Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 11:08 am

"Oh, please, Antoine!" Galdamez waved off the boy's witty remark, adjusting the beads he wore around his neck as part of his hippie outfit. "As if you need any hints from me. You've done remarkably well on your own. At least...compared to some of your friends. Cher seigneur, what a mess..." He took out a file and began to go to work on his nails. "Still, I feel compelled to check on my star pupil, so to speak. How are you faring?" With the file, Galdamez indicated the crowd from afar. "Such chaos is brewing there. I hope you haven't been too...how shall I say?...affected by it."

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 11:28 am

Despite his attempts at bravado, Tony's noodly arms trembled on the edge of the roof and he made quite a show wriggling up to be level with the erstwhile magic man, sitting honest Indian like a bedazzled buddha at a Chinese buffet.

"I've done well?" he demanded incredulously, "I'm squatting in the armpit of nowhere with my grandmother's doomed sister, her shitty boyfriend, and his garage band!" his breath quickened and his throat began to close up. Hatefully, he turned away, blinking rapidly to chase away the threatened tears.

"None of them take me seriously. Why should they? Joanie..." he laughed mirthlessly, "That's her name, my great auntie or grand auntie or whatever you call it. She's suspicious. I know it. She can tell there's something off with me, and she probably thinks it's not good, and she's probably right, because I know things and I can warn her, but I can't, apparently. And him, Ben, Benjy, he's..." he shuddered, "He's horrible. He's a selfish asshole, he treats her like shit, he saved my life, I tried to return the favor, and he frigging dives in for his guitar over me..."

He looked down the hatch in the roof between them, at the sodden shapes of the ruined supplies they hadn't been able to salvage.

"This is it, isn't it? What happened to Agnes. It's the beginning. The next...link in the chain. Whatever's supposed to happen here, it's happening now and what's happening..." he twisted his hands together, fingers knotting and unknotting frantically.

"It's the same," he said, "The same as Sheriff Acosta, and Sister Eunice and...and my grandma. She's just dead. No bumps, no bruises, and I think she's been on hunger strike since she got here, so no poison either. Whatever killed her...it's the same that killed...that will kill my Grandma?"

-Tony

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 11:36 am

Galdamez was quiet for some time, letting Tony expel all of his worries and anxieties at once, a luxury he was unlikely to have exercised in earnest prior to this point.

Once Tony was done, Galdamez pocketed the file and sighed. "After a fashion." Before Tony could protest the vague answer, the doctor clarified, "All black arts come from the same cosmic brew, Antoine. They are just shaped differently by various cultures and peoples, tribes and creeds, clans and churches. While I am not familiar with the particular shape of what has afflicted that poor demoiselle down there, how it came about and haunted her...there's no mistaking what it is at its very core." He allowed himself a soft, prideful smile. "So you are right again, Antoine. Very good work."

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 11:51 am

"Oh, I'm right," Tony nodded, "That's nice. Very validating. And what the hell good does it do?" he got to his feet, the slats of the roof creaking as he moved, "I can't warn anybody. Joan's had a big red X on her back since the second I got here, and I'm not supposed to tell her about it, even though it could save her life, and probably my Gran's too, and the rest of my whole family for all I..."

He stopped, looking down into the shadows of the storehouse, his nostrils flaring at the pungent, mildewy odor from inside.

"Today," he said at length, "When I dove in to get Benjy's guitar, I saw..." he let out a hoarse half-laugh, "I saw the future. Or the past. Both, I guess. I saw my Aunt Dara," he looked at Galdamez, "Her and her friends...the ones Brandon James killed that night. 22 years ago. 25 years from now. Too soon to warn them and too late to save them.

"They were dancing. It was homecoming, when Dara got her crown. They were happy. And I never..." he shuddered, "I mean, obviously, I never saw her before, except in pictures, but I knew her. And, looking at her, it felt like I'd known her all my life, like she wasn't just some stupid ghost chasing me around from house to house, everywhere we moved."

He turned slowly back to Galdamez, "She's not born yet, but she's already a ghost, and according to you, there's no saving her. There's no saving anyone. So why did I see her?" the tears broke through, stinging his face, "What's the point?"

-Tony

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 12:20 pm

Galdamez flinched slightly at Tony snapped. What was the point of being right? A question he himself had pondered for some time, one that had granted him immense knowledge but also cost him countless friends. He wished that among that library of knowledge he had accumulated in his mind, Galdamez had an answer to that question. But alas, things were rarely as simple as that.

But then Tony started recalling his vision of his Aunt Dara. A mirage in the water. A flicker of surprise flashed across Galdamez's face, giving away slightly that this was one phenomenon that the doctor had anticipated or known about previously. Few things managed to surprise him at this stage of his career but Tony, bless the young child, never ceased to surprise him.

Suddenly, Galdamez knew what to tell him. "The thing to remember with magic, Antoine, is that in the end...it is shadow play. Those who practice the pouvoir du sorcier manipulate what is and isn't visible to the naked eye, unveiling what's always been there. We reveal what's always been possible, bargain with the hidden ones to dive headfirst into the darkness and discover the lost truths of past, present, and future. With the proper technique and the right effort, just about anything is possible, depending on what you're willing to do...and sacrifice."

He grew sullen for a moment, contemplating his own history. "Yet in the end, beneath all the spell-books and incantations and esoteric texts, the driving force is within yourself, Antoine. The truth that fuels magic is within the magician, what he wishes to see in the world, in himself. Perhaps it is a belief that true love is possible. Or perhaps an affirmation that miracles can indeed still happen. Or maybe it is the hope that we still have time left to seek our happiness."

A wistful but remorseful smile crept onto his face. "Perhaps those are all one in the same." Galdamez rose to his feet, looking up at the starry expanse that loomed over them. "The truth about shadow play, Antoine, is that in the end, the shadows are at the whim of the beholder. I cannot explain to you why you have experienced the visions you have beheld or the nightmares that have plagued you. For in the end...only you can answer that question."

His gaze drifted down to the panicking crowd below them. "As for your next decision, it is true you are condemned to the absurdity of time, as we are all. The only advice I can give you is the same I've given to your fellow travelers: keep yourself at a distance. Don't get too attached. That's an unpleasant affliction that's tormented me in the past and I hate to you suffer from it." Galdamez placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, speaking tenderly, "But whatever you do, don't mistake detachment for apathy. Don't mistake providence for hopelessness. And whatever you do, Antoine, do not mistake your dreams for delusions. If there is anybody you should listen to and trust in this moment, it is yourself. Never lose sight of that."

On that, Galdamez let go of Tony's shoulder and retreated into the darkness, but not without one final farewell. "Bonne chance, my boy. I believe you'll do well."

And just like that, Galdamez seemed to fade away, carried off by the summer wind.

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 1:28 pm

Tony blinked once, nostrils flaring, a retort creeping to his lips...

Galdamez, a born diva (if he'd even been born the way people were, who even knew at this point) had quit the scene before it could stale.

"Bone chance yourself," he muttered bitterly, crossing to the edge of the roof and looking up the shore at his so-called neighbors. He couldn't really call them his friends, could he? He was lying to them all, every one, even poor, hapless Todd.

Galdamez had claimed Tony was doing well for himself, at least in comparison. He'd hate to think what that meant for the rest of the White Castle Continuity Cops. Maybe while he was here picking dandelions in the Woodstock outfield, Jamie Teague was befriending Hitler and the fat Filipino guy was Heelying into the Hindenburg.

Tony guessed he was supposed to consider himself lucky.

With a sigh, he heaved himself down from the storehouse and trudged back to relatively dry land, to see if things had gotten anymore civilized in his absence.

Fat chance.

"You're really a piece of work, Teague, you know that?" Chester was saying.

"Look, I'm not telling you not to do it!" Shaggy retorted, "Go on, man, have your funeral. But don't act like she wouldn't have sooner spat in your face than shook your hand."

"That may be your experience with the finer sex, Shags, but I've never had the pleasure."

"She looked down your nose at me, at you, at every one of us here. Dig a hole and have done with it."

"Y-you may not have liked her," said Todd, "But she was a human being. N-not some a-animal! There has to be s-some c-c-c-c..."

"What's going on?" Tony asked, drawing nearer, only to be answered by Shaggy's retort.

"I may not have liked her? Buddy, I was fine and dandy with Saint Agnes. She's the one who looked at me like I came out the Devil's nail shavings!"

"Je-sus Douglass Christ," Alice retched.

"I am done bending over backwards for people who'd wipe their shoes on me and scrape off what was left. You may have convinced yourself the bitch had a heart, Chaz, but you know damn well that wasn't your brain thinking or your eyes seeing. You can do us a favor and be honest which part's callin' the shots..."

Chester lunged, fists balled.

"No!" Joan gasped, but Tony was faster, and grabbed the back of Chester's shirt. It wasn't much of an effort, but enough for the moment, as Benjy came between them, putting a hand on Shaggy's heaving chest and pushing him back, holding his other hand out toward Chester.

"That's enough schoolyard touselling, alright?" he looked from one of them to the other, "You have your funeral, man. Shags's got it hot under the collar, but that's no skin off your back. I'll deal with him."

"You'll deal with..." Shaggy began.

"Cool it, Kemosabe," Benjy said shortly, turning back to Shaggy and grabbing him roughly by the shoulder, "And rein it the hell in."

"Let me help you," Joan stepped forward.

"No!" Benjy snapped so sharply that Joan winced. With more trepidation, he added, "I've got it."

He headed off, Shaggy pinioned to his side, leaving them in an imperfect crescent around the dead girl.

"Well," Fabia said with a weary sigh, "I'll get the shovels."

-Tony, Shaggy, Chester, Todd, Alice, Joan, Benjy, and Fabia

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 1:39 pm

Federico watched the crowd begin to disperse, either to help out with the funeral afoot or cool their own tempers. Noting the evident distress on Chester's face, he figured that to hell with it--he'd help bury his sweetheart or whatever she was to him. Who was Federico to judge? He had flames that burned brighter and lasted much shorter than the sweet Ballad of Chester and Aggie.

"I'll, er..." He approached Chester, scratching the back of his neck as he struggled to find the right words (he never was good with fuckin' emotions). "...go get sticks and stuff. Make one o' those cross markers or whatever the fuck." Federico gave one more glance between Chester and Agnes' body. "Sorry for yer loss, man." With that, he clapped Chester on the back and went off into the woods, leaving Chester standing alone over Agnes' body.

***

The grave had been dug in short order, and the makeshift tombstone looked presentable enough. Federico and Chester had just finished placing Agnes' body into the hole, accompanied only by the sound of crickets, both literal and metaphorical. Nobody had uttered a peep throughout the proceedings.

Getting antsy after the silence continued, Federico grabbed a shovel and got ready to attack the mound of the dirt that had accumulated besides the grave. "Welp, let's get to it..."

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 3:13 pm

Fabia wiped the sweat from her brow, looking about at the rest of their party, "Guess y'all went into rock music for a reason."

