Bringer of Light, the Morning Star

Suddenly there was an insidious hissing, gurgling noise coming from the floor. Was it possible? The red, mangled chaos that was Monsieur’s splattered head - there was movement. Something was slipping and sliding about, like maggots at their meal. With an obscene sucking noise, it was suddenly airborne.
“Oh my god, what the fuck is that?” Joe was petrified.
It was flapping about, slinging blood and gore from its satanic, leathery wings. He had seen some pretty weird shit these last few days, but this took the preverbal cake. This was evil incarnate. It was glowing, rays of dark, malevolent light emanating from the travesty of a one-eyed head.
The Captain turned and her face fell. She looked with horror into its cyclopean orb.
“No, please, sweet Jesus, no.” She raised her Remington 870s impotently, intuitively realising that the situation had just left the ‘handle it’ stage and entered the hopeless one.
“Who, what is that thing?” Joe turned to the Captain in panic, imploringly.
“What? Don’t you recognise Lucifer when you see him?” she stammered.
The thing made a sickly noise, its voice an open wound. It let out a wet, choking laughter, sounding as if were coming from the rotting throat of a putrescent corpse. The room stood still, everyone motionless, transfixed.
“Frailty, thy name is woman?” It said. “Ha-ha-ha, that’s so rich! These women make you pathetic men look like arthritic mice. Like sclerotic earthworms! Seriously! Vanity, that is thy true name, woman. You can’t kill that. Nor me. No one can; we’re as old as time itself. Tits, ass and a pretty face. That’s what makes the world go round. Especially a pretty face. Helen’s launched a thousand ships. Not bad. How many have you launched, dwarf-lovers? And please, let’s have some sympathy, let’s show a bit of taste. Use all your well-learned politesse or I’ll lay your souls to waste. I’m pleased to meet you, I’m glad you guessed my name. But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game.”
“What??? Game? Lucifer? Like, the Lucifer?” Joe was in denial. He was overloading, his fuses were being tried.
“At your service.” The Thing made a mock bow in midair, its hideous leathery wings folding over the singular bloodshot eye. The air smelled of stale farts and sulphur. “THEY called me up, wanting their eternal beauty. THEY invited me into THEIR house. I cannot enter uninvited, you know. Against the rules, it is. But once invited, I delivered the goods. And please - your garlic, crosses and silver bullets – these are silly fairy tales, my friends. Spare me the humility.
Now, I kept my word. I gave you all boundless beauty! And now the bill is due, my lovelies, in blood money, if you like. Or dwarf meat, I don’t care which. I just want what is mine! And I intend to take it. A deal is a deal, especially with Lucifer. So, who is going to pick up the tab?”

And then the door to the pub crashed open and in stepped a gloriously blond Amazon, aiming two gleaming silver pistols at the Monsieur. She was at least six foot six, and every curve on her was exaggerated, her tiny rock hard waist, her bountiful bosoms that pulled at the constraints of her button down shirt, her ass, oh her ass with it's firm and rippled glutes that reminded Swotsy of nothing less than a prize race horse. Her muscled shoulders filled the door frame.

All the little people looked up at her and gasped. As did Swotsy. Poor confused Swotsy, her head spun, her loins burned.

The Monsieur, however narrowed his eyes and stalked the floor. Dwarves scattered to all corners.

There was no time for confusion. Swotsy pulled her weapon, as did all the other police in the room and the Monsieur just laughed.

"Those will not harm me." He tossed the nearest police man into the wall, and he grunted and slid down to the floor, unconscious. The hail of bullets that followed, he just laughed off. When it quieted, and the dwarves all peeked from behind their cover,

The blond goddess spoke. "But mine will. They are silver... that would be poison to your system wouldn't it?"

"The Giant Queen!" they dwarves whispered in awe from their hiding places. "The Giant Queen."

From her great height, the Amazon, looked down upon them and the whispers ended.

"I've got your back, Captain Velkiris. I don't know how you knew what was going on, but I'm ready," Joe said, his trusty gun warm in his hand.

"Stand down, Sargeant," she said, her steely eyes never leaving the Monsieur's. "I sent you in here without knowledge and without the proper equipment. Your bullets will just pass through him. If I had prepared you, if you had known, the Monsieur would never have exposed himself by following you in here. I needed you to be too attractive to his needs. I needed you as bait. And he was, wasn't he, Monsieur?"

