask was knocked off that person's face and in that moment the pilot let out a startled cry.

Staring back at him was a face marred unspeakably by decay. The sudden commotion had interrupted the services and the crowd had come to see what was the matter.

"He's a dead walker! exclaimed the pilot. They all removed their own masks. They stood revealed as the zombies they were. Now he understood the purpose of the flowers to mask the stench. He threw his own mask off and bolted for the door. He ran through the streets weaving and pushing his way through the denizens of the port city. There was no life in that chapel on living death shrouded in ritual and theatrics.

Gazing over the sight of the carnage I down another swallow of liquid gold. Doctor says I'll drink myself right into the grave. We're all dying. In fact it's death brought me here.

Gaston Leroux is best known for writing that novel about the disfigured man who terrorizes the Paris Opera House. Here's a fun fact: He wrote a detective story about an impossible murder committed in a closed room. That's what this was accept the room was an entire city going to hell.

The perp had struck again this time they left two vics. Both in lab coats. This person was a ghost. They left nothing for forensics and remained unidentified in an age were intsant identification technology made both things impossible.

My partner scans the cadavers withs II contacts lenses. I don't wear any because I don't trust them. He reads off their info while my bottle forms bullet points for each category.

Metaphorically speaking I have a blood hound nose. Every dick should have one. If they don't they need to shuffle off to Buffalo. There had be something logical to this crime spree. This guy or gal killed in droves and left no trace of anything. That nose of mine was picking up a sent I didn't know what it was but it was getting stronger.

My easy chair embraced me like a lover. It was nice to have something to come home to after another long day in the year 2030. Some more liver poisoning goodness and I begin to go over the facts I had sniffing with that snoz I've already mentioned. Something was here I knew it.

A trip to the coroner revealed both of the scientists that perished had implants in their brains for listening to music. Talk about having a song stuck in your head.

Just about everyone these days had a one of those implants unless you're an old fogie like myself. Each of the murder victims had one. In each case they seemed burnt out. It was odd but didn't stick out to me at the time. Not until now.

The word ghost smacked me up side the head like an iron skillet. The killer was in fact a ghost. That was why there was not so much as blood splatter at any of the scenes.

I began formulating the solution. The perp was a hacker all they had to do was tap into the music implants and overload them boom instant high tech death. But why? Perhaps he wanted to prove a point. Maybe he was an anarchist. Who knows why they did it?

I could only hope the department would buy my theory. But even if they did how could we possibly catch him? That thought necessitated another pint glass of my choice beverage.

I can still remember it. On nights like to night when it rains cats and dogs and the lightning flashes I remember those events despite my best efforts to blot them out.

Five years ago this all took place. It was raining cats and dogs then to. On the morning of those sinister events the rain hadn't moved in yet, but the sky was pale grey indicating the coming assault of moisture.

I was a detective. Notice that I said was. The events I'm about to narrate led to my retirement. I had. To kids had disappeared: Hetzel and Gretel.

The kids were the children of the Walters. They were a nice quiet family having moved here from Germany. At the present moment I was scouring the sight of their picnic. All that remained now was the checkered blanket and an overturned basket of food surrounded by bread crumbs.

The couple had left the children to play by themselves while they talked with some friends they spotted in the park that day. Last account they had of the children were talking to an old woman the family knew who ran a bakery.

I jotted down the information in my notebook just all detectives do. Looking up the sky I made a promise to have the children home before the storm set in. It was promise I hoped wasn't as empty as the pastry box at a Sunday meeting.

I didn't suspect kidnapping right away. Since the woman was a friend of the family I assumed maybe the children had gone off with her without telling their parents. Of course it wouldn't be the first time someone close the family did something like abscond with the children.

I made stopping by her bakery a priority. Perhaps it was blind naivety taking hold but I figured we'd find the children at the bake shop all snug and safe, eating sweets that Matilda (that was the proprietor's name) didn't want to tell their parents about. How foolish of me!

So on and on down a twisted rabbit whole this memory takes me. Arriving at the Steaming Muffin my partner and I radioed headquarters & entered the establishment. I won't waste time describing the place it smelled heavenly.