Chester's muddy face contorted into a grimace, "It's deep enough, isn't it?"

"Six feet," said Todd, who must've been about that height himself, "T-to prevent the s-s-spread of plague."

"Is that what killed her?" asked Alice, stepping back instinctively.

"N-n-no!" Todd shook his head, "I m-mean...it's the t-t-tradition."

They had chosen a gentle rise a safe distance from the water, and in no danger of being washed away by the floods. The thought gave Tony pause. In 45 or so years, would this grave still be here, beneath some wealthy family's lake house or maybe reclaimed by the woods on the far side of the water? Had Agnes's bones endured into the modern, decadent future whose first seedlings she'd so hated?

The thought made him feel small. Well...smaller. Agnes, who had loomed so large in the short time Tony had known her, was in, death, nothing but a girl...slight, small, only a couple years older than him.

"Abandon all hope," she'd yelled into her megaphone that first day.

Thinking of her this morning, wan and haggard, Tony couldn't help but wonder if she had.

"Maybe we should say something," he offered, looking around the grave.

"Sure, why not," muttered Fabia, "Ain't like we're getting any sleep regardless."

"You mean like a prayer?" Alice asked.

"A-A-Agnes was a Catholic," said Todd, "W-We could say the p-p-prayer of the d-d-dead," he looked around as if he expected somebody to volunteer.

"I'm an agnostic," said Tony apologetically. Todd nodded as if he understood and, clearing his throat laboriously, began, "I a-am the resurrection and the life, saieth the Lord..." he paused, "T-this is from t-the Anglican service," speaking, not to them, it seemed, but to the girl in the grave, "It's c-close enough."

Nobody objected, least of all the star of the show, and Todd commenced, "He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die..."

---

"Your chambers, Punchy," Benjy announced, lifting the flap of the tent and ushering Shaggy inside, "Lucky you, you'll have a helluva lot more privacy."

Shaggy looked over his shoulder, "Cheers," and sat bitterly down to his cot.

Benjy hovered in the entrance briefly, his eyes drawn irrestibly to what had been Agnes's spot, "Pretty inconsiderate of Big Mamma letting the poor kid shack up with you, huh? Unless she had a sense you weren't gonna be ungentlemanly..."

Shaggy flinched, "That's low, Ben."

"Ease up, Shags. I'm not calling you a molester. But I'll say, carrying on like that, you didn't acquit yourself. Keep in mind, the general public don't exactly know about your diet..."

"That why you told Joan off?" he interrupted, "Kept her from tagging along?"

Benjy tensed, "Joan's none of your business..."

"Worried I was gonna tell her I'd made the piss-dumb mistake of getting starry eyed over you? Maybe we'd start swapping sob stories?"

Benjy sighed heavily, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Would you have?"

Shaggy laughed bitterly, "Cheer up, captain. I wouldn't have told Joan a thing except to get out while she can."

"You're a piece of work..."

"He plays nice," he interrupted harshly, "but he sings awful."

His eyes widened at the memory of the record store, Joan's fingers dancing over the sleeves, "She told you about that?"

"She loves you, man," Shaggy looked through the veil of his hair, like a drowned ghost girl out of a campfire story, "Lovesick like the kid she is, and you too damn pigheaded to care a rat's tail."

"You don't know my business, Shaggy..."

"I know what I'd do to have somebody look at me the way she looks at you," he shed his jacket, leaning back in his cot, "'Night, Benjy. Thanks for the rescue."

"'Night, Shags," Benjy echoed hollowly, heading out into the night and pressing the cold metal of his rings to his mouth to stifle the low curse broiling in his gut.

The night was alive with crickets. Over their song, he heard praying, and cursed himself for a damn dumb atheist. Godless in every way and still jumping at ghosts everywhere he turned.

---

"Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days," Todd's words were strained from emotion and from the effort of recollection, "That I may be certified how long I have to live," he gasped, as if for air, and Tony took his hand.

Todd looked at him, surprised, and nodded as if in thanks. Tony, still thinking of lies and the long, unwinding chain, couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes.

He'd never been to a funeral before. His aunt had died before he was born, his mother when he'd barely been born, his father was a shadow and, of course, he'd been plucked out of space time before he could even pick out caskets for his Gran.

Nor had they been very churchy, he and Gran. He supposed if Lettie had any religion, she hadn't seen fit to stick with it, with the hand life had dealt her.

But he knew that speaking in public was hard, and probably harder still if you had trouble expressing yourself at the best of times.

And he knew, also, that everybody here, from the sardonic Fabia to the trembling Todd, was on borrowed time. That Agnes was just the first of who knew how many, and he could do nothing but stand by and watch and listen...

And touch, maybe, even if only gently. And maybe that wouldn't erase the sting of dishonesty, but it had to be something.

It had to mean something.

"For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain," Todd continued, clearly as Tony had ever heard him, "he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what is my h-h-hope..." his shoulders shook, lower lip shaking. He lifted his other hand to his mouth, "I don't..." he shook his head, "I d-don't know the rest. I don't know...I c-can recite C-Corinthians from m-memory on a good day, but now when I need it..."

"I, the Lord of the sea and sky..."

They turned with a collective start, Todd gasping in surprise, to the other side of the grave, where Chester had begun to sing.

"I have heard my people cry..." he had a good, strong voice, surprisingly sweet and youthful, "All who dwell in dark and sin/My hand will save..."

His eyes were closed as he sang, so he couldn't see Todd's gentle bow, though he presumably could hear as he joined in, however roughly.

"I who have made the stars of the night/I will make their darkness bright/Who will bear my light to them?/Whom shall I send?"

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Alice joined in, her voice strong and, after a brief moment's hesitation, bright and bold: "Here I am, Lord. Is it I Lord? I have heard you calling in the night/I will go Lord, if you lead me..."

---

"I will hold your people in my heart..."

Joan leaned against the mess table, gazing off in the direction of the lake, and the raised voices.

"Really giving her the works, aren't they?"

She turned at the voice and found Benjy standing at the entrance of the marquee. He'd tied his hair back. There was a virgin cigarette tucked behind his ear.

"You not joining them?"

Joan looked him over and, quietly, shook her head.

"Look, Joan. About before, with Shaggy. I just didn't want you..."

"Stop," she said and didn't mean to cry, but did.

"Joanie..." he stepped forward, "Joanie, please don't..."

She held up her hand, her words choked by fresh tears. Unable to speak, she sufficed for shaking her head and walking off.

An hour ago, it had been he and her together, his rescued guitar between them, singing about Stewball the racehorse, as if no time at all had passed.

What was a song but a story? A pretty fiction, dressed up in rhyme and meter, good to create an illusion for a few minutes, and after...

"I the Lord of the snow and rain, I have born my people’s pain, I have wept for love of them..."

After, you're in the real world again, and no better off than you were before the music started playing.

She started back toward the tents, furiously beating the tears from her face, the others' song to the hateful hated girl they must all now mourn as they would like themselves to be mourned ringing in her ears.

"I will break their heart’s of stone/Give them hearts for love alone/I will speak my word to them/Whom shall I send?"

-Fabia, Chester, Tony, Todd, Alice, Benjy, Shaggy, and Joan

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 3:24 pm

The hymn had come to an end and quiet had overtaken the group once more...save for Federico, who without the guise of the song, could now easily be heard whimpering. No...weeping. He was red in the face with emotion and on the verge of babbling like a baby. It was an expression of emotion that seemed uncharacteristic for the bass player, firework salesman, and generally perceived maniac. Yet here he was, crying openly, unable to stanch the flow of tears from his eyes.

Feeling that eyes were on him, Federico threw his shovel to the ground. "God-fuckin-dammit fuck..." He croaked before turning around and retreating towards to the sanctuary of the woods, where he could sob in peace.

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 5:17 pm

They watched Federico's hasty exit in a shared silence. Fabia sighed strenuously, "Takes all kinds to make a world."

"I'll get him," said Alice, "Y'all can..." she gestured to the pile of dirt by the open grave, "Get to gettin'."

She was gone before they could brook any argument. After a brief silence, Chester and Todd reached for the same shovel and hesitated.

"Um..." Todd cleared his throat, "T-that's alright. T-thank you..."

"Nah, it's fine," said Chester, "I mean, I'm sure you could..."

"You s-sing nicely."

"That's what they pay me for," he smiled briefly, partially, "Well, in theory. You can really rattle off the Bible?"

"The N-New Testament. And s-some Psalms. My f-f-father..."

"Boys, boys, you've tuckered yourselves out enough," Fabia interrupted, "I'll send her off," she wrested the shovel from the earth.

"Are you sure?" Tony frowned.

"No offense, little man, but I've been raising things on this land since before you were a thought," which Tony of course couldn't deny, "I can put things into it just as easily. You all get some sleep, if you can."

They lingered a moment more at the graveside. Todd crouched down to one knee and looked down at Agnes's reposing form.

"T-thanks," he said quietly, "F-f-for always being in my c-c-corner. S-sorry I..." he cleared his throat, "Sorry I didn't return the favor."

He drew up to his full height, wiping his pretty sodden glasses on the hem of his shirt. The three of them walked off, leaving Fabia standing at the graveside, looking pensively down at the dead girl, braid glowing like molten silver in the moonlight.

---

Alice found Federico in the orchard, outside Fabia's greenhouse.

"Stop the presses," she announced, picking a peach from a heavy bough, relishing the satisfied snap as she twisted the fruit from its mooring, "Federico Fettucine Fluffernutterbutterfucka has a heart," she tossed him the fruit, "And you just banging the drum for chucking ol' girl into the lake."

She folded her arms, leaning against the tree, "You okay, Big Boy? And if you got any saucy comments about my dulcet tunes bringing your tears up, you can save 'em. I'm talented, God knows, but I wasn't born yesterday."

---

Chester didn't linger with them long, bidding them a soft goodnight. It felt like there was more to say, but Tony figured he was just projecting.

God knows, he had plenty to say, were he allowed.

"H-he's p-p-pretty nice," Todd said at length, "A s-s-solid fellow."

Tony smiled, "I guess if I had to have a favorite Blackbird..."

"B-B-Blackbirds?"

"Their band. Benjy and the Blackbirds."

"Oh," Todd's brow furrowed, "I d-d-d-didn't know."

"Why would you? They're pretty underground," he paused, "Oh. Sorry. That...that was an expression. 'Underground', like obscure...independent. Not like..."

"It's a-a-alright," Todd offered a pained smile, "But, if intended...a swell double entendre."

"Unintended, but thanks anyway," Tony folded his arms, "Are you okay? I mean...I know, probably, it hasn't sunk in yet..."

"T-that's it, isn't it?" he paused, "I feel sad, yes, but...not quite as sad as maybe I'm supposed to. B-but I don't know. Aggie and I..."

"She was your best friend."

"E-even if I was r-r-rotten to her. In the end. The way I talked to her this m-m-morning..."

"That's my fault," Tony interjected, "I was totally out of line. There was probably...I dunno, a gentler way..."