The Monsieur hissed.

The Crushing Dance

Randy looked on as Joe and Violet swirled around the dance floor at a hectic pace. A sugarpush followed by an underarm turn, a kick ball change and a Lindy whip lift and then . . . a throwout and Violet flew through the air . . . and before Randy knew it he could feel Violet's muscular thighs crushing his windpipe . . .
Randy grappled with Violet, aroused and choking at the same time, he somehow managed to loosen her grip. Violet fell backwards onto the floor. Randy struggled for his gun and had Joe in his sights. But Vi, as ever, was too quick for Randy and with a simple star jump that she'd learnt at aerobics, she jumped and kicked Randy hard on the side of the head.

"Of course what happened after was all a bit of a blur . . . but the gun landed at Bill's feet . . . " Said Kitten to Swotsy sometime later.

"I know what happened." Said Daisy confidently.

"Come on then, from where Bill picked up the gun."

Daisy looked at Swotsy, happy to be of service to her idol,

"Well it was like this . . .

Randy by name

Randy by nature. That was always the joke at school. Everyone knew about Randy. What is it they say? Those who protest too much? Always on at Swotsy because she was good at football. Always too keen to wrestle with Joe. Now, watching them take positions again, Randy's hand shook on the trigger.

Daisy stubbed out her cigar and flicked a coin over to Kitten. She slipped it into the Wurlitzer by the bar knowing just which song Vi and Joe would want. It was their tune.

A reverent hush fell on the bar as they began to move. Joe's graceful, unearthly strength, Vi's feline flexibility. They circled one another like panthers. As Vi performed a triple flip across the bar-room floor, Joe caught her easily in his arms, her smooth caramel thighs wrapped round his waist. Her head rested for a moment on his shoulder - cheek against collarbone, parting lips, darting tongue over aching canines. As Violet blinked it was like she could see the blood coursing in Joe's jugular only a couple of centimetres from her mouth. Ultra-violet that's what the women called her. If you ever needed to find a vein, Vi was your girl.

'I love you Violet,' Joe whispered hoarsely as he spun around and around. She knew this was the time for her to lean back into the twirl, fling her arms back away from him when every cell in her body hungered for him. Her thighs tensed. Something else - the woman, not the hunger in her, surfaced. She looked at him, her pupils fathomless and black. 'We can leave, just you, and me, and James, it's not too late ...'

'It is Joe.' As she straightened up, and the room revolved around and around them, blurring and spinning, she whispered, 'it's too late for me.'

'No,' Joe tightened his grip on her. 'My mission. Your father's mission ...'

'Jack?' Vi's eyes snapped open.

'He's not your real father Vi. I found out a couple of years ago. He was Special Ops, just like me, but he's been under cover right from the beginning. This goes back centuries Vi. This time we have a chance to catch the big man himself. Jack loved you like a daughter,' Joe whispered in her ear as they caught their breath before the big lift. 'But there was a switch. Bitsy and Gideon ...'

'Gideon Stone? He was my father?'

Joe glanced quickly at Randy to check he still stood at the other end of the bar. As he turned away from Vi, backing towards Randy, one leg swung lazily behind the other. 'Jazz hands!' he hissed. Vi, stumbling, began to shimmy.

'Only biological,' Joe whispered as they grapevined. 'He hoped, as a Dwarf Prince ...'

'Dwarf Prince?'

'You know, like the Romany's have princes?'

'I had no idea ...' Vi slipped her arm around Joe's muscular waist and they span together, his arm around her, his beautiful face smiling sadly down at her.

'He hoped with pure dwarf blood he'd put an end to this curse, this hunger that has plagued women for centuries ...'

'The hunger?' Vi bluffed.

'Eternal youth,' Joe's eyes narrowed. 'Women will spend anything on face creams, that's how the Monsieur came to hear about the Creme de Nain - the dark face mask, the extraordinary beauty of the women on this part of the coast. He had no idea what he had started. Women will do anything ...'

'You have no idea,' Vi licked her lips. As they danced, she could smell him, his warm tanned skin like a perfect crust, like creme brulee, and beneath the hot sweet blood.

'Vi, look at me.' Joe cupped her hand in his face. The routine was reaching its climax. 'I know.' She hissed, baring gleaming fangs. Part of him wanted her to bite him then. Then he would be with her, and she with him, and he would be just like his father Bill. Bill, who had brought all of this trouble here after he picked up a lone traveller one night on his run north from Suffolk to the Irish ferry. Monsieur he called himself. An Eastern European. Just passing through. Transyllvania, originally, he said. Bill picked up hitchhikers all the time in his lorries. A bit of conversation helped to pass the time, he said.