Matilda greeted us with a smile. The truth is she looked a crone and despite her kindly manners and cooperation after we flashed our badges something about her effected me like garlic in Italian food. She was almost to cooperative with ready answers to my grilling questions. I only half believed her when she explained the kids had asked to accompany her to her shop for some dessert and they had wanted to keep it secret from their parents. After that they left for a fling in the town. Ahh the innocence of the post war years. I was about to press her further when something clubbed me over the head Everything spun around and I blacked out.

When I came to it was because I was forced back to consciousness by to ruffians in masks dragging me from the trunk of a Thirty-Six Studebaker. We were parked in a dismal patch of woods with twisted trees and the rain was pouring down. They made the mistake of untying me to make my execution look less suspicious. I leaped on them like a wild animal. My fists plowed into their chins and they dropped like hot potatoes. Removing the masks I was horrified to discover one of them had been my partner. It was he who knocked me out at the bakery.

All at once I had assorted pieces of a sickening puzzle. Some well honed gut instinct told me to take that car and continue driving down that lonely road. If I did I'd find the completed picture and Hetzel and Gretel.

My journey took me to the dilapidated remains of a hotel that hadn't been use in over to decades, a charming love nest called the Ginger Bread House.

Exiting the car I heard some noise coming from inside. Edging closer to the house with my partner's pistol in my hand the noise became a rythmic chanting in a language I knew not. I snuck around behind the inn and entered through a badly worn rear door. Building was a three story and what blasted my eyes I will forever remember even as I do now. Gone was any thing that might have resembled the lobby. In its place was bare walls covered in otherworldly images and a blazing fire in the center of the room surrounded by men and women in the same masks as worn by my assailants. These were the people chanting.

Every hair on my neck was on end. Above this scene I saw the Walter children tied back to back on a platform that seemed to be operated by a pulley system that lowered it from the ceiling. This whole place had been converted into an occult temple.

I saw the most sinister sight of all. Matilda looked down on this scene from the railing of the second story stairwell. She was clad in some gaudy ceremonial robe. Her exact words are lost in the bloody haze of this portion of the memory. She said something about a dirty named Yog Zathoth and a holy book called the Necronomicon.

Without thinking I shot down the man operating the pulle then I took out any others foolish enough to draw on me. Lastly I shot down the screeching swearing creature called Matilda. She jerked and fell over the railing into the sacrificial flames intended for Hetzel and Gretel.

By now the other cultists had fled. I put out the fire and lowered the children from the deathtrap. "Let's get you out of here." I said. They took my hands and we left the house of horrors behind us.

The leaves were already turning from the colors of an inferno to the dismal lifeless brown. The branches of the trees that had once housed those very leaves were becoming bare and taking on the appearance of skeletal fingers raised in ancient supplication to God above.

Into this contrasting scene of bleakness and beauty walked a lone figure. This new arrival was a male bearing only the faintest trace of human form.

His skin was almost as yellow as the leaves beneath his bare feet. His body was covered in leaves and something that almost could be called tree bark.

This newcomer was a dryad, one of those sprites that for long centuries has watched over the forests before fading into antiquity. He looked forlorn as he scanned the dying trees and felt the ice cold impact of winter times first salvo.

Straight ahead another figure materialized. The stranger was shrouded from head to toe in a black cloak. One hand as skeletal as the naked tree branches above grasped a tall sythe. The other hand beckoned to the forest sprite.

This was the figure the dryad dreaded to meet yet knew he must. It was the same year after year. This figure intruded upon his people. He must know why.

He was now face to face with the dour figure. Oh how horrible a face it was. Patches of necrotic flesh clung to a yellowed skull. The empty sockets regarded the mythical being before. Then the jaw bone moved up and down to form speech. "You've sought me out. Why?"

"I must know," replied the dryad in a shaky voice, "why must your hand sweep over my kind this same time every year. It troubles me."

"It is part of the Grand Cycle. The Forest sleeps my sleep thus your people die off as well for the cycle of the forest is your domain. The water nymphs go through the same thing when the waters freeze.