"No!" Todd interrupted, "No, Tony, I'm not sorry for what I s-said. Just that I didn't say it s-sooner. Maybe..." he shrugged, "It might be silly, but I think maybe it'd have been very different. For both of us. If I'd said something sooner. And we may have s-still been friends. But I...I was so frightened and..." he bit his lip, "I t-think Agnes was frightened too. In her way."

"Frightened of what?"

Todd's lips twitched, "Change. Which is, of c-course, a rotten thing to s-scared of, 'cause it happens one way or another, doesn't it? And maybe if I'd just told her right from the beginning..."

"Told her..."

"It's rotten being alone," Todd spoke over him, removing his glasses, "And we were both real alone. But I don't know...being here, I think I realized that, even when Aggie and I were together, we weren't any less lonely than we were when we were on our own."

His eyes were a brilliant hazel: green and gray and brown, flushed to full intensity by the tears he'd shed during the funeral.

"If I'd told her how I felt sooner..." he shrugged, "We mighta been b-b-better friends. And made more friends between us. But..." he turned to Tony, his face splitting into a wet, real smile, "You can't go back and change the beginning...but you can start where you are and change the ending," he nodded, "C.S. Lewis said that."

"Right," said Tony faintly, "Narnia."

"M-my favorites. When I little," he sighed, "A-are you alright, Tony?"

For his lip had started trembling and his throat tightening. Tony nodded, "I'm okay. I think I'm just...sleepy."

"Well. It has been a difficult day. But..." he shrugged, "Tomorrow will be better, won't it? It m-must be."

"Yeah," he forced a laugh, "It must."

With a sharp suddenness, Todd grabbed for Tony's hand, squeezing it lightly, "T-thank you, Tony," and, after some hesitation, "I'm g-g-glad we're friends."

"Yeah," Tony nodded, his voice tight, "I'm glad too."

Todd relinquished his hand, "I think I'll take a little walk. J-just to gather my thoughts. But I'll be in bed soon."

"Okay," Tony assured him, "Yeah. Alright. Goodnight, Todd."

He watched him go, holding his hand to his chest and thinking about endings: tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, always hoping the next one will be better than the last.

It would be a lot of tomorrows to catch up to Dara Alden's homecoming. Even more to catch up to his grandmother's last morning. Tony might have double that number and be unable to save them.

Who knew how many more mornings he'd have here, with Joan's soft heart and Benjy's hard temper, with Chester's kindness and Alice's spunk and Todd's trusting eyes?

"I can't," he whispered, feeling the turf meet his knees, "I can't, I can't, I can't do it..." shoulders heaving, he lowered his face to the ground, "Please, I can't, I can't lie, I don't want to see it, I don't want, I don't want..."

He had no answer but the crickets, mournful and resigned today as 50 years from now.

-Fabia, Tony, Todd, Chester, and Alice

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 6:44 pm

Federico jumped at the sound of Alice's voice from behind him. He rubbed his wrists with his eyes before turning to face her. His cheeks were still streaked with cheers and there was a bit of mucus dribbling from his nose.

"'S fuckin' nothin', awright?" Federico tried to wave her off, careful not to look her in the eyes as he walked past her, pretending to inspect the peach trees. "You're supposed to cry at funerals, ain't ya? And that's what I fuckin' did, so we don't need to have an inqui-FUCKIN-zishun about it..."

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 7:36 pm

Alice held her hands up in surrender, "Dial it down, Moses. I'm just being a concerned citizen."

She looked him over, frowning, "Crazy shit, though. Lord knows, that girl was plugged up like back alley 'shine and half as sweet, but I figured you had to have some more years in you for that to keel you over."

She frowned, "Are you alright, Rico?"

-Alice

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 7:59 pm

Federico felt the tension leave his body as Alice's voice softened; it was as if he melted like butter the moment she started talking sweet to him.

Good God, man, you are fuckin' softie...

He kept his tone short with her, not wanting to show just how affected he was. "I don't like fuckin' funerals, OK? And I've missed a lot funerals in my time, believe me!" Federico tried to keep calm, feeling his voice falter here and there as he spoke. "They don't sit right with me. 'Sides...way things go for me usually...I leave before the loss sets in. Move on. That's what you're supposed to do, ain't ya?"

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 8:13 pm

Girl, what have you gotten yourself into?

Alice shifted her weight from foot to foot, drumming her fingers against her forearms, "Whose funerals?" she asked quietly.

-Alice

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 8:51 pm

Federico bit his lip, regretting having said so much. "People's," he said vaguely, before unhelpfully elaborating, "Friends. Acquaintances. WHAT'S IT FUCKIN' MATTER?!" Throwing his hand up, he pivoted on his heel and turned his back on her. "People who know me die and I move on and more people I know fuckin' die and I always fuckin' survive because that's just the Fucker's Luck I got! And for one second, I thought that maybe, just fuckin' maybe, I found a crew where things are steady and we're makin' music and the cops and the feds aren't breathin' down our FUCKIN' necks 24 FUCKIN' 7, jailin' us and beatin' us and FUCKIN' killin' us but loooooo and behold..."

Federico snapped his fingers and pointed towards the far distance where they had just held Agnes' funeral. "...it begins again. And now I can't help but get this sick feeling in my gut that it's gonna begin all over again." He sat down on a nearby tree stump and ran his hands over his face. "I should probably get ahead of it this time and get the fuck outta Dodge now. 'Fore the rot sets in..."

He glanced up and for the first time since Alice caught up with him, his eyes locked with hers. In that moment, the music they were writing together seemed to become visual out of a synesthetic miracle, charging his heart with an electricity he thought had gone dormant a long time ago. A part of him wanted to warn her, to tell her to get out while she could, let her be the one to run instead of him, that he was no good for her and that she knew he was bad news from the moment she met him...

But being the fuckin' mush he was, Federico listened to his heart, not his brain. "...but those fuckin' clowns need me. Fightin' half the time when they could be makin' some good fuckin' tunes." That was a lie: the band didn't live or die on Federico. He loved those fools just as much as he loved all the other bandmates he had in the past. They were brothers, bound by music, but the success of the band meant diddly-shit to Federico.

"Fabia needs me," he continued. "We go back deep and I still owe her several favors." That was a half-truth: Federico did have some debts to pay back to Fabia but to say she needed him was a joke that would have sent the old bird into a laughing fit.

"And you..." Federico hesitated, almost confessing the complete truth and letting Alice know how she was the rare person that he felt might be worth staying for. "...we need to finish that fuckin' song."

Another half-truth. It would have to do for now.

Not wanting to linger too long on this raw territory, Federico got to his feet and cleared his throat. "Sorry fer snappin' at ya. Thanks fer, uh...dealin' with me." He patted her on the back, a rare shimmer of sincerity glinting in his eyes. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 2, 2025, 9:11 pm

"Tomorrow," Alice nodded, "8:00 sharp, or whenever sister warden rings the gruel bell," she pointed, "And you better be there with bells on, Federico Federale," she pointed, "Because I was promised a hit single. And I intend to collect."

She stepped back, thinking again of the strange contradiction of this itinerant wacko. Whenever she began to think she was wrong about him being some variety of escaped maniac, he said some wild shit and the jury went right back out.

How many bands could one guy be in a lifetime anyway? Alice had to think any more than two and even the freest wheeler around would be crying for the nearest cubicle. And as for this band...Christ, if there was ever a minute where they weren't at each other's throats, Alice hadn't seen it.

But Federico, one way or another, seemed serious about wanting to stick it out. Alice could respect that, having been sticking things out her whole life, and not having much choice in the matter.

She knew the temptation of the open road, the allure of a greener horizon always just out of reach. She knew how the world could open itself up to you, a little and a little more, by turns, always withholding the extent of its secrets, something always just out of reach.

How many times had she dreamed about making it out in the big wide somewhere? How many times had she lied awake at night thinking of the day Miles would roll up in a tricked out new ride, smiling that rakish smile and telling her everyone was wrong about him, she was right never to lose faith and, guess what, he's been having the time of his life in the big city, any big city, with the creme of the colored creme, and wouldn't she like to go with?

As if he'd ever need to ask.

"Sleep tight, Moses," she turned and started off, grabbing another peach for herself as she went, and sinking her teeth into the tender flesh of the fruit, "Don't let the fedbugs bite."

She headed off, humming a tune to herself...their tune, the sextet from Lucy Looptadoopta, or whatever it was he'd been explaining to her.

-Alice

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 2, 2025, 9:21 pm

Federico snickered as he watched Alice leave, though he felt a pang in his heart that compelled him to look towards the horizon behind him. Forest as far as the eye could see. This camp was wedged deep in the middle of nowhere, sure, but Federico knew his way around these woods well enough. If he wanted to, Federico could have booked it now, all that sweet talk be damned. It'd still sting but not as much as if he chanced getting more attached to Alice now and having to leave her behind later.

But goddamn him...Federico "Fucker" Federale followed Alice back to camp because yet again, contrary to popular opinion, he was one fuckin' mush.

Besides, things might actually pan out OK this time around. What was the worst that could happen?

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 9, 2025, 11:45 am

The office glowed with fluorescent light, the thin white tubes humming with incidental menace from behind their translucent masks. The lights' glow gave the room a strange, alien sort of vitality, casting a sickly sheen onto the gray walls and the dull slate-tone tiles of the floor.

The chairs also left something to be desired: thin, metal things, hard and hostile, not suited for long waits.

Between the cushionless seat and the colorless surroundings, Shaggy supposed his outfit was well judged. The pants had plenty of natural padding, and if his eyes ever got strained looking around, he could always count the polka dots on his shirt.

The other guys in the waiting room...well, suffice to say, they must be regretting not dressing up more this morning.

Not that Shaggy was complaining.

"That's quite a getup," observed the fellow seated to Shaggy's right: a six foot bronzed specimen garbed in violet swim trunks, a three-inch coat of black body hair, and nothing else.

"Thanks," Shaggy smiled, looking down his red nose at his neighbor, "Pretty goofy, right?"

"Not sure they make 'em goofier," he smiled brightly and Shaggy's stomach somersaulted, "What's the flower do?" he indicated the big yellow boutonnière on Shaggy's clown tunic.

Shaggy laughed, holding a white gloved finger to his painted lips, "Can't spoil the gag."

The man chuckled, "Trade secret. I appreciate that," he looked out over the rows and rows of chairs ahead of them, each one seating a man, none of whom wearing the bare minimum of clothing, and all looking quite a good deal better for it, "I'm in the trades myself."

"Oh, yeah?" Shaggy nodded, "Young Guys, right?"

"Summer, '67," the coverboy nodded, "You a fan?"

"I know my way," he shrugged, pointing across to a broad-shouldered blond beefcake in white trunks, "Champ No. 3, 1961."

"An oldie."

"But a goodie. Got me through some tough times, back in junior high," he craned his neck, "That guy: beak nose with the mod squad look? He's Carnaby Male, 1967. Those guys down the way, in the lycra?"

"Shiny little buggers."