Like the stars in the heavens falling into alignment, the hunger of Bill's passenger, and his mother's fabled beauty recipes using Irish bog mud (some called them spells, but not to Bill's face) met in a coastal seaside town of circus folk famed for its warm radioactive waters.

'I know what you are Vi. I know what my father has done to all the women in this town ...'

'Go!' she hissed. Her eyes were like pinpricks now, the irises glowing emerald green. 'He's just a pawn. It's the Monsieur you have to stop. He knows what women will do to preserve their beauty. If the secret Creme de Nain goes into worldwide production, mankind is doomed and vampires will rule the earth, just as the books have warned. Save mankind, Joe.' For a moment, he saw the girl he had never stopped loving, heard their laughter in the backyard, felt the warm summer air embrace them as they danced together one last time. 'Save yourself, save our son. There's a boat coming at midnight to take the next boatload of dwarves to safety.'

'Why? Why do you still save them?'

'It was a promise to Gideon, just before the dwarf catcher ... Randy,' Vi glanced over Joe's shoulder, 'killed him. It's too late for us. The women of this town are doomed to eternal beauty, but in exchange we take only what we need to survive - dwarf cats, hamsters ... Bill still thinks the nuns are catching people ...'

'No,' Joe shook his head. 'He's a monster.'

'We all are,' Violet tossed her hair. To Joe as he began to back away from her for their final lift, she had never been more beautiful.

'I love you Joe,' she whispered. 'Swotsy will help you. Take our son, you must get away tonight. James is the real key, don't you see? Second generation. He is the end to the hunger.'

Joe shook his head. 'I can't leave you.'

Violet tilted her head, a sad smile playing across her lips, her arms outstretched to him as he backed away. Joe stopped a couple of paces in front of Randy. It was like he could feel the barrel of the gun between his shoulder blades. 'Go,' she mouthed, as she ran towards him. Joe braced himself, ready to take her in his arms one last time, to lift her free. But the moment his strong hands touched her stomach, felt the muscles flex beneath his fingertips he knew she had something else in mind.

Vi used Joe's arms like a vaulting horse, flipped over and kicked Randy hard on the side of the head just as he pulled the trigger. Vi took a bullet for Joe. But it wasn't a silver bullet, unfortunately for Randy. As she crumpled to the floor, she shook her head, touched her wounded heart, licked her fingertips. At the scent of fresh blood, every woman in the bar turned towards him. Randy's eyes widened in horror as the gun fell to the floor, spun towards the door and landed at Bill's feet ...

He didn't know why he did it. It was a nonsensical choice, the opposite of everything he had ever learned in the Special Forces. It was almost as if he was possessed by the spirit of his mother. He could hear her voice in her head, as she led him through the routine, just like she had when he was little. Oh, those days were the best days, his mom, in her sober moments, in the yard of the house, teaching Joe and Violet the routine that they would perform every year for the Christmas pageant.

He remembered how their little circus number had made Randy feel uncomfortable. They had always laughed at him for it, but he could see the deep unease in his eyes when they did it. Right now, Randy thought he was in control, covered in blood, holding Bill's old gun steady on the pair of them. Gloating.

He whispered into Violet's ear, "remember the lift."

A flash of understanding entered into her tear stained, shocked eyes, and all she had to do was blink to tell him she knew what he wanted. And then, with a tensing of his muscles and an effortless grace on her part, they started the routine.

Randy

It was up to Violet. That was the one thing she knew, when the Council introduced her to the black mask and told her all the secrets that hid in Little Hampton Point Valley. That summer, her beauty, which had been considerable to start with, suddenly seemed to entrap every male who looked at her, she knew she had the power to free Joe.

And that night, behind the bar, with their few, brief stolen moments, her heart was breaking, even as she lay twisted in his arms in the shadows, with a brawl going on just outside.

"Joe," she said, and she knew she could do this. "I don't love you." The words were cold and strong, although she was weeping inside. She thought maybe it was the powers of the black mask that allowed her to be not quite human. She looked at his face, flushed from sex and love, and all of a sudden she wanted to bite that throbbing vein in his neck. Her cool evaporated. She leaned in to him to smell the blood pulsing through his body.