"This is all part of the design of the Father of Craftsmanship. It wasn't so in the early days of the Grand Design but it became necessary. As did my existence."

"Necessary for what?" asked the dryad of the Grim Reaper.

"Why the joyous event of rebirth. I'm nothing to fear despite my unsightly visage. Without my presence so much couldn't come into existence: New foliage, your successors who will watch over the forests when spring comes around again. They would not know the joy of life if not for me, Death."

The Reaper paused to let his words register with his companion. Then he continued, "As the sacred writings have foretold there'll come a time when everything will be reborn permanently and on that day I shall perish. It is a day I look forward to."

"Why would death look forward to death?"

"Because I will have no role to play. I will not have to take souls and wither trees. It will be as the Grand Design was meant to be from the moment of its conception."

"I think I understand now," said the dryad.

"So are you ready for your passing and the coming of Winter?"

"Yes."

"Then take my hand."

And so the forest guardian did. Just as the first snow flakes began to fall.

On a night during that time that marks the shifting of seasons, the time when the callous hands of blazing summer clash with those first feminine caresses of autumn, a loud scream pierced the torch lit hallways of a kingdom in a time and world long forgotten.

This agonized cry was the sound of labor and the birth of a new life. Soon the auditory assault ceased and silence took its place, but only briefly.

In the place of the vocalizations of birth pains rose a single shriek. It was a shriek that crafted a frozen tundra of the blood of all who heard it including the knight making his rounds through the shadowy halls.

In the bed chamber of the royal couple the scene was grim. The midwife, doctor, and several servants looked on in horror at the thing in the doctor's hands. Even the queen shivered and looked at her ghastly offspring, unsure of what to make of the thing extracted from her innards. Only the king regarded the proceedings with stoic composure,the shadows playing on his black bearded face like children in a school yard, as the child cried as all newborns do.

The child had been born with a light blue complexion. At first the midwife and doctor thought it was from a lack of oxygen.

Further examination had led to the terrible vocalization from the midwife.

In addition to the skin color were other less than natural features: two nubs on the forehead that marked the beginning of horns, ears that tapered upward to a point, eyes that shone like twin suns in the dim lighting, and a serpentine tail that ended a flat triangular point.

The only human feature seemed to be the light blonde locks of the baby's hair. The unsightly infant led one servant to utter, " 'Tis the doings of witchcraft, the work of some black art."

The servant in superstition spoke truly. The king knew exactly what had happened he was there. No one questioned his victory over the southern raiders though they out numbered his men a hundred to one. They chalked it up divine intervention from Korobon who made all and sees all.

The intervention was far from divine. In desperation the king turned not the light but to something darker and more occult.

On a night when the lines between the seen and the unseen cease to exist and the ancient devils and dark gods prowl the earth, communing with, coupling with, and terrorizing the dwellers of the mortal plane he made a bargain with one such entity. Victory would be his at the cost of the tainting of his heir.

"This is her doing," he suddenly bellowed pointing a finger toward his wife, the queen in the manner a huntsman points a crossbow at his prey. " She is in league with devils. Clearly she has taken one of Lilith's sons as a mate and has brought this blight upon my house!"

"But, Dear, I have done no—"

"Silence whench! Do not add lies to your devil crafts."

The matter was settled. The queen was tried a kangaroo court and burned at the stake.

As for the child, a girl,she was not destroyed but made an outcast. She was taken to an isolated tower on the northern most edge of the kingdom. A maid servant who always suspected there was more to the story volunteered to raise her.

So time passed as it always does. The poor child grew into womanhood within the confines of the tower. Those nubs grew into a regal set of horns protuding from her forehead. They were a dark violet color. Her locks were now long and rich and she often wore them long and braided in the center.

Her foster mother tended to her education in academic and spiritual matters and despite her fiendish form her belief in Korobon was as deep as her bosom.

She whiled away the days reading and longing to taste the outside world. Her dear caretaker had educated her well enough that she knew she wouldn't last long out there. "Oh Korobon, why must I suffer for my father's sins?" She would often pray.