"GQ," Shaggy smiled, "May 1966. Two page spread, all of them wrestling in the surf. Full color...and you could see the water shining on their skin like pearls. Most beautiful thing I ever saw..." he rubbed his knuckles under his bulbous nose, "I felt the whole world open up for me that day."

"Just some boys playing on the beach?"

"They weren't just boys to me," said Shaggy, "They were men. And they were playing together, all up on each other, and they knew...I could tell looking at them, they knew what they looked like and they didn't give a single shit. All the rest of you..." he shrugged, "No offense, but you guys were alone. And that's fine, so was I, but..." he twisted his gloved hands together, "But they were tog..."

A hush fell over the room. Way at the front, beyond rows and rows, the big brass cage had begun to spin. Shaggy watched it whirling, hundreds of little white marbles rattling around, clanging off the bars with a noise like gunshots.

Beside him, Young Guys' picture perfect smile faded. Everybody was looking at their feet, playing with their hands. One guy a few seats down (Drum, October '67) let out a nervous whelp and shoved his fingers into his mouth, all five on one hand.

The rattle and clangor slowed gradually, and a stentorian voice resounded through the cavernous gray space: "0-8-9."

There was a short, frigid silence as, to a man, every coverboy in the room frantically searched himself for something. Shaggy's painted brow furrowed in confusion as he conducted his own search, finding he was far too overdressed for a quick examination.

At last, he rolled up a red-and-yellow striped sleeve and found three numbers inked on the inside of his wrist: "4-7-2."

Shaggy's sigh of relief was curtailed by a long, low wail. A chestnut haired beauty (Jr., September 1966, taglined- The Strength of America Lies in its Youth!) had fallen backward from his chair, scrambling frantically on hands and feet to avoid the stomping jackboots of the olive-garbed...

Men. Well, Shaggy assumed. He could not see their faces, though they seemed to fill the room nonetheless, their footfall clangorous, their shadows lashing the tiles like prison bars. Two of them cornered Jr. at either side, sturdy, robotic arms looping beneath those strong, bronzed surfer shoulders of his, and hoisted him to his feet.

All around, the other beauty boys averted their eyes as the surfer beau was dragged out, kicking and screaming, tears streaming from periwinkle blues Shaggy knew too well, from so many long, sleepless nights.

"I can't, I don't...please, I don't wanna, the muscles are just for show, please, just for show, I can't...I'd never...please!"

His pleas fell on death ears. Shaggy averted his eyes as the column passed, the scraping of bare knees on waxy tiles sharp as a knife to a whetstone in his ears.

No sooner did the cries fade into oblivion did the wheel set to spinning again.

"They're really moving things along now," Young Guys observed darkly, "Makes you wonder."

Shaggy looked around the room at his fellows, "Wonder what?"

"What it's getting to be," Young Guys noted, "That they're resorting to the likes of us."

The rattle continued, as did the rising hum of agitation through the crowd. Male Physique No. 6 began striking himself about the face, the heels of his olive hands slapping wetly against his oiled cheeks. Down the line, Drum hadn't taken his fingers from his mouth. His jaw was working, slobber staining his hands ruddy pink as he chewed and chewed...

"3-7-2!"

The latest unlucky winner (Mars No. 23, January 1967) ran for it, his biker boots a pithy complement to those of his pursuers. He twisted and writhed in the soldiers' grip as, around him, the other unfortunates slammed their heads against their chairs, scratched at their bare chests, drove their fists into their guts.

"2-9-4!"

"What're they doing?" Shaggy asked hollowly as another, and another was called, one right on the heels of the other.

"Oldest trick in the book," his compatriot remarked as another two, four, six men were hauled out by the implacable troops, "Self-abuse," he winked, "Not the kind you're familiar with."

Shaggy looked around as Male Classics (March 1960) was dragged by, broken legs bent at unnatural angles, his cries ululating like a wild animal.

"There's gotta be a better way."

"1-9-7!"

"You got any suggestions?"

"0-3-5!"

"I do!"

"5-8-2! 3-7-1! 0-2-9!"

Shaggy got to his feet, "Why've we gotta beat ourselves on their account? They'll take us whole, they'll take us broken, and we'll end up broke one way or another. If that doesn't work..."

"1-2-2! 0-6-6! 6-4-3!"

Drum was on his knees, blood dripping down his chin and onto the floor, mingled with tears and spit and snot.

"Why don't we try something else?"

"2-9-8! 5-3-2! 5-7-6!"

"You have any suggestions?"

"Sure!" Shaggy honked his nose, "Geddit?"

"The trades didn't hire me for my brains, Smiley."

"They'll take a cripple," he explained, "They'll take a gimp, they'll take a spaz..."

"1-6-2! 7-0-1! 3-4-7!"

"They won't take a queer."

Young Guys watched the others be dragged out around them, sobbing and writhing, bleeding from self inflicted gashes and punctures. Drum, No. 3-4-7, had bitten his fingers to bony, bloody stubs, all to no avail. The blood dribbled on the floor, crisscrossing with other trails, thick and thin, dark and light, all merging into one slick tongue the nearer they got to the great cage.

"1-6-2! 7-0-1! 3-4-7!"

"What're you saying?"

"They don't want us!" said Shaggy, "They'll act like they do, but once we show them, once we're in their faces about it, they can't pretend anymore and they'll have no choice but to leave us alone!"

"2-8-7! 0-5-6! 2-1-7! 1-6-1!"

Young Guys frowned, "You're describing a two-person game."

"Well...yeah," said Shaggy, and watched as the cover boy threw his head back with a laugh, his thick black locks flying wild from his brow as his shoulders rose and fell, "Buddy, you've got me all wrong."

Shaggy blinked, "Wh-what?"

"I may be a queer, friend," he folded his arms, "But I ain't a clown."

"3-4-2! 1-0-5! 3-5-9!"

"Welp," he shrugged, "That's my turn."

"What?" Shaggy asked breathlessly, "Wait, now, it doesn't have to..."

"Sorry, kid, but there comes a time in a man's life when he's got to remember his dignity."

"Dignity?" Shaggy repeated, "You're a cover model for a gay magazine!"

"Sure I am," he looked him over as the troopers flanked him to either side, "What are you?"

Shaggy watched him be dragged off, but didn't stick around to watch him go. There wasn't time.

"1-3-2! 5-7-2! 1-4-1!"

He raced along the columns between the chairs, his voluminous red wig jostling precariously on his head.

"We can get out of this!" he called, "They won't take us if we prove we're queer."

All of them: Fizeek, MANual, Muscleboy, Physique Pictorial...some in dire straits, bloody and broken from their so-called self-abuse...turned away, scoffed, shuddered. One Adonis cover stud looked down his aquiline nose and said, in a thick, vaguely Eastern European accent, "How much of a schmuck do you think I am?" as he got hauled off.

"It's not that bad!" Shaggy cried, "I'm not that bad! I'm better than dying. Come on, you can't, you can't all...you can't really want to go out there, not if there's a way out, not if you're hurting yourselves so much...why not..."

"6-3-6! 6-0-1! 2-0-7!"

His oversized shoes, not made for running, failed him and he fell forward, hard, onto his knees, watching the room empty out around him, all those beautiful mannequins, the staid, smiling figures of his adolescence, his strapping, sweaty tethers to the fantasy of belonging, not as anybody special or particularly unique, but just one of many just like him, different in their own ways, but bound by one quirk of attraction that, while it may render them freakish on their own was, in a group, no more remarkable than the color of their hair or the set of their shoulders.

The room was empty around him: cavernous and gray. With a hollow sigh, Shaggy steeled himself for the final call: "4-7-2!"

The soldiers came from behind. He felt himself being pulled upright, simultaneously not feeling a touch as he regained his footing. The faceless troops frogmarched him down the aisles, along the red ribbon his ill-fated predecessors had left to follow.

"You can't do this," Shaggy pleaded, "I don't want to fight. I don't care about it! I don't. Why should I? Why should anybody? It's none of my business, you hear me? It's none of my..."

At the end of the room, the cage, emptied of all its marbles, kept turning, its bars rattling clangorously, the racket melting into an odd, discordant music.

"Thrown like a star in my vast sleep/I opened my eyes to take a peep..."

Shaggy could see the others now: the ones who'd been pulled out ahead of him, being hauled along the great red plain (for now, the tacky slick wasn't a ribbon, it was a road, extending as far as he could see in every direction, like a sunbaked mesa). The sun burned, the dull, washed out fluorescent gleam of the selection room traded in for a dead orange blaze, like a heat lamp in a greenhouse.

The soldiers marched them steadily, so each prisoner was the equal distance from the next one in the column. As the last sorry bastard in the line, Shaggy got a clear view of the great cage on the horizon: the big golden beast at the end of the road.

"To find that I was by the sea/Gazing with tranquility..."

The cage was a living thing, and it was huge, towering like an ancient monument over the red waste. It wasn't spinning anymore, but opening and shutting like a gold maw. Shaggy watched as the next man at the head of the line was hauled up to it and, with robotic efficiency, hurled by his handlers between the bars, which chomped down like serrated fangs, swallowing his final, muted scream, and spraying the red plain still redder.

"'Twas then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man/Came singing songs of love..."

"No," Shaggy plead, "No, please, please, this is insane, this is stupid! You can't just kill us like this, there's no point to it, can't you see, there's no point..."

He didn't expect his pleas to be heard, so imagine his surprise when he was answered.

"Of course it's insane. It's war."

He looked up sharply at the soldier to his right and found that he could see his face now, "...James?"

His brother regarded him from under the rim of his helmet, "You'd be crazy if you wanted to go in there."

"So why are you bringing me?"

"You really have to ask?"

"Hell yes, I have to ask! I know you, James, you're not a killer and you sure as hell aren't a rube, so why the hell are you going along with all this?"

"Then when the Hurdy Gurdy Man/Came singing songs of love..."

"In this life, Neville," he deployed his Christian name with a casual ease that nonetheless felt like a slap, "We've got to do things we don't want to do."

"Kill strangers on another continent? Strangers who never meant you any harm?"

"It doesn't matter the harm they mean."

"You may be fine with it, but I'm not! I never will be. I'm not a killer, and I don't wanna be."

"Good," James said evenly, "Neither do I. But part of being a man, little brother, is doing things you don't want to do. Running away helps nobody."

"'Hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy, hurdy gurdy gurdy', he sang..."

"That's bullshit!" Shaggy snapped, wrenching away. He expected some reaction from the other soldier, but he was gone now: it was just him and his brother at the jaws of the meat grinder, its fangs dripping with the blood of his sleepless, sweat-sodden dreams.

"Watch yourself, Neville," James cautioned.

"You wanna stand there like some big man and talk to me about responsibility, about standing my ground and not running away?" he jabbed a gloved finger into James's unflinching face, "What about Vanessa, huh? Sitting up and running the house without a damn word from you for months at a time. And little Eddie? Does he even know where you are and what you're doing? What about me, man?" he spat, "What about your brother? Shut up in my room wreaking hell on the drums so I won't have to hear Ma crying about the gooks blowing you to sashimi out in some place she can't even spell!" he shook his head, "You're the runaway, Jim. I never left."