"I don't love you, Joe," the words were a vicious hiss as she tried to control the bloodlust. They had warned her, the council, but this was the first time she had felt it. "I won't ever marry you."

"What?" He said, dazed, confused. This did not make sense. What about the summer that seemed to last forever and fill with with joy? "That's not true Vi." He said. He saw her clench her hands together and grit her teeth.

"I was USING you," she spit out, "to make my father jealous. Obviously it worked. I am done with you."

"No, Vi..."

"Yes, I don't ever want to see you again. No one does. Even your mother can't stand to be around you. Why do you think she drinks so much. She tells everyone at the bar what a waste you are when she's on one of her benders and you're not around." Violet had gotten control of herself finally and was spilling all that hunger and heat into her words, watching the reactions on Joe's face. The hunger was feeding off of his pain, but inside, Violet thought that she would never have happiness again. She was not good enough to be happy. She was not good enough to have Joe in her life.

"Face it," she said as she rearranged her clothes and pulled bottle caps out of her mussed hair. "There's no reason for you to even be alive." With that, she stormed off. She ran home and threw herself on the bed to cry and cry and cry.

But he didn't know that. All he knew was that he had to get out of this town. He snuck out the kitchen door (everyone was still watching Bill and Jack brawl, so there were no witnesses) and disappeared into the night. No one ever saw him again...

Until 7 years later.

And here he was, with Violet's arms wrapped around him, watching her sob. And he knew. He knew without knowing how he knew that she really did love him and always had. What he didn't know was why she had lied all those years ago and why she had chased him away.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him, their hearts beating as one as their chests pressed together. "My father has kidnapped our son."

The fury rose in him and his hands itched for his gun. That was when the door burst open.

Randy stood there, covered in blood, holding a gun.

He should have been shocked, he should have reached for that gun in his waist holster, but oddly, what came out of his mouth was, "That's my father's gun."

Randy smiled, cold and hard. "I know. I took it off your brother Clive when I shot him."

"You!" Violet gasped.

"That's right. I'm the Dwarf Catcher. You thought I was too stupid to be a danger. You thought I was so stupid you wouldn't even look at me, not the way you're looking at him," he waved the gun at Joe. "Or the way you look at that freak Swotsy. She's a lesbian, you know, Joe. She's never going give it up to you again."

"You don't know what you're getting into, Randy. Don't listen to the Monsieur. He's using you."

"Oh, no more than I'm using him," Randy said and smiled. "And I do know what I'm getting in to. You bitches on the freak side of town always thought you were better than anyone else, and now I know why. Oh yes. CJ told me all about it, thinking he was saving me. Then I shot him. One more dead dwarf to send to the Monsieur."

While Randy bragged about murder, Joe was getting into position

turned to Margaret. She thought of Bill, of that one kiss that had sent the blood rushing in her veins like lava. When he chose Wilma, then Alice over her, she was devastated. That was when she entered the order. Still, her face betrayed no emotion. It was an impassive, beautiful mask. 'Joe must go,' she said. 'It's no good. We hoped he, Clive, or one of the girls would be the answer, but the hunger is still there. Maybe if Clive and the girls had a child ...'
'No!' Bitsy said. 'It's too risky.'
'We've dabbled enough,' Magdalena said. 'Anyway, I've seen the way Rowena looks at Clive. Leave them be. Let dwarves be with dwarves.'
'Then Joe ...' Margaret mused.
'No!' Alice said sharply. 'I know he loves Vi, but I won't let him be destroyed, not like all of us.'

That night before she set off for McGilligans, Alice held her son close, knowing she had little time left with him. It was the only way to keep him safe. She thought of his beauty, the way men and women were drawn to him. She had seen the way Randy looked at him sometimes, always goading him into Greco Roman wrestling on the beach ...


Only little Clive understood what it meant to have a face that stopped traffic. When she saw them laughing together, she wished she could tell Joe Clive was his big brother. But Joe could never know.

He had to leave before he too fell prey to the black mask, the desire to keep that beautiful face just the way it was. People would do anything for eternal beauty. Why, they'd sell their soul. He'd be fine, Alice told herself. His unnatural strength and circus skills would come in handy in any number of jobs ...

The Sex Scene

"What," she wondered aloud, "what in the hell is going on here?"