Among her collection of literature was a generous amount of romantic novels. She'd read these poems and prose and something in her longed for a champion. Someone to lover her as these valiant knights did their ladies. Much to her foster mother's dismay she'd spend long nights in the depths of sorrow crying herself to sleep.

She was rejected, cast out and unloved by all except her caretaker. But Korobon made all and sees all and hears all the prayers made to him, especially those of a devilish girl with a shattered angel's heart.

His skin was tanned from days in the sun, his frame was solid as a rock, his chin was square, the face weathered but handsome, his eyes deep blue, his hair cut short and black like a crow,and his overall physical appearance was just shy of godlike. A necklace of wolf teeth hung about the thick neck. Sweat glistened on masculine pectoral muscles.

A mass of stubble stood out on the tanned face like a coat of dust on a piece of ancient furniture. The meaty hands capable of killing men held a double bladed battle axe. Black breeches adorned his lower half leading to buckskin boots.

All in all Ervin Craddock made for an imposing figure of a man.

He was a mercenary. He had made friends and enemies in several Kingdoms as a result. He walked through a wooded trail that gave way to a clearing.

Within the clearing was an encampment of hardcore men and a few women with swords, knives spears and other tools of death in hands and on hips or the sharpening wheel. Craddock sat down on a log by the fire pit and was greeted by Gu, his most trusted friend. He was far lankier than the barbarian but no less fierce.

"Greetings fearless leader. We were expecting you last night," he said with concern, "What held you up, Friend?"

"I grew weary and spent the night at an inn. I shared a few drinks with some old guy and Korobon, what tales he spun."

Gu was interested now as one of the women brought a canteen over to the mercenary leader. He sipped it slowly. Once finished he was asked by Gu, "What sort of tales?"

"He said something about a demon kept in a tower in the north lands. Some drunken nonsense I suppose."

"If only it were,'' said the older, more slender man. "They say the queen trafficked in secret with fiends and summoned a demon into the kingdom rather than destroy the abomination the king trapped in a tower and cry's and wailing have been heard by those traveling the roads nearby and a horned face with yellow eyes can sometimes be seen from the top most window."

"He dares to let an enemy of the divine roam free? If he will not rid the land of this evil then I shall!" Exclaimed Craddock with righteous fury.

"But, my friend, to go against the king!"

" We pledge ourselves to no king except the one who pays the most and we haven't been hired out by this kingdom lately."

Gu saw no point in further protest and the next morning search of Ervin Craddock was gone.

After three days' journey the emboldened mercenary came upon the tower. From the road he was able to see the wall which faced north had only one window and the rest was the face of the wall. The ingress and egress must be on the tower's south side.

Having no desire for a clash with any guardsmen that might be present he approached silently like a panther. He scaled the tower wall with practiced skill and righteous determination.

At last he entered through the window & unstrapped his hearty axe from his back. He probed the room with his eyes and saw the thing laying in the bed against the wall. He jumped down from the window ledge and landed with a clomp upon the wooden desk below.

The sound roused the fiend and she sat up and stared at the intruder. Their eyes met. Shock filled Craddock. He'd not expected the fiend to be female in appearance. She looked beguiling but evil so often does.

"Vile devil spawn, the king may keep you around but I shall send you back into the shadows of the abyss!"

With that threat he swung his axe attempting to lop off her horned head. With a surprised shout she dove head long to the floor! The axe came to rest in the bed causing downy feathers to spew from the wound.

Not to be stopped in his crusade of righteousness he prepared for another swing. "Korobon, save me!" Wailed the girl, her burning yellow eyes streaming tears.

"You dare let the Holy One's name pass your friendship lips, you hellish vixen?"

Just then the door to the small bed chamber burst open and in walked the aged servant who'd been the princess's mother for twenty five long years. She regarded the bare chested man with horror and contempt both. "Put down that axe you brute!"

"Why are you the witch who conjured this succubus? Were you in league with the queen?"

The aged woman was incensed. "I do not know what you have heard of us but it's fools like you that have caused my lady here to never roam the outside world."