James glowered, "Didn't you? Then what are you doing out here?"

Shaggy hesitated, the hot wind beating his face, ripping at his baggy costume, "That's different. That...the guys, the music, it's not..."

"Not selfish? Not chasing some little kid dream? Some stupid sexed up fantasy you think you're entitled to because you didn't get a shot at it in high school? Cry me a river, Nev, I've forded enough out east, I can dam you up just as well..." he reached forward and Shaggy stepped back with a cry, squeezing his boutonnière and producing a jet of water that struck his brother square between the eyes.

Except it wasn't water.

James staggered back with a cry, throwing his hands up to his reddening, sizzling face as he fell to the ground.

"James!" Shaggy cried, bending down over him, "James, oh God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't...I didn't mean to..."

His brother groaned piteously, fingers parting by inches over his searing face, giving him a glimpse of a milky, blinded eye.

"No!" he sobbed, clown makeup running into his mouth, "No, James, no, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Above him, the meat grinder roared and drew a hot, stale breath, swallowing Shaggy's cries and Shaggy with it. The brass bars closed around him, sealing him in perfect, complete darkness.

He didn't know how much time passed before his eyes began to adjust. He saw the bars first, no longer gold or brass, but the unforgiving gray of prison bars. Shaggy looked out through the gaps at...nothing. The world beyond the cell was featureless, black and empty.

"What're you in for, Chuckles?"

He turned with a start to find that he wasn't alone. His cellmate was sitting on a cot (there was just one; no bunk), smiling rakishly, one leg crossed perfectly over the other, creating a sort of lopsided 'L'.

He was colored, and quite a looker, with warm brown eyes and black hair in tight curls, mostly hidden by the jauntily balanced beret he wore.

"You're not a cover model."

"That ain't an answer," his lips parted, revealing wolfishly white teeth, "And it's damn hostile, ain't it?"

"I mean...you're not one of my cover models."

"Oh," he nodded, "Yeah, that tracks."

"I'm sure you could be," said Shaggy quickly, "If you wanted to be. You're very..."

"Boy, I know what I am, but thank you anyway," his eyes moved quickly, "You didn't answer my question. What are you in for?"

"Oh," Shaggy hesitated.

"No shame in it. We're on the same side of them bars, ain't we?" he indicated the cell door, "I figure we can't be worse off than each other."

Shaggy laughed bitterly, "I wouldn't count on that," but, after some consideration, added, "My brother. That's why I'm here."

"Hm," his cellmate's lips curled, "See. Small world."

"You know him?" Shaggy's eyes narrowed.

"Might be I do," he shrugged, "But, see, the funny thing is...I'm here on my sister's account."

"Your sister?" Shaggy asked as behind him, somebody slammed a hand against the bars. He whirled around and found someone he knew.

"Miles!" Alice Purcell pleaded, "Miles, please, you don't have to do this!"

"Alice..." Shaggy breathed, turning back to Miles, "W-what did you do to her?"

"Not a damn thing, and that goes both ways," he tugged at the sleeves of his bomber jacket, "I was trying to do the right thing. For her, for us."

"You didn't have to do it!" Alice begged, "Miles, please, you don't..."

"See, that's the thing," he got to his feet, "You try to stand for something in this life, and the next you know, you're alone in the world with nobody to piss on ya if you were on fire."

"I'm here!" Alice shook the bars, "I'm here, and I'm not going. You can come back, Miles..."

Shaggy turned back to his cellmate and saw she was right: there was a key around Miles's neck, hanging from a chain.

"You can come out," Shaggy told him, "You can go to her. You don't have to do this."

"Don't I?"

"You have the key. It's right there..." Shaggy reached forward and Miles stepped back, shedding his jacket to reveal the bomb strapped to his chest.

"Sorry, friend," Miles grinned, "But we've all gotta do our duty."

Shaggy blanched, frozen for a half second just staring at the flashing red light on the bulky black console before remembering, "Alice!" and throwing himself toward the bars.

He felt the blast on his back. In the distance, the monster roared.

***

He bolted awake in a cold sweat, his wife beater plastered to him. The tent was quiet, dust motes eddying about in the blue gray light of the dawn. His eyes darted around hungrily, settling briefly on the vacant cot across from his.

Agnes.

With a retch, Shaggy staggered upright, practically falling out of the tent.

"Shaggy?" Joan was sitting outside her tent, holding a tin cup of coffee, "Are you ok..."

He bolted off, realizing as he was walking that he was limping, though he had no pain in his leg. In the back of his mind, though, he could hear the march of the jackboots, the scrape of the mutilated models' broken limbs on the slick floor, the insatiable gurgles of the meat grinder, the hiss of his brother's melting face.

He pushed his way between Tony and Todd, who were just emerging from their tent.

"Um, excuse you?" Tony called after him, and went unheeded.

Shaggy's pace quickened with momentum as the ground sloped beneath him, bringing him intractably closer to the lake, where he sighted his quarry.

She was in the water, her bellbottoms shucked on the shore, nothing but an oversized tie-dye shirt to preserve her modesty as she wrung water from her hair.

"Alice!" he called to get her attention, splashing in heedless.

"Jesus!" she gasped, "Boy, what the hell are you..."

He didn't give her a chance to protest, gripping her by the shoulders, "I saw your brother."

She stared, "My brother?"

"Miles. Your brother. I saw him. In a dream. H-he had a bomb..."

Alice shook him off, eyes blazing, "I've heard that one before, Shaggy. Now, here I thought you'd worked that shit out your system..."

"But I was locked up with him! I wasn't any better...after what I did to my brother."

"You mean James?"

"I tried to help you, I did, and you...you tried to help Miles, you told him he could let himself out. You told him that, Alice, but he didn't want to..." his voice broke, and his eyes burned with new tears, "He didn't want help."

-Shaggy, Alice, Joan, and Tony

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 11, 2025, 6:52 pm

"AY-OH! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YA DOIN'?!?!" Federico "Fucker" Federale sprinted from the bushes and towards the water, his fly still partially open as he was concluding his ritualistic morning leak. "GIVE THE LADY SOME FUCKIN' PRIVACY!!!" He waded into the water and snatched Shaggy by the shoulder, tempted to do the gentlemanly thing and clock the son of a bitch.

***

"Yesterday, it was reported that People's Army of Vietnam stormed a US Army-based situated outside of Tây Ninh in the communists' continued effort to claim the city. While we are currently unsure of the extent of American casualties..."

"That's enough of that." Hesh switched the channel from the depressing monotone of the news to the one he preferred, typically blasting the bubbly sound of Brill Building Pop. Immediately, the Corvette was filled with the music of the Crystals, specifically a ditty by the name of, "Oh Yeah, Maybe Baby."

"Much better," Hesh smiled, returning his eyes to the road. He had been making up for lost time and speeding about ten over the limit. Fortunately for their little group, it was a pleasant-looking morning with none of the natural hazards the previous day had presented them.

"Hope you guys don't mind," he turned slightly to Lettie in the passenger seat and Bobby in the back. "I can switch it back to Kronkite-lite, if you want. Just figured you were in more in the mood for something a bit more cheery than the latest overseas calamity."

***

"What a hectic few days it's been, huh, fellas?" Father Schiano was dictating to a groggy crowd once more, though they still seemed surly from the previous day's events. "All with the rain and the fightin' and the arguin'...reminds me of my time at the reform school as young lad!" He looked expectantly for a laugh but instead, only received a few dry coughs.

As always, the priest tried his best to seem undeterred, despite slowly dying on the inside. "Yes. Well...do y'know who else got in their fair share of tiffs?" Schiano paused, seeing if anybody was brave enough to raise his hand.

Turned out, nobody was.

Schiano sighed wearily. "The Israelites, of course! In the desert, they wandered for 40 years, in search of the Promised Land. For 40 years, they fought with each other, questionin' whether or not their travels were worth the trouble. For 40 years, they struggled..." He continued to prattle on with a list of superlatives that failed to grasp James' attention.

The soldier lingered in the back, under the shadow of an oak tree. His brooding went unnoticed by his peers, who were as cranky as ever. Schiano's longwinded sermon probably wasn't doing their tempers any favors. If anything was keeping them quiet, it was the watchful gaze of Conrad. The sheriff was sitting on a rock to Schiano's left, perpetually cleaning a gun more for show than out of necessity. It felt like every one of the cops and volunteered felt like Conrad was staring one of them down...but James knew that it wasn't true.

Conrad was looking at him as if he were a medium rare steak. If James didn't know any better, his old boss was salivating at the thought of finishing their little fight from yesterday.

But James was unbothered by it. Men like Conrad never scared him. It was the memories that kept finding him in his sleep and when he was awake. Flashes from Quam Nam that became more and more vivid with each visit. If there was any reason for his troubled disposition, it was those goddamned memories.

"Hello, sir." James' lone friend here, Deputy Buckley, approached him from the side. "You sleep alright last night?"

James barely regarded the deputy. "No."

"Yeah, me neither," Buckley answered. "Still can't believe what happened yesterday..."

"I can," James cut off the kid, speaking frankly. "Conrad's methods haven't changed a bit. He just seems meaner now 'cause there's less witnesses out here. That is, witnesses who don't answer to him."

"Right," Buckley nodded. James could detect a tinge of guilt on the young man's face, as if he felt bad for not intervening himself.

James recalled how coldly he spoke to Buckley the night before and figured there was no time like the present to apologize for it. "Sorry about last night. That was no way to talk to the guy who saved my hide."

"O-oh, don't worry about it, sir," Buckley stammered. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have..."

"Kid..." James stopped him again. "...you're fine. Let it go."

"Alright," Buckley swallowed his anxiety. "If you say so, sir."

"James," the soldier corrected him. "I'm not your dad, for Christ's sake. You can call me James."

"OK," Buckley smiled gawkily. "James it is."

"...and Aaron, he didn't want the job!" Schiano had continued on with his homily. "I'm sure all of us have been in that position! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He laughed stiffly as if there was a gun pointed to the back of his skull.

"So, uh...James," the deputy was sure to use the man's God-given name. "What are you expecting for today? Looks like clear skies..."

"...but not clear roads," James countered. "We've wandered well into swampland here. Even worse, its probably flooded out from yesterday's rain. It's gonna be slow going." He allowed himself a small grin. "Hope you packed your galoshes."

"My gal...oh. That's funny," Buckley managed a weary chuckle. "No offense, James, but I didn't know you could tell jokes."

"And I didn't know you had any sass in you," James commented with a hint of pride. "Keep at it. Maybe you'll end up convincing Conrad to do you a small mercy and fire you. There's nothing he hates more than a smart comment."

"I might just," Buckley replied, though for a moment, he felt Conrad's eyes bearing down on him.

"...so the years go on and on and on!" Schiano continues, struggling to get to the point. "And a lotta these guys begin to forget why they're out here in the first place: escapin' the subjugation of the Pharoah! They begin to grow ungrateful, lose sight of the kingdom God had promised them..."