Joe could hear Sister Margaret outside in the street berating Bill and Jack as he chased after Violet and ito the bar. He found her crouched and trembling by the jukebox.

"Vi, I love you so much; I want to show you how much."

Violet looked up at Joe and held out her hand . . .

One of Those Nights

"I'll not have you touchin' my little girl!" He grabbed his daughter roughly and a little too familiarly around the waist and hips. "Not when I myself have barely---"

He caught himself just as someone playing an organ offstage hit about fourteen keys simultaneously, musically (if not exactly euphoniously) underlining the shock registering on the faces of those present. Violet's eyes were darting left and right and even -- as a tiny figure scampered by her, headed into the pub -- downwards for a sec. Sister Margaret looked as though she was about to pop Jack one in the snoot. Joe's mother fell backwards through the door still swinging from the dwarf's passage.

And from the alley came a roar: Bill, unleashed by fury, of a sudden moved by hatred of his rival more than he was content to let his disappointment of a son be beaten to death, it was Bill now leaping into the fray.

"He'll be touchin' whatever he wants to touch, Jack McGilligan," Bill's voice boomed, "and whoever come to that!"

Sister Margaret, cool as usual but a little disoriented by the turn of events, turned and popped not Jack but Bill in the snoot, and the old drunk crumpled to a heap there on the sidewalk. The organist, having dropped and then reassembled the sheet music for all this month's shows, struck up "Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling." It was a weird but not-bad selection.

Violet writhed out of Jack's grasp and bolted into the pub. Sister Margaret, rubbing her knuckles, seemed to forget her position for a moment. "What," she wondered aloud, "what in the hell

Violet and Joe had spent the day alone, frolicking on the beach, wandering through the woods looking for soft spots to lay, doing things that came naturally to two young, handsome, virile specimens. He didn't know about Vi, but he was dizzy with her nearness. Every time she leaned in to brush sand from his shoulder or kiss his ear, he felt as if his mind was floating 6 inches above his body.

But the day had to end, and then came the night.

Joe was walking Violet to the McGilligans where she was supposed to help her mother with the bar that night. Violet's steps slowed as they got closer to the pub.

"My father doesn't like you, Joe." Violet said.

His heart, which had been like a balloon in the sky all day long with her sunk like a lead weight. "He doesn't?"

She shook her head and looked away.

He knew there was something about him that made a person not like him. First his father left him, then his mother drank herself into oblivion so she didn't have to be his mother. Then Father Donohoe and Sister Margaret, and all the other adults of the village looked askance at him. And now Jack McGilligan? After all those dinners he'd had pulled up to Mr McGilligan's table along with his passel of kids, an extra son he'd been almost. And now he was now despised. He should have expected it. There was something wrong with Joe. Something inherently defective.

The only thing Joe really had was Violet.

"I don't think you should take me into the Pub, Joe. Maybe we should just say goodnight now."

They had stopped walking across the street from the pub. He turned to look at her. Her pale blond hair framed the heartbreakingly perfect face, the dark blue eyes, large and almond shaped, with the thickest lashes he had ever seen, and the rosy mouth, pink and full and so luscious it reminded him of things he shouldn't be thinking about in this conversation. He was mesmerized by her beauty. He felt trapped in a spell.

"I love you, Violet." It was the first time he had said it, although it had been burning in his heart all summer.

She looked afraid. For just a moment. Then she smiled. "Joe, I..." he saw a sadness in her eyes. Tears formed. He knew she loved him too, why did he have the feeling that she wasn't going to say it back? "I--" she stuttered, glancing toward the pub. "I love you to." The words came out in a rush, as if she didn't want anyone to hear them, to have evidence. But then, that moment, the moment that Joe would think back on for the next 7 years, it seemed to disappear as Violet threw her arms passionately around Joe and they kissed as if it was death not to.

"Violet Bridget McGilligan!" Jack's booming voice echoes across the empty street and Vi and Joe stepped apart. "I told you I did not want you doing this! I told you to leave that boy alone!"

Joe took in a deep breath and stepped forward. "I love your daughter, Mr McGilligan. I want to marry her."

"Joe!" Violet gasped as Jack's angry face got redder, almost purple.

"Violet!" Jack roared. "I. Said. To. Leave. This. Boy. Alone."

The yelling must have drawn attention from inside, because the front door opened and out poured the entire village, including his mother and, most improbably, Sister Margaret.

Joe was furious. He was horrified and he didn't know what to think.

