Part One: Hello Operator, Give Me Number Nine

Part Two: Where There’s Smoke…

Part Three: Crooked Teeth

Part Four: Twizzlers And Beer

Part Five: The Canned Hunt

Part Six: Who Can It Be Now

Part Seven: The Box

Part Eight: Kalo Junction

Part Nine: Foster Got Fingered

Part Ten: Assignment Terror

Part Eleven: Pineapple Rendition

Part Twelve: The Clemens Callback

Part Thirteen: Run In With The Devil

Part Fourteen: Women And Children

Part Fifteen: The Tarantino Situation 

Part Sixteen: Our Nada Who Art In Nada
Part Seventeen: Photo Finish

Part One: Hello Operator, Give Me Number Nine

Part Two: Where There’s Smoke…

Part Three: Crooked Teeth

Part Four: Twizzlers And Beer

Part Five: The Canned Hunt

Part Six: Who Can It Be Now

Part Seven: The Box

Part Eight: Kalo Junction

Part Nine: Foster Got Fingered

Part Ten: Assignment Terror

Part Eleven: Pineapple Rendition

Part Twelve: The Clemens Callback

Part Thirteen: Run In With The Devil

Part Fourteen: Women And Children

Part Fifteen: The Tarantino Situation 

Part Sixteen: Our Nada Who Art In Nada
Part Seventeen: Photo Finish

 

Part One: Hello Operator, Give Me Number Nine

Part Two: Where There’s Smoke…

Part Three: Crooked Teeth

Part Four: Twizzlers And Beer

Part Five: The Canned Hunt

Part Six: Who Can It Be Now

Part Seven: The Box

Part Eight: Kalo Junction

Part Nine: Foster Got Fingered

Part Ten: Assignment Terror

Part Eleven: Pineapple Rendition

Part Twelve: The Clemens Callback

Part Thirteen: Run In With The Devil

Part Fourteen: Women And Children

Part Fifteen: The Tarantino Situation 

Part Sixteen: Our Nada Who Art In Nada
Part Seventeen: Photo Finish

…May 9th: Hello again, I know it’s been a while. We have a lot of catching up to do and I’d like to begin at the ending.

Right now, I’m sitting in an all night doughnut shop on the outskirts of Troy. So far I’ve eaten two chocolate frosted, two jelly filled and one glazed. 

The last meal of a condemned man? Kinda.

As soon as I’ve proofed and posted this I’m going to smash this laptop and toss it into the dumpster out back. Then I’m going to call Inspector Bradshaw and tell him where he can find me. 

Once the boys in blue get here I’ll go quietly. When they ask me about the events of March 18th, I’ll tell them all of it; the stuff they can corroborate, the stuff that contradicts what they know and the stuff that will make no damn sense.

Will they send me to the nut-hatch? Will I go to jail? Will Mrs. Vincenzo ever forgive me?

With that said let me fill you in on what I’ve been up to for the last fifty-two days…

…many of you that read my last blog post probably thought the same thing- “You idiot! You just confessed to a murder on the Internet! What do you think this is? Reddit?”

Well not so fast everyone Don’t go jumping to conclusions, just look over what I actually said;

…if this had been a movie the camera would have pulled slowly away from the bleak remains of Colonie Village Elementary… If this had been a movie the scene would have ended with the sound of a single gunshot.

Nowhere in that stunningly well written sentence does it say who shot who. Was I the only one there? Had Suzie brought a gun of her own? Was the Slender Man packing heat?

All I will say is that no one will ever find the gun or Suzie (REDACTED). They’re gone.

Still though, I had broken my parole so leaving town seemed like a nice idea.

Did I mention that Ashley Fowler left a wad of hundred dollar bills in the back of her car? If she will forgive me for saying so, she had some serious junk in her trunk; aside from the money there had been a 2-liter bottle of soda, a gas can, a crowbar, some comic books and magazines, a length of rope, a flashlight, a chemistry textbook, a hand saw, a tape measure, some shotgun shells (but no shotgun), jumper cables, a tool box, a book on steam power, and the headlight for an Oldsmobile.