"You remind me of somebody, y'know," James spoke to Buckley, his eyes still watching the sermon. "My kid brother. Neville. At least...before he started acting out."

"He's who you're lookin' for out here, right?" Buckley asked. "How so?"

"Well, you're quiet, for the most part," he reflected. "But bright. You got a moral compass, which is pretty rare nowadays. And you consider me worthwhile conversation." James let out a remorseful sigh. "Again, this is before he started acting out."

"Oh." Buckley hesitated to ask his next question. "You're not close with your brother?"

"Not as close as we used to be," James answered bluntly. "That's what time away does to a family, I suppose. You leave as one person and then come back another, and it's as if you're starting all over again. That's how it was with Neville, my parents, even my wife..." He shook his head, his expression remaining taciturn but his voice showing a hint of sadness. "Sure, we hug and say the usual platitudes but it isn't the same. I can tell Neville doesn't recognize me and I know for sure I don't recognize him. And then I'm left wondering if we really changed or this is who we were all along. That we didn't really know each other before and now that we do...we don't like what we see."

He let out a humorless laugh. "And yet here I am, chasing my brother, hoping I can get a glimpse of the soft-spoken kid who used to stick to me like my shadow. I know for a fact he wants nothing to do with me or whatever the hell he thinks I stand for. And maybe it's better that I let sleeping dogs lie and just get on with my life. Might as well be chasing ghosts." James exhaled, showing how fatigued he really was. "That's all I seem to find out here anyway."

Either Buckley didn't hear that last comment or he decided to let it go unnoticed. Regardless, he held his tongue, letting quiet fall over the two of them as Schiano hit the crescendo of his speech.

"What I'm sayin', fellas," the priest rasped, his mouth clearly getting dry from all the rambling. "Is that even though we may have our little disagreements and our doubts and our differences...know that we are of one family: God's family. And so long as we are right with God, we shall move ever closer to fulfilling His mission. We only need the patience and wherewithal to endure His trials as well as each other! This was the dream of the Israelites, as it was the dream of America, and as it is our dream today!"

Finally, Buckley broke the silence. "Why are you telling me all this, James?"

James smirked wearily, allowing his stoic facade to break for a rare fraction of a second. "I dunno. Except...a part of me is thinking I'm going crazy." For the first time this entire conversation, he looked Buckley in the eyes. "If that's the case and I do something stupid like I did yesterday...stay on the sidelines. For your sake."

With that, James clapped Buckley on the back, leaving the gawky kid by himself as he watched the crowd disperse from Schiano's sermon.

Buckley sighed, wondering whether or not he was losing his mind as well. Whether or not it was an American form of jungle fever or homesickness or whatever was afflicting James, he wasn't sure. The deputy simply did as he always had done: sucked up his worries and joined the pack, doing what he could to stay out of trouble. He hoped that would be enough to get through another day out in these woods.

-Federico "Fucker" Federale, Hesh, Schiano, James, Buckley and Conrad

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 15, 2025, 2:28 pm

"It's fine," Lettie answered Hesh faintly, looking absently out at the scenery as they passed, still flushed from yesterday's downpour, "We've got enough bad news between us. My well is running a little dry."

She glimpsed Bobby wincing in the rearview mirror. A few times since they'd started out, she'd considered softening her tone about last night. Not exactly one of her shinier moments and, after all, she hadn't had to tell him anything about her folks; he was right she'd sort of tortured him with it.

Christ, but it was easy to get under his skin. If she was a pettier person, she'd be proud of herself but all she had to show for last night was an extra set of duffels under the eyes.

"Gonna be a call up soon," Bobby remarked, "For the draft. Supposed to kick in next year."

Lettie drummed her fingers on the chassis, "Not something you have to worry about, though?"

Bobby winced, stung, "Well. I mean..."

"Settle down, Bob, I'm not emasculating you. Really, if you didn't join the force to get out of the draft, I'd have questions..."

"That's not why I became a deputy," Bobby said tartly, "I figured it was more honest than the NFL," his face remained solemn, but there was a soft glint in his eyes, "Anyway, they could always change their minds, start taking cops too."

"They could always change their minds and call the whole thing off too," said Lettie, "If it gets that bad."

"I mean, I'd do it," said Bobby, "If they asked me."

"Duty and country?"

"Too much hassle getting out of it, isn't there?" he shrugged, "I'm not that creative."

"You may not be, but Bruce Kent's pretty quick on his feet."

He eyed her, lips tugging into a slow smile, "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure they turn guys like Bruce away. Shifty types, yanno. Anyway, it'd feel wrong. If I don't go, they'll just send some other bastard who might not have gone otherwise."

Lettie scratched the back of her neck, chewing her lip pensively, "That's big of you."

"You can come down off the soapbox, Lettie, I know I'm a cornball hayseed, alright?"

"I'm not on a soapbox," she protested, "This time."

"I just figure, if something's gonna happen that you don't want, you do what you can to make a way out and, if that doesn't work, you take your cud and chew it," he folded his arms, "It's nothing special."

There was a short quiet, with nothing but Hesh's radio to complement the steady whistle of the world passing around them.

"What about you?" she asked at length, turning to Hesh, "Got any escape plans if they call your number?"

"Lettie," Bobby scolded.

"It's an innocent question," she shrugged, "I'm not gonna tattle to the Army, am I?"

***

"What the...oh, hell!" Alice gasped, turning and seeing more of Federico than she needed to. She instinctively wrenched away, in the process losing her footing and splashing into the muck.

"I-I'm sorry," Shaggy protested feebly, "I just, I needed to...I had to..."

"Man, what the fuck now?" Benjy demanded, coming down to join them, his hair in a messy bun, wife beater billowing around him in the fresh morning breeze, "Her too?"

"I'm not dead, you strung out cracker!" Alice spat.

"Whoa."

"What's going on?" Tony and Todd were next, Tony darting his head around with the manner of a startled bird.

"Someone better tell me!" Alice got to her feet, her sodden top catching over her slick knees and giving them all a taste of paperless National Geographic ("Oh m-m-m-my!" Todd sputtered, though he at least didn't say anything about Nubians this time) while she was at it.

"This boy comes running into the water like his nappy head's started smoking, yelling at me about Lord knows..."

"Give him space!" Joan protested.

"Give him space?" Alice demanded, "I was minding my own damn business..."

"I really didn't mean..." Shaggy turned back to Fedder, "I didn't mean anything by it, man, I just...I had a dream."

"Oh, welcome the fuck back, Dr. King!" Alice recoiled, "Just when I thought you weren't a purebred bonafide asshole..."

"He's not," Fabia declared, descending to them with a heavy tread, "Or he may be, but that's not what's bothering him."

-Lettie, Bobby, Alice, Shaggy, Benjy, Tony, Todd, Joan, and Fabia

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 16, 2025, 10:13 am

Hesh tensed at the question. Little did they know he was exempt, too,  for reasons similar to Bobby's.

A different call of duty, he thought to himself. For a war much closer to home.

"I haven't thought that far ahead," Hesh finally answered. "I'm used to travelling. Wouldn't be too hard for me to get out of town." He paused, considering. "I don't think I would, though."

***

"GAH!" Federico yelped as Fabia joined the fracas. Since she was an old friend, he gave her proper respect and zipped up his fly all the way.

"Fabs, I dunno what the fuck Shags is on about!" He immediately went on the defensive. "He ain't usually like this. Fuckiiiiiiiiiiin' bad weed or somethin', I don't fuckin' know..."

-Hesh and Federico "Fucker" Federale

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 16, 2025, 12:22 pm

Lettie cocked an eyebrow wryly, "Don't take this the wrong way, Hesh, but I didn't take you for much of a patriot."

"Nothing patriotic about it," but Bobby was smiling, "There's a good book in it."

***

Shaggy sputtered an inelegant, multi-syllabic protest but Fabia lifted her hand to silence him.

"Get your footsies out of my lake, first of all. This'll be a tough pill to swallow, but it'll be more agreeable on a full stomach."

***

The big white marquee had been put away for the fair weather, leaving the mess table exposed to the fresh light of the morning. The pretty tranquility of their surroundings was a poor tonic to the mood, however.

Tony perched on the edge of the bench. He'd attempted a few bites of Fabia's burnt brown hash, but his stomach was discothèqueing like the temporally confused organ it was and he decided his doomed compatriots didn't need to add seeing their friendly neighborhood pixie boy blow chunks to their preordained chain of sorrows.

Across from him, Todd was fidgeting with his glasses, his eyes red and weary. Tony wasn't sure he'd gotten any sleep last night, but it felt weird to ask.

Beside Tony was Benjy, which he didn't know how to feel about. The Big Bad Blackbird was concertedly avoiding looking at him, instead darting his gaze to Joan, who'd placed herself across the table and two seats down.

Good, Tony thought and knew better than to examine it. Across from Benjy, seated between Todd and Joan, was Chester. Every once in a while, Todd would look anxiously at Chester, his lips twitching into a half smile.

Federico and Alice were next up: Federico to Benjy's side and Alice to Joan's. Alice had dressed and mostly dried, wrapping her still damp hair in a colorfully patterned scarf done up in red paisley, with a pattern of gold chains crisscrossing it.

Shaggy was perched at the far end of the bench from Tony, not facing the table. He held a cup of cooling coffee, his namesake hairdo obscuring his profile.

Fabia, alone of them, stayed on her feet, arms folded, her shawl trailing behind her like a cape.

"Now, I've had a couple of prize fuckups in my time," she began, taking a hearty swig of black coffee and grimacing as it hit her palette, "You don't get to my age without racking them up, at least not if you're intent on living any kind of life."

"Hear here," said Benjy dryly.

"Hey," Fabia held up a finger, "Have I passed the peace pipe, Music Man? You'll get your turn. What was I saying?"

"You've fucked up," said Chester.

"I sure have. But letting your merry menagerie onto my property..." she blew a long, low whistle of incredulity, "Takes a whole shelf of layer cakes."

"And we've been kicking up our heels and having a gay old time, right?" Benjy rolled his eyes, "Look, lady, thanks for the hospitality, but at this point, I think I'll take my chances with the cops..." he began to stand.

"You ain't going nowhere, big boy," Fabia pointed, "Plant your denims."

"Why the hell should I?"

"Ben, give it a rest," said Joan, turning back to Fabia, "Look, thank you for your hospitality but I do think Benjy's right. We've imposed on you for a long time and, well, now..."

"Now you can't leave," said Fabia, "As much as it would gladden my heart and yours, you're stuck here."

"S-s-stuck?" Todd squeaked, "W-w-why?"

"Consider it public safety. Quarantine."

"Quarantine?" Chester repeated, "Like, what, for a disease?" and, in the next second, "You aren't saying Agnes..."

"A-A-Aggie was acting strange," said Todd, "All yesterday."

"You're not serious?" Alice asked, "You really mean that girl was sick?"