What had he been thinking, coming "home?" He should have just come in, taken care of his business and disappeared again. Hadn't he learned over these last years that it was best to just BE the job. People always tore your heart out again and again.

He didn't know how long he had wandered over the fields and woods and village streets, searching his mind for some kind of sense in all of it, searching the town for answers.

There was no one here he could trust. When he thought about his mother, a muderess... he thought maybe there was no one here he ever could have trusted. He thought back to the drunken days, the days of neglect and grubbing around, trying to find family anywhere he could, and instead finding dwarves and lunkish sidekicks and the love of his life--

No! That bitch was not his love. She had betrayed him worse than anyone. A son, he thought. He had a son. And was he to start the same story over again? Abandoning the boy to the vagaries of his mother? Just another barmaid, twisted sexual tendencies and who knew what else.

He gasped. She hadn't aged a day since he left.

She was in on it!

And then he had a direction. A place to expend all his fury. He found himself at the McGilligan's door, not even pausing to knock. He slammed it open, his gun, out of instinct, comfortably in his grip.

There was Violet, gaping at him, mascara running down her face.

"Joe!" She said and

Mr ?

"The reason she left him Gideon Stone's estate is inconsequential. We no longer need him. Finish him."

"I do not care 'ow you do this. I have 70 Dwarves to freeze dry. Do you think I worry about your piffles? Get on with it. I want to hear no more about it until it is done."

"Yes... You heard correctly a new acid peel will be ready for mass marketing in January. It will wrinkle everyone who uses it and they will pay me huge sums for the anti-dote, ha ha ha. World domination of woman kind in within my grasp ha ha ha.
I have to go now. Bunty is calling and has prepared Angel cake for supper. I will ring again tomorrow. I want to hear how he..."

The Mask's Black Secret

What the hell was that?” Swotsy scanned the evening gloom.

“Cats. Just a bunch of cats. This whole town is filled with godamned cats.”

“Yeah, well, looks more like rats to me. If those little fur balls are cats, they’re the smallest ones I’ve ever seen. What are they, pygmies?”

Violet looked at her and then began to laugh. She bent over double, coughing as she sucked in the cold air. Despite the pain she couldn't stop and howled even louder.

“And what, may I ask, is so funny?” Swotsy was in no laughing mood. The situation was coming apart at the seams and it looked like Violet might be doing the same.

“Not pygmies.” Violet tried to stand upright, but didn’t manage. Her entire frame shook with manic laughter. “Those are, they’re . . . dwarf cats,” she finally choked out and then burst into tears.

Joe sat by himself, stretched out on a town square bench, hidden behind a cluster of snow-clad maple trees. It was cold, biting cold, but somehow it didn’t register with him in the least. His mind was far from snow and cold. The tiny piece of paper he held in his frozen fingers fluttered carelessly in the wind, a miniature white flag.

He had a nasty burning sensation in his stomach, as if he’d eaten lava for lunch. It briefly crossed his mind that he might get sick; that he might in fact vomit. He took a deep breath. The air was glacial, yet his mind was on fire. He felt like he’d been strung up in a furnace and hung out to burn. Slowely. ‘I’ve gone to Hell’, he mumbled out loud to no-one. Pearls of sweat beaded across his forehead.

That last ingredient in the beauty facial. The Black Mask. It couldn’t be and yet there it was, written in the unmistakable flowing script of his mother. No wonder she had kept it a secret. Christ, not secret by half enough. Dwarf juice. Crème de Nain. It couldn’t be, yet . . . A hormone, an enzyme, a molecule – what did he know? Something particular to the dwarf metabolism, something unique. Something found only there. Alice probably didn’t know exactly what it was either. It was just something that worked. The final ingredient leading her down the path to preternatural beauty.

His mind turned over, puzzling pieces falling into place like a bang-up Tetris session. But of course! Gideon Stone. Murdered. The papers had mentioned that he looked more like a prune than a human being when they found him. Sucked dry, a mere husk. And now Joe had uncovered the culprit. His mother, his own loving mother. Loving? Had he said that, thought it? She had murdered Gideon Stone - mariticide. She had milked Stone's diminutive body of its precious life fluids, like he was some kind of chemical cow. But not only Stone. Surely there had been other ‘suppliers’ as well. Ten, twenty; how many? It was too awful to imagine. How many batches of that evil concoction had she brewed over the years? A witch, that’s what she was, straight out of Macbeth. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. Those chemistry classes at night school when he was a kid; it had seemed so absurd at the time. Not now. And the circus, of course – a plentiful supply of ‘small people’ for her to sample from. Yes, all falling into place, the blocks tucking snugly together, arranging themselves into a horrendous satanic structure. And then it dawned on him. Why had they moved here in the first place? What did this sleepy little town have to offer that a hundred others couldn’t give more of? One thing and one thing only. Dwarves, this town was chockfull of dwarves.