"Please sir, if you are as righteous as of a man I believe you to be please hear out my mother if you won't here me! Then decided whether to execute us or not."

A rapping at the door halted all conversation as a deep voice demanded to know what the ruckus was about.

"Nothing to concern yourself over, Sir Knight."

"Very well."

With this brief interruption over Craddock agreed to hear out the two women. They told him the story as you've already read it. After this he offered his apologies. He would go out the way he came and he would be leaving a wiser man. Names were exchanged the devilish princess was Ivy and her care taker was Clory.

Back at his camp he his thoughts were of Ivy. Now that he knew her sad tale she was not repulsive. In fact the marks of whatever deviltry– & this he now suspected was on behalf of her father not her mother– had tainted her birth had left her with traits that gave her an exotic beauty. What was this; was he falling in love with a woman with horns and tail? But those eyes, like stars. The blond locks that framed her demonic visage. Was it love or lust or both?

The princess's thoughts were of the roguish warrior so devoted to his faith her would have slain her thinking her to be an unchecked evil. Was she falling in love with a man who'd swung an axe at her head?

It goes without saying a romance did blossom between the two. They had many secret rendezvous in that lonely tower which didn't seem so lonely anymore.

One day this romance reached its climax. Clory burst into the room just as the two were embracing. The wretched woman was out of breath. "My lady I've just heard dark news from the castle the prince has been coronated and he's sending me to slay you as a pennace offering to Korobon!"

"We must flee this place!" said Craddock. Just then a swarm of gaurds stormed into the room swords at the ready. They sold there in chain mail and black tabbards with a gold insignia. The Merc knew of them,the Holy Slayers.

He brandished his axe. "Blast that's Ervin Craddock," one of them exclaimed. "Watch 'em boys!"

He advanced like a mad hornet and swung that axe in a warriors fury as he commanded the women to stay behind him. One by one they fell until they were mangle, bloodied imitations of humans.

"Turn the bed sheets into a rope were getting out of here," Craddock said as he unceremoniously shove to the floor a knight that had fallen on it in death.

By the time other soldiers arrived to see the carnage. The mercenary was walking toward his camp with his love in his arms, her own arms around his neck. She nestled her face upon his sinewous chest. She was leaving her books behind she didn't not need them now. She had a champion and she was his fair lady and outcast no longer. They headed to their new life together.

The end and beginning.

A small space craft cut its way through the expanse of the cosmos. Small that is in comparison with the surrounding cosmic environment. In truth the ship was large enough to house a crew of six.

The craft itself wasn't entirely remarkable. It was a drab white wedge shaped hunk of engineering with two thrusters or more simply rocket boosters on its rear. There were others just like it and they were slowly being phased out for newer models.

What was remarkable about the craft was actually its mission. A new celestial body had been discovered by the Copernicus 9, a deep space telescope that had replaced the decommissioned Hubble Telescope. Like always it created a buzz to rival the liveliest beehives. So now six intrepid astronauts sat on the edge of their seats as the craft came closer to the shadowy sphere of interest.

The crew themselves were a hodge podge. In the left row of seats sat Herbert Quinones, the part Latino part Canadian pilot. Next was Jorge Yang, a youthful athletic former track star whose family immigrated from Japan in the late 2040's. He gave up rushing toward finish lines to rush to the stars even if it was as the ship's mechanic. Completing the scene was Eve Jackson. Of all the women available for the mission, why did they have to be stuck with her? She was,to put it nicely, a shrew and she couldn't be tamed. For now she was remaining silent and everyone was grateful.

That brings us to the right row's first occupant, Kimberly Masters. If Eve was a shrew then Kimberly was a virago. Her tomboyish nature was reflected by her short brown hair. She had a love of adventure and getting her hands dirty. She was one to play GI Joes while the other girls her age played with Barbies. Everyone enjoyed her company. Her and Eve were as dissimilar as the Mona Lisa and a kinetic sculpture.

Behind her sat Dustin Stevens, an African American from Shreveport Louisiana originally. He had a jovial personality.