"After a fashion. She had an ailment and it's catching. So I can't, in good conscience, let you little free lovers loose on the world. Call it a quirk of my humanitarian spirit."

"B-b-but if she was sick..." Todd got up abruptly, "W-w-with s-some airborne illness, w-w-why aren't any of us showing symptoms?"

"Yet," Alice pointed out.

"N-n-no. I have a bad i-i-immune system. If there was a sickness, I-I-I'd have been sick first. N-n-not Agnes."

"What kind of sickness is it?" asked Tony.

"I was getting to that."

"Well, get to it!" snapped Tony, "What, are you waiting for us to applaud?" he snapped his fingers a few times, "Werk, queen, tell us more?"

"Excuse me, Trixie?"

"Tony."

"She was making fun of you for being queer," said Benjy.

"I know," said Tony cuttingly, "Not my first rodeo."

Benjy pinked, turning back to Fabia, "Trix's got a point, though. Stop stringing us out, Medicine Woman, and get to the point."

"And maybe while you're at it," said Alice, "You can tell us where you get off diagnosing shit? You got a medical degree we don't know about?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm an uneducated, unmarried, desiccated old slag living in the middle of nowhere. But there's things I know they don't teach in doctors' college."

"Like plant medicine," offered Joan, "Your greenhouse."

"That, and other things. Medicine from before they called it medicine. Back when your baby got sick and the first person you called wasn't your doctor, but some old crone with a bag of tricks and an evil eye. Back when the plague came down and not a man, woman or sainted child questioned someone somewhere did something to piss God off."

"I had polio as a girl," said Joan, "More than one person came to the house and acted like my parents did something to bring it onto me," she got to her feet, "Sorry, but whatever this is, I don't need to hear it..."

"Those people were w-w-wrong," said Todd, "Those were just s-s-superstitions. E-explanations for things people didn't understand..."

"But we don't understand this," Tony pointed out, "And there's lots..." he closed his hand into a fist, "There is a lot we don't understand."

"She pointed at me," said Shaggy faintly, turning to Chester, "You saw."

"I did," said Chester, "You said you didn't know why."

"I didn't. And I really...I really didn't do anything to her. Like I said, I didn't want a thing to do with her ever again, but..." he twisted his hands together, "What if she wasn't accusing me of anything? What if she was..." he shuddered, "Passing something onto me?"

"What?" asked Benjy incredulously, "Like a magic spell?"

"Not a spell," said Fabia, looking down the length of the table at all of them, "A curse. A Dream Curse."

-Lettie, Bobby, Shaggy, Fabia, Tony, Todd, Benjy, Joan, Chester, and Alice

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 16, 2025, 3:13 pm

"It's not patriotism and it's not about a book," Hesh corrected them both. "I just don't like the risk. Sure, the risk of getting my head blown off a few continents over is pretty high, too, but if you dodge the draft, you might end up condemning yourself to a life on the run. Always looking over your shoulder, sick with paranoia. And personally? I don't see the appeal in that." He shook his head. "Say what you want about the American way of life but it's a lot better when you're able to live on your own terms. At least, as much as you're able. Living in fear...well, what's the point in that?"

Hesh bit the inside of his lip, wondering to himself if he was a hypocrite, living in fear of memories from New Orleans that only become more and more vivid during the last few days. He thought those days were well behind him but here he was, looking for ghosts in the rear view mirror. Maybe living in fear was inevitable and it was just a matter of choosing what to fear.

If that was the case, Hesh felt like a grade-A buffoon, intimidated by his own regrets. Perhaps the draft dodgers making the bee-line to Quebec had more sense than Hesh ever had in his career.

***

Silence fell over them. Nobody said anything at first.

Until...a low chuckle came from the end of the table.

And then that chuckle evolved into a steady laugh.

And that laugh exploded into an uproarious cackle.

"HA HA HA HA!" Federico sat back in his chair, clutching his gut. "HOOO BOY! GADDAMN, FABS! YOU...YOU..." He met her stony gaze, which only made him laugh more. "HAW HAW HAW! FUCK! I MEAN...FUCK!!!" Tears were now streaming down his cheeks. "A Dream Cuh...Dream Curse..." Through the hysterical laughter, Federico could barely get out the words. "Wazzat? Some kinda Bela Loo-goh-see picture?" He put out his arms like Dracula, though didn't even try to copy the vampire's voice. "I'm gonna haunt your fuckin' dreams! Sleep tight!" As ever, Federico was amused by his own shtick, as he now pounded the table. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh, man! Shags, she smokin' summa your grass? Or mebbe this is some kinda Injun shit, like mushrooms or whatever the fuck. Sign me up, 'cause I'm lovin' it!"

-Hesh and Federico "Fucker" Federale

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 16, 2025, 4:39 pm

A soft silence settled over the car. Bobby shifted in his seat, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but apparently thinking better of it and lapsing back into quiet.

"Remember James Teague?"

"What, the Captain?"

"Captain Sourpuss, yeah. I ran into him at the station, that day everyone got arrested."

"I remember," Bobby smiled tiredly, "You gave him the works."

"No more than he deserved!" she sighed, "He must think I'm a psycho commie bitch or something."

"He doesn't think you're a bitch," he caught Lettie's look and smiled, "I dunno. Must take some stones to come back here from...there, knowing you've gotta go back sooner than later."

"He looked at me like I was a little kid," said Lettie.

"You are just outta school."

"What, and you're a man of the world?"

"No! But..." he sighed.

"It doesn't matter. I don't even know why I'm upset. I think..." she looked out at the road, "Maybe I'm guilty," she met Bobby's eyes in the mirror. He reddened, "Lettie..."

Mercifully, whatever he was going to say was curtailed as they rounded a bend in the road. There was a broken down car at the shoulder: a heavily-dinged up burgundy Charger, with a black stripe down the hood.

"Someone's broke down," she pointed out, noting a small group of men outside, waving their arms at their approach, "They're flagging us down."

"Nice for them. Keep driving."

"Bob!"

"You don't pick up hitchers, Lettie."

"They could be from the commune!"

"Yeah, that's likely..."

"Why else would they be all the way out here?"

***

Shaggy recoiled from Fedder's zombie act, "Man, quit spitting! Jesus..."

"I don't understand," said Joan, "What is a Dream Curse?"

"Pure, unleaded bullshit," Benjy retorted, "Respectfully, lady, you must be out of your damn mind. I get appreciating the free labor, but if this is your way of keeping us around..."

"Respectfully," Fabia spoke over him, "Being free of you shits would do wonders for my life expectancy, even without the death curse you dragged in with you."

"I thought it was a Dream Curse," Benjy pointed out, "Real creative name, by the way. Really evocative. Captures the mood."

"M-maybe its true name m-m-may not be spoken," said Todd, "Like M-Mordor."

"Who?"

"It's from Lord of the Rings," said Joan, "And it's made up."

"Right, just like the Dream..."

"Dream," Alice grabbed Shaggy by the arm, "Your dream."

"W-wha..." Shaggy began, but his eyes widened, what little color remained to him draining from his face, "Oh."

"You had a dream last night," Fabia affirmed, unsurprised, "Alice was in it."

"You dreamed about her?" Benjy asked incredulously.

"Don't sound so jealous," Alice said stiffly.

"I-it wasn't like that," Shaggy gave Benjy a look, "But, yeah. I had a dream...a nightmare, really. And Alice was there."

"And you woke up, and the first thing you did was run out and tell her about it," said Fabia.

Shaggy hesitated, "I...I didn't think. I guess, but...I mean, while it was happening, I didn't think what I was doing. I just...felt. That I had to..."

"That you had to tell her," Chester finished for him, "No matter what, you couldn't keep it to yourself."

Beside him, Joan gasped and the two shared a haunted look.

"Got something to share with the class, kids?" Benjy asked coolly.

"I...I don't..." Joan shuddered, "I don't understand it..."

"I'd be sounding alarms if you did," said Fabia, "They don't teach this stuff in grammar school, and for good reason."

"Teach us, then," said Tony, "Go on."

Fabia gave him a long, searching look, "You understand, none of this shit's written down anyplace. This kinda thing comes from old folkways, all around the world, and this particular thing...it's not exactly native to our neck of the woods."

"Where is it native too, then?" asked Joan.

"You're thinking about it the wrong way, honey. It ain't like having a Chinese rice or an Italian pasta. This stuff isn't physical. It's everywhere, all the time, just waiting for the right...or the wrong, as it may be...person to come along and..." she snapped her fingers, "Harness it."

"Like a conductor," said Todd. Tony nodded, "Like music!"

"I m-meant for e-electricity, but that works as well."

Fabia didn't look impressed, but acceded, "Fine. And music will sound the same wherever it's played, as long as you know your stuff. Stuff like this...what we used to call old medicine...it works the same way. All you need is a canny sense of the rules and a certain kind of discipline and you can take that medicine out of the air and put it to use."

"Sounds like there'd be a lot more magicians in this world, then," said Benjy skeptically.

"You ever met another human being?" Fabia scoffed, "Like I said, you need discipline. And it seems to me that's in pretty short supply, and shorter every day since everyone got a TV set. And maybe that's for the best, considering. There's good medicine, sure, but in my experience, anyone who cares enough to play around is gonna go for the bad."

"And the Dream Curse," said Tony, "That's...bad medicine?"

"A double dollop of castor oil chased with ricin. If you put a Dream Curse on somebody, you don't just want to kill a son of a bitch...you wanna torture him, slowly. Him, and everybody around him."

"So wait," Shaggy interrupted, "Somebody put a curse on me? Who? Agnes?"

"Agnes didn't believe in m-magic," said Todd, "E-except for the m-mysteries of the rosary, but t-that's part of the c-c-cathechism."

"Agnes did put the curse on you," said Fabia, "But someone had to put the curse on her first."

"Me," said Chester, "It was me. I..." he pressed his hands together, "Our second night here. I had a dream, and the next day..." he let out a shaky sigh, "Jesus Christ. Jesus, I can't..." he shuddered, "I should've held my tongue. Kept my mouth shut. If I'd just shut up..."

"You'd have died anyway," said Tony grimly, "Agnes did. And she still passed it on," he pointed down the table at Shaggy, who shuddered and lowered his head.

"That's how it works," said Fabia, "One person has a dream...not a pretty one. They wake up and they remember someone they know was in the dream. They fix on telling that someone, come hell or high water...they can try holding their tongues, but it's no can do. The curse may have its way with them, but one way or another, it's gonna move on to that next person. They'll have the dream and...on and on."

"Like a chain," Tony felt a cold grip around his heart. Fabia gave him an inscrutable look, "Sure. If that helps you think of it."

"So let's say I'm buying this," said Alice, "And I'm next."

"You are."

"And I have my dream and I tell the next person, right? As long as everyone does their part, nobody ends up like Agnes, and everything runs its course. It burns out just like a cold," she looked around, "So what the hell's so scary? We're all grown, we can take some bad dreams."

"What's scary is what happens at the end of the chain," said Fabia, "When the curse reaches it's victim. It's real victim, the one the caster was out to get in the first place."