Nesting Dolls

he'd seen it somewhere, damn it, somewhere...

Then he had it, from all those years ago. The girls' locker room, the hole in the wall, the broom closet. Sister Margaret. She'd had just this key hanging around her neck; he'd seen it clearly as she pinched his ear and got her own eyeful. For the few seconds she'd watched the two girls at play, she'd clutched this key inside a muscled fist, her lips moving soundlessly: this key, with the crossed hands forming the ring through which the simple loop of twine passed. There was no mistaking it.

As he looked at it now, he suddenly realized it wasn't a key after all. It had a tiny, was that a hinge along the shaft? He removed it from the box, dug with a fingernail at the little bolt or hinge or whatever it was. The "key" sprung open, revealing a narrow hollow chamber.

And rolled up inside the little tube was a tiny white cylinder of paper.

Randy

. . . Randy held the torn recipe in his hand, the open security box at his feet. He trembled as he read the words. As he reached the bottom of the page he swore under his breath.
"Why can't things ever be simple." he muttered.
Angrily he threw his pick-axe onto the ground and slumped on his knees.
"Randy!" Yelled Joe
Randy lept to his feet knocking he torch over and losing his light. Joe was fast and was quckly behind him his arm tightening around Randy's throat.
"Remember how good I am at this Randy." Hissed Joe in his ear.
Randy fought for breath; as he felt his last moments of life being squeezed out of him, Joe snatched the recipe from Randy's hand.
"Is this it Randy? Is this what all the fighting has been about? Can't breathe can you? You bastard. Violet doesn't love you, she's using you, like she's used us all. Do you know what Randy babes, I'm going to let you go. Violet's with Swotsy. You go and see for youself. She's making a fool out of you."
Joe released his grip on Randy and the two men faced each other.
"Why are you letting me go Joe?"
"Because it's going to be worth it." Laughed Joe.
"Go on get out of here, go and see what that bitch is up to."
Randy stumbled through the trees, still trying to catch his breath, Joe remained, found the torch and lit up the scene... there was something else in the box... it looked like a....

7 is the magic number

done anything to be the perfect aunt. On the day he was due back from Holland with Alice, May tidied the house, imagining all the wonderful adventures that lay ahead of them. She just had time to wash the last of the facepacks off before she heard Alice's key in the door. She ran downstairs followed by a liquid stream of cats, rushing down the steps like mercury in her wake, yowling a greeting, relieved not to be alone in the house any longer with this maniac who blended their mother.

Joe rushed into the lamplit hall, glanced up as his aunt ran to greet him and froze in horror. As Alice pulled the key from the lock, he began to scream.

May left soon after that. Small town Suffolk was no place for her. She married an octogenarian billionaire with a feline obsession. Alone at home with a small child, Alice's high spirits didn't last long.
'Go play,' she would push Joe out of the kitchen door as one of her gentlemen arrived to do odd jobs around the house. 'Go find some friends your own age.'

And he did. When Randy and Violet were busy with their own families, Joe would wander out to the trailer park to play with Clive's kids. CJ became like the kid brother he never had. It was the only place he felt accepted, the only place where people didn't joke about his crazy cat aunt and Alice's drinking. The only place in the world he felt like the normal one. There were eight of them in one trailer - Rowena, Clive, their five children and her mother, poor Wilma's best friend .........