Lastly was Jack Wallace, a man descended from a thousand warriors from Scandinavians to Native Americans. He was most happy with his Irish roots. He was average in most every way and was content with it. He and Quinones were the only two creationists aboard the shop Quinones being Catholic while Wallace swung in the way of non-denominational protestant. Regardless of all their differences the crew got along well together except for Jackson. She was determined to be antagonistic toward anyone with a Y chromosome. For that matter anyone with an X chromosome was subject to her wrath as well if they didn't see things from her view point.

As they neared X247, the planet in question Jackson finally spoke. "Oh my…"

"What is it?" asked Wallace but only because he was the closest to her.

She pointed out the window. "The Stars they just seem to vanish near the planet!"

Sure enough all around the planet was a giant ring of inkinesss as if all the stars were being deflected away from the planet on all sides. "Holy crap you're right!" exclaimed Dustin.

"Of course I'm right!" she snapped.

"Keep your tits on, Eve. No one was trying to disprove you. The sight is just shocking is all." This came from the pilot who'd had just about all he could stand from her during the trip.

"Maybe they all went supernova," speculated Yang.

Jack Wallace scratched his beard in quiet thought. Something wasn't sitting well all of a sudden.

The pilot announced they were going to land & Wallace who served as defacto commander reminded everyone of their objective. "All right we land, take some photos, make minimal contact with the natives if there are any and then get the heck back to Earth with our findings."

"I wish we could have sent a probe down." said Stevens.

"That's been done remember? It malfunctioned though and only sent back pictures of blackness," answered Wallace.

"So we are the probe." Stated Kimberly.

Helmets were donned and firearms were prepared. All astronauts carried them now after a nasty incident ten years prior with a rival nation's space agency and some hostile aliens. Of course Eve refused to carry one. She pulled her long purple hair into a bun and put on her helmet dropping obscene as she did so to the point of annoying Stevens who was not beyond dropped eff bombs himself.

At last the crew landed and departed from the craft. "Strange, said Wallace the gravity is equal to that on Earth."

"That's really what is concerning you, Jack," Kimberly asked, "Look around us. It's pitch black. There's no sun, no moon, no stars.

Sure enough the only lights came from the ship. "No wonder the probe only sent back blank images." stated Yang.

"Who's doing what?" asked Kimberly.

"First off, Eve, scan the atmosphere."

"One step ahead of the men like always. Oh, and you'll have to keep the helmets on. This planet has a very thin atmosphere and it's not compatible with human biology."

"Ok," said Jack, "Quinones, Yang I want you two here with the ship. I'm getting some creepy vibes of this planet and I don't want to lose our pilot and mechanic. Also if you could set up the artificial lighting we packed that would be helpful."

"Right away!" Yang said.

"All right the rest of your are with me."

The crew turned the lights on their helmets and Kimberly strapped the high-res camera around her neck. As the quartet made to leave the landing sight Wallace felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Herbert. "Should I pray, Senor Wallace? "

"Yes, that would be a very good idea."

"This is a lonely planet," Dustin. commented. "It might be a good place for Eve to start a race of Amazons away from us men."

"Blow it out of your butt, Stevens." Jackson replied.

"Everybody shut up!" ordered Wallace with agression that was uncharacteristic for him. "Look here!"

The crew had gone on a few yards from the craft. In front of them rose a structure illuminated in the glow their head lamps. It was the height of a two story house. The edifice was bulit from stone. "Should we let the other guys know about this." asked Dustin.

Wallace turned and looked a few yards to his right. The two men were already setting up the lights around the ship. "Not yet they're doing their job. Let's do ours. Kimberly looked down at her feet. "Dead grass!" she exclaimed.

"That means at one time this planet was evolved to sustain some form of life." Dustin pointed out, "I wonder what could have happened to it."

Wallace looked up at the void that should have been a firmament. "It became a dead planet."

His observation was made with such an ominous coldness that even the hard nosed Eve shuddered.

"Should we go inside? asked Dustin.

"Yes,"said Jack." I only pray we're not about to open Pandora's box."