"What happens?" asked Joan softly.

"Keeping in mind I've never seen it done and only have second-third-umpty accounts..." she folded her arms, "Every sorry bastard the curse passed through drops dead."

-Lettie, Bobby, Fabia, Tony, Todd, Shaggy, Alice, Benjy, Joan, and Chester

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 16, 2025, 5:17 pm

Hesh narrowed his eyes at the hitchhikers in the far distance. The Charger itself looked battered and muddied, with one hitchhiker inspecting the damage. One of the men strayed from the group and stepped in the middle of the road, trying to signal them to stop. He repeated Lettie's words to himself, contemplating his next move.

"That's a damn good question." Suddenly, Hesh slammed his foot on the accelerator and began to speed towards the lone hitchhiker.

***

"WaitwaitwaitwaitWAIT!" Federico cut in, his skepticism now replaced with indignaiton. "So you're tellin' me...it's like the fuckin' clap?!" He turned to Shaggy and grabbed him by the collar. "I OUGHTA FUCKIN' BEAT YOU INTO NEXT TUESDAY, YOU FUCKIN' SON OF A BITCH! WHERE DO YOU GET OFF GIVIN' ALICE THE FUCKIN' DREAM CLAP?! I'LL KILL YOU!!!"

-Hesh and Federico "Fucker" Federale

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 16, 2025, 6:16 pm

Lettie jolted forward in her seat with a cry, grabbing onto the upholstery just in time. Behind her, Bobby wasn't quite so lucky: he fell forward, and might've flown through the windshield if he hadn't gripped their seats in time.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lettie demanded, G-forces doing their damnedest to keep her from actually turning to face Hesh.

***

"I didn't mean to do it, man, I swear!" Shaggy protested, "You heard what she said..."

"I don't have the goddamn clap!" Alice protested, "Hollering like that. Jesus."

"It's not a bad metaphor," said Benjy.

"Simile," said Todd, "Or a-analogy."

"It's not the clap," Fabia affirmed, "You can live with the clap. With a Dream Curse, you're on borrowed time from the start."

"How does something like this happen?" asked Joan, standing, "I had a dream, right? And then I..." she searched for the word, "gave it to Chester. But nobody told me about a dream. I would've remembered..."

"Nobody needed to," Fabia decided, "You must've been the first."

"The first night," said Benjy, "When you woke up screaming."

All the color drained from Joan's already fair face. She pressed her hands together, bowing her head, shoulders shaking with soft, piteous sobs.

"I don't understand. Why would anybody..."

Tony and Benjy rose in the same breath, but Benjy was quicker, moving to Joan's side, "Aw, babe..."

Joan didn't shake him off, "I never did anything. I never went anywhere. Why would...who would..."

"Nobody," said Tony. Joan lifted her red eyes, "W-what?"

"That's what you said, right?" Tony turned back to Fabia, "The curse doesn't start with the person it was cast on. It ends with them."

Fabia nodded, "Someone's listening."

"So me being first..." Joan wiped at her tears, "It's just a coincidence?"

"Not quite," said Fabia, "The curse is kept in a talisman. Once it's been cursed, it passes the first dream to the curse's first victim...the first link in the chain, if you like. It could be anything."

"Like a l-lucky rabbit's foot?" asked Todd.

"Or a trick penny. Doesn't have to be something special, or even magical. A piece of jewelry, maybe. Like an earring or..."

"A necklace," Joan breathed, hand going to the silver chain around her neck. She pulled it out from under her blouse, letting the bird-shaped charm hanging from it catch the sunshine.

She turned slowly to Benjy, "You gave this to me. When they called the cops on the concert. You tossed me this..."

"Joan..."

"You gave this to me, Ben!"

"But I didn't..." he stepped back, eyes wide and pleading, "I couldn't have...Joan, you can't really think I'd..."

"Not you maybe," Chester interrupted, "But who you got it from."

Benjy froze, looking past Joan to his friend, "C'mon, man..."

"You want to tell her?"

"What?" Joan asked, "Tell me what? Ben!"

"That has nothing to do with..." Benjy came up against Tony, who impressed himself by not bowling right over, planting his feet and pressing a hand against Benjy's chest, pushing him back.

"Don't worry, Benjy." Tony cocked his head, "Nobody here's gonna think any worse of you."

Benjy let out an angry huff, "There was a...a girl."

"Stop the fuckin' presses," said Alice flatly.

"How long ago?" asked Joan, "How long before me?"

"Joan, you know I'm the road, there's...there's girls, of course, there's girls..."

"I don't care about that. I care how long?"

"I dunno," his face was flushed scarlet, "A couple months."

"Last month," said Chester, "Atlanta."

"You knew too?" Joan asked, her eyes shining.

"There's nothing to know!" Benjy protested, "There were..."

"Girls, right, I know. She must've been some girl, to give you a parting gift like that..."

"She...she wasn't..." he looked around, "Could you gawkers clear out?"

"Fat chance," said Alice, "Believe me, boy, I could do without hearing about you Don Juaning it up with the Wicked Witch, but I've got a vested interest now, don't I?"

Benjy let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his tangled bun as if fit to strangle it off his head, "Her name was Rosa. Is."

"Rosa," Joan repeated the name, turning to Chester as if for his verification. He nodded slowly but said nothing else.

"What did you do to her?"

"It wasn't like that. She was just..."

"It must've been pretty bad for her to do this to you..."

"It wasn't!" Benjy protested, "Fuck, it wasn't like..."

Joan let out a cry, halfway between a sob and a scream, throwing herself at him. Benjy staggered back as she pelted his front with percussive, if not individually powerful blows, "You could've told me! You could've told me, you could've..."

Tony moved around to Joan, taking her by the arm. Between him and Alice, they were able to get Joan off him.

"C'mon, girl," Alice said softly, "Gotta keep a clear head now, alright? Not doing yourself any good wasting your energy on him..."

Joan's anger dissolved into sobs as she slumped back down to the table, "I told you everything..." she said balefully, "You could've trusted me."

Tony, at a loss, put a placating hand on Joan's shoulder. She didn't move or shake him off, but she didn't look at him either. He felt a dreamy weightlessness, a dread and strange relief.

So this is how it happens. You've been wondering for days how she dies and she's been dead the whole time already.

Dead as Agnes was now, and as Chester would be, and Shaggy too, and everybody else this convoluted gimmick got to next.

"There's got to be a way," he said finally, turning to Fabia.

"A way?"

"To stop it. How do you...break the curse?"

Fabia sighed, "You're asking the wrong person."

"You know all this other stuff and you don't know that?"

"I don't know, kid, because it's never been done," Fabia snapped, "If there is a way to break a Dream Curse, I don't know it."

-Lettie, Bobby, Fabia, Joan, Benjy, Tony, Todd, Alice, Shaggy, and Chester

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 17, 2025, 9:13 pm

Hesh blocked out Lettie's panicked plea, concentrating on the man in the road and keeping the car's direction straight and true. He continued to push the car to its limit.

It didn't take long for the hitchhiker to see the Corvette wasn't slowing down.

He screamed out some sort of profanity and withdrew a pistol from his pocket, calling his buddies to do the same. The poor sap only managed a couple of shots--one cracking the windshield and the other missing the car entirely--before he tried diving out of the way.

Suffice to say, he didn't get very far.

The Corvette clipped the hitchhiker in the leg, likely shattering it, and sent him flying to the side of the road. One of his friends futilely tried to tend to him while the others tried to shoot the Corvette's tires.

Fortunately, Hesh had already sped well out of their range, though he swerved left and right to throw off their aim. "Jesus Christ..." He rasped, looking over his shoulder at their shrinking attackers, before returning his attention to his windshield. "That's gonna cost me a fortune..."

Quote from ThePlotMurderer on November 18, 2025, 8:47 am

Lettie shrieked as the glass cracked before her eyes. Behind her, Bobby cried, "Get down!" and did the work for her.

"My hair, Bob!" she cried as he knuckled her locks and tugged.

"Sorry!"

She wrenched away, peering over the side of the car.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to see..."

"They're shooting at us!"

"Yeah, because you just ran over their friend..." she trailed off, eyes widening at the growl of a engine up the road.

"Um," she croaked.

"What?" Bobby asked, "Lettie, for God's sake, get down..."

"They have more friends!" Lettie squealed, "They have more friends, and their friends have wheels."

-Lettie and Bobby

Quote from Snafu Guru on November 18, 2025, 1:28 pm

True to Lettie's word, a black van sped behind them from a nearby sideroad, emblazoned with a spraypainted Tupelo flower.

"I knew it," Hesh bit back a curse. "I recognized that guy from the house. Those maniacs followed us here!"

As if on cue, a pickup truck shot from the brush on the left like a bullet, looking to spearhead the Corvette from the side. Hesh was perceptive, though, hitting the brakes just in time for the pickup just miss them. The Vette fishtailed for a few moments but it didn't take long for Hesh to regain his control of the vehicle.

Meanwhile, the truck swerved back around behind the Corvette, almost colliding with the van in the process. However, the driver must have been just as skillful as Hesh, as the truck maintained its balance, swerving from the right side of the road and settling on the left. There were a handful of thugs riding in the flatbed who were hooting and hollering the whole ride over. Each wearing the Tupelo's signature leather jacket, they had bloodlust in their eyes, wielding switchblades and knuckledusters.

In Hesh's rearview mirror, he could make out the outline of the "wrecked" sedan from earlier. They were still a distance away but it would be a matter of time until it officially joined the party.

The same went for the inhabitants of the van on the right, which had begun to sidle up alongside the Vette. The passenger window rolled down, revealing an ugly face weathered by time and a good deal of knife fights.

"Well, well, well!" Dag exclaimed jovially. "If it ain't Bruce Kent and his pals from Shreveport! How 'bout you turn that beaut' 'round and we can handle this business quickly?" He leered at Lettie in the passenger's seat. "For the most part, at least." Hesh noticed Dag only had one hand in the open. His left was down low and out of sight. Either he was waxing his carrot at the sight of Lettie or had a gun, ready to use. Carrot or gun, carrot or gun...

Hesh already grew tired of this conversation. Not even bothering to roll the window down, he did what he did best: get on people's nerves.

He threw Dag the finger.

"Fuckin' asshole!" Dag withdrew a Lupara shotgun and aimed at Hesh.

Gun. There ya go.

Anticipating this outcome, Hesh slammed his foot on the brakes again just as Dag fired the Lupara, synchronizing perfectly with the beginning of the radio's next tune, the Treasures' "Hold Me Tight."

The birdshot narrowly missed the Vette's windshield as it backed out of sight, colliding with the pickup's right headlight instead. Nobody was hurt, except for the driver's feelings and Dag's pride.

Hesh regained control of the car once more. However, to his chagrin, he had ended up closing the distance between them and the sedan from behind.

"Shit..." He turned to Bobby in the backseat. "I don't suppose you still have your gun, being an officer of the law and all?"

-Hesh and Dag