Cat-a-tonic

. . . of, well, in a sense, because of her jealousness. And infamous curiosity. How does that old saying go? ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ Yes, and it continues, ‘But satisfaction brought her back’. But there is little satisfaction to be found here, that’s for sure.
No-one knows the exact story, but it is thought to go something like this: May, ever envious of her gorgeous sister, discovered the recipe for the secret beauty potion in the notebooks. She immediately decided that she’d have to try it out for herself. Alice was gone; what's to stop her. After a trip to Marwell’s Groceries & Greens, a short stop at the Chemists, a larcenous stroll through the neighbours’ herb garden and an amphibian hunt in the backyard frog pond, she was ready. She filled the oversized blender that Alice kept parked under the sink with the diverse, and somewhat unsavoury, ingredients. As she turned on the blender, it swirled into action, eventually liquefying everything into an amorphous black sludge. ‘Yuck’, was all she could think. ‘I’m going to smear that shit all over my face? Not very likely.’ Just then the phone rang. She left the blender running. It was Alice – she was going to be a few days late in coming home. She and Joe were having such fun together. The sisters chatted for a bit; May was a tad lonely, what with just the cats to talk to. Little did she know that as they spoke, Shadrach, the jet black Abyssinian, was leaning precariously over the blender from the overhanging shelf, fascinated by the swirling black mess. The cat became dizzy and slipped. And then Shadrach was falling, and then she, too, was part of the churning mess. It all happened so fast that she hadn’t even managed to squeeze out a solitary meow.
May came back from the phone conversation, more determined now than ever to smear the horrid stuff on her face. Alice had ended up blathering about how all the lads had been turning their heads wherever she and little Joe went. Since May was alone, she could have it on for the entire time Alice was gone, day and night. She'd just close the curtains. And then she’d surprise her at the door, ten times more beautiful than big Sis ever had been. In fact, she wouldn’t look at herself in the mirror the entire time, either. What fun! She’d surprise them both!

Cats

he was just a boy, and Alice had moved on too. Last he'd heard, she had stayed sober long enough to film some TV film, some kind of dancing. It sounded spooky to him - something unexpected, tarot cards, but it was very popular on TV in Suffolk ...

Bill stumbled out of the churchyard, his legs as heavy as lead. This is when you want your children to support you, he thought angrily. And what've I got? A hunchback and a bastard. 'Bill Sullivan, you're an idjit, ye get what ye deserve,' he imagined Wilma saying to him in her little sing-song voice. Already he was picturing her up there with the angels, her halo setting off her unnaturally beautiful skin.

Strangely, when her will was read the next day, she left her notebooks to Alice. Everyone knew Bill had been carrying on with her for years, so why Wilma would have left her anything, who knows? Alice was visiting family in Holland with her boy Joe when Wilma died. She'd had a tough time of it since Bill went back to his wife, and her sister May had come up from London to take care of the house and cats. May was in her element - everyone said she was more cat than human. When Wilma's notebooks were delivered by the solicitor's clerk, she couldn't resist reading them. By the time Alice returned with little Joe, her sister was unrecognisable because ...

Tiny Mysteries

Do not doubt my powers just because I am shorter than you."

Bill glanced at the Tarot card and then he looked more closely, from the card to its tiny wielder, back and forth. Good Lord. It was Rowena herself depicted on the card. What was she trying to tell him? Was she trying to tell him anything at all, for that matter?

"What are you trying to tell me?" he said aloud finally. "From what I remember of the Tarot, The Devil is the card of self-bondage to an idea or belief which is preventing us from growing. Is this somehow related to your and Clive's... condition?"

Rowena hissed, she actually hissed at him. The Devil indeed. "Do not try my patience," she said, "and remember what I have told you. "Leave Clive be!" She melted back into the darkness.

So he had lost his wife. He apparently had lost his son Clive as well, if he didn't want to risk the microscopic but probably quite annoying wrath of Rowena. There was still Joe, he supposed, but

Vanity

mobile phone, ripped it from the velcro wrapped around his calf. He pressed 1 - the number dialled automatically. It connected.
'Yeah, it's me, Monsieur.' he paused. As a barrage of questions hit him, he held the phone further from his ear. 'Shut up,' he said finally. 'Shut the fuck up. We both know what this is worth. My mother died looking not a moment older than the day she married my father Bill and the secret lies in this town. My mother was beautiful ...' he hesitated. 'I don't care what you say. After everything she'd been through, it was amazing she didn't turn out like her sister:
The voice on the other end of the line died down. 'You need me.' Joe said. 'That's why you dragged me home from Afghanistan. My mother knew how to keep herself beautiful - naturally.' The voice on the other end protested. 'Yeah, I know it will be hard to sell - it's black, it's sticky, it looks like tar - but what would you rather? To look likc Alice's sister? Yeah she was famous but ..' Joe took a deep cool breath of the night air. Nothing was how he remembered. Everything had changed.'My mother died beautiful. You need me because ...