The doors opened perhaps a little too easily. The group went inside and found themselves in a windowless corridor lit by mysterious stones in sconces like candles. The yellow glow was so brilliant that the lamps on the helmets became unnecessary. "Kimberly, how is your Uncle doing?"asked the leader for the sake of breaking up the deathly silence.

"He's doing better, Jack. The new medication is helping him with out all the nasty side effects."

"I think that's underselling that pharmaceutical monstrosity considering you had to pull the gun barrel out of his mouth."

You know those people who butt in where they are not needed or wanted and act like some holier than thou paladin slaying dragons that are really just iguanas? Guess who was one of those people. Yep, Eve Jackson.

The woman huffily replied. "How dare you talk about suicide that way?"

"Because it's true," responded Kimberly hoping to defuse the situation. "The war really messed up my uncle. The meds didn't help any."

Nothing more was said on the topic. Wallace was getting more and more on edge. Stevens took him by the arm and walked a few steps ahead of the ladies were they could talk privately. "Jack you know I don't go in for all that spiritual mumbo jumbo of yours but I'd like to know some more about those bad vibes of yours."

"It's hard to describe. It's less spiritual and more instinctual. Something unfriendly dwells somewhere in this planet's shadows. It's malevolent but not demonic per say. The feeling I'm getting is like being in a jungle with a tiger nearby."

"In other words, Jack, we've entered the lair of an apex predator."

"Something like that."

The corridor seemed to go on forever but the curious stones lit the way. Soon wierd frescos and glyphs revealed the unintelligible history of a civilization long since vanished. The pictures depicted a people that had slender bodies and tall rectangular heads.

"The life of this planet evolved strangely but they seemed to have built a civilization not unlike ancient Earth. They have water craft in some of the pictures and what appears to be hunting parties are shown in others." This was said by Kimberly in awe.

Even though the glyphs were unreadable and the paintings on the walls were on a artistic level just above Egyptian hieroglyphs the story was clear and the planet had apparently once teemed with all sorts of fantastic flora and fauna.

"I'm sure Preacher Man over there would make an argument for his so called intelligent design." said Eve in a rude manner.

Wallace didn't want to give her the satisfaction so he said simply," It is all very strange."

Everyone took notice of a sudden headache not caused by the shrew. Toxins were ruled out because of the recycled air inside the helmets. Despite the malady the four astronauts pushed onward.

At last the crew came to Large room on either side were passages leading off into other directions. In the center of this room was sort of raised pedistal. From the ceiling hung a large cousin to the torch stones as the astronauts called them now. It shone with dazzling radiance. The walls here were covered with more of the strange images.

Eve looked around. "Well, I say we should split up and and explore these other passages."

"No," protested the leader,"We stick together."

The woman put her hands on her hips and responded, "Why? So you men can take credit for something a woman might discover? Typical!"

"Blast it all, Eve Jackson! There's something off about this whole place. I don't know what it is but until we can find out everyone here is going to follow my orders regardless of anatomical make up!"

"I will not be ordered around by a–"

"Fine! Do what you want."

With that heated exchange at an end the woman left to explore the corridor to the her left. Her haughty footfalls echoed in the spooky silence that she left behind her. "Kimberly go with her. There's safety in numbers. Don't let her take too long either. I've got a gut feeling we shouldn't stick around longer than we have to," commanded Jack Wallace.

With a cock of her rifle Kimberly nodded her head and departed after Eve. "That's a fine woman. If I wasn't already married she'd be at the top of my list, man."

No sooner had Stevens spoke then he was signaled to be quiet by Wallace. "Come in Yang, Quinones over!" Static. "Look guys I want you to stay on the ship. We are in some sort of building.

"We're not going to stick around here any longer than we have to. Again, I want you guys to stay on the ship. In fact, get the engines fired up. Do you read over?" Static.

"Answer me damnit!" As a Christian Jack Wallace was not given to profanity so his companion knew he was in a poor state of mind.

"Calm down, brother the stone walls are probably interfering with the signal is all."

The astronaut took a deep breath.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

To lighten the mood Dustin said, "You know it amazes me we grew up in the same region of the same state and we only met two years ago."

"That's not really unusual, Stevens. Besides I spent most of my time around Ruston."

The men resolved themselves to waiting for the females. "This room looks empty; I wonder what it's for." Stated the Shreveport native.

The men looked at the paintings the images showed the natives looking up at what was supposed to be the sky. Behind an orange disk that the two assumed to be the sun was a larger circle with squiggles coming off it.

"Wonder what those mean," Stevens pondered tracing his finger across them.

"Sun beams maybe. Perhaps they worshipped the sun." replied Wallace.

"I don't think so because look here."

The man indicated the next image which clearly represented night. The circle with the squiggly line this time was drawn almost like Pac Man. It seemed to be eating a star. The subsequent image showed the people of the planet looking up that mysterious glyph except this time it was surrounded by small versions with the same lanky bodies as the aliens.

"Those things almost look like…." Dustin couldn't bring himself to finish. It was to wild to speculate.

"I know exactly what they they look like," Jack said grimly,"except without out the wings and reptilian body. All at once this whole planet is something out of H.P. Lovecraft's wet dreams."

"But what is this building for?"

"There!" exclaimed Jack as he pointed a finger to the center painting just above the pedistal. It showed an alein standing laying on a platform. The outline around the grisly image was in the shape of the building they stood in now. "This place was a temple. We're in the sanctuary,"concluded Wallace, "What's more is this pedestal was probably an altar."

"And that god that ate the sun is our apex predator."

"Yeah, and now that we know what happened to the stars. Let's get out of here."

"But we still don't know what happened to the people." Dustin pointed out with his curiosity piqued now.

"It is better that way."

Just then a bloodcurdling scream reverberated through the derelict temple. It had come from Kimberly and it was flowed by multiple gunshots then nothing. Wallace & Stevens ran down that corridor. The headaches had worsened. Now it felt like something was trying to split open their skull to slip inside.

The walls were well lit but devoid of markings. The men had guns at the ready they called to Eve and Kimberly but silence was the sole answer they received. Soon they made it. At their feet was the smashed camera. Kimberly's rifle lay on the cold stone floor as well; all the bullets had been spent. A mangled helmet completed the aftermath.

They spotted the forms of the two women ahead they called out again and were greeted by a sight that chilled the blood. The bodies were those of the ladies but their heads had been morphed into a mass of fleshy tendrils! The heads opened like a flower revealing a singular eye there in. The pounding in their skulls became language, intelligent language like English.

The words spoken telepathically were thus: "Join with the one who is many. Join with the many who are one. Praise the Eater of Stars!"

The mind of the Christian astronaut reeled under the psionic blasphemy that assaulted him. He let out an angry cry and opened fire on the mutants. They reeled back beneath the assault, the bullet holes sealed leaving the tattered fabric as the only trace of them.

The message was repeated, "Join with the one who is many Join with the many who are one. Praise the Eater of Stars!"

Dustin dropped his gun and ripped off his helmet. He screamed in agony and then his head twisted and contorted in unnatural and nightmarish ways until he had become one these creatures.

Jack turned and fled down the hallway. "My Father in heaven, protect me this day from these abominations!"

He at last was out outside but the beings who were once his friends had followed him repeating the telepathic message over and over. Two more octopus headed figures approached him from the ship. He realized they were the mechanic and the pilot. From the shadows stalked more of the creatures.

They joined in with their psionic voices as well. They'd been lurking in the stygian corners of this dead planet and had come to greet their brethren.

Wallace literally sprayed and prayed as he fought his way to the ship. Once inside he turned on the engines and took off. Looking out the cockpits window he saw a mangled and twisted pile of metallic scrap. He realized it was the probe. The ship must have landed on it.

The lone survivor of the failed mission would have probably been driven to insanity if he'd seen the ancient creature that rose above the temple calling thecongregation of its bipedal counterparts to it. But he didn't. He was already leaving the nightmare planet and Its ancient and unknown god far behind.