I decided I wanted to see Cape Cod but for some reason I thought Cape Cod was in New Hampshire so I found myself in the town of Plaistow. It seemed like a nice place so I booked a hotel and settled in.

It was a relief to know that Tameka (REDACTED), Leroy (REDACTED) and Bob (REDACTED) were safe. Suzie had been the center of the disturbance and now that she was gone there would be no further visits from tall, dark and awful. In time Tameka and Bob would forget.

Leroy still emails me, I never answer him though. He needs to forget too.

I spent all day and night in my little motel room, only going out to get food or reading material. For a little while I toyed with the idea of writing a novel; something deep, meaningful and mundane but it turns out that unless I’m sharing my nightmares with the world I don’t have much to say.

Afternoon trash TV became my addiction; the People’s Court and the Maury Povich show were my only friends and honestly? I was OK with that.

More than a few websites talked about my encounter with the Slender Man, a lot of them didn’t believe my story. Reports of the Entity being in High Point, North Carolina at the same time I was dealing with it made people suspicious. 

I say so what? Weren’t there stories of the saints appearing in two places at once? Didn’t the government refer to the Priest of Nothing as a ‘Quantum Organism’?

And what about what Suzie had said? That she’d only met the creature a few months ago and that it had ‘sent a blessing back in time’?

Considering what I know now I don’t like to think about the ramifications of that

For the first few days of my life as a fugitive I expected every day to end with discovery and arrest but by my second week in Plaistow I figured that no one was looking for me, I wasn’t a priority.

I figured wrong.

It was about two weeks ago around three in the morning. Footsteps right outside my room woke me from a deep sleep. I rolled out of bed and crawled to the window. How long did I gently fuss with the curtains so I could peek outside without being detected?

Don’t ask.

Finally I saw something. It was some guy, maybe my age, he had on glasses and a windbreaker. He didn’t look like anybody I knew so I stayed quiet.

The part that caught my attention the most was that the guy was wearing some kind of a harness. And not the pervy kind of harness either, it was just a pair of nylon straps that he was using to  fasten a video camera to his chest.

He didn’t knock, he didn’t kick in the door, he scratched at it for a few minutes, then walked away. I waited until the bright safety of morning before I checked to see what he had done. 

A circle with an X through it had been carved over the peephole…

…I never stayed in the same place twice after that and as a result I never saw that guy again. What had he wanted? 

I Don’t know and I don’t care.

Six weeks on the lamb and I started to feel lonely. It made me a spendthrift, I bought a Playstation and some games. I started visiting whatever tourist attractions the town I was staying in had to offer. No matter where I was there was always a strip club to be found via Google Maps so I spent a lot of money on lapdances.

Seriously, a lot of money.

Yesterday I found a Dropbox account I had pretty much forgotten about. It didn’t have much in it, mostly personal photographs- Mom, Grandma and crazy Cousin Roy.

And one of Sara Bishop and me; a selfie. It was after we had started sleeping together but a little bit before I had fallen in love with her. I had tried to make her forget about her problems by taking her to Lake George Village. I loved the place with its wax museum, arcades and historical landmarks. It had been a good day, a perfect day.

It hurt to delete that picture but I never want to see it again. I just want to get back to New York and let the chips fall where they may. I’m almost looking forward to the idea of a long jail sentence. 

This life of mine, these encounters and adventures, I don’t want them anymore. I don’t want to be the Night Blogger, I don’t even want to be Brian Foster, I’d much rather be known by an inmate ID number.

That picture, that memory, is ruined forever and I bet you can guess why. If I emailed it to you the first thing you would see is me and Sara, cheek to cheek and grinning like fools. 

But look more closely and you can see Judd’s Bar in the background and to the right of that an alley. I never noticed it before but there was a man standing in that alley.

You can’t make out his face but you can see he’s very tall.

And slender.

The Cold Inside

Chapter Twenty-five

part three

By AL BRUNO III

Tuesday December 20, 1994

To Be Continued

Part One: Hello Operator, Give Me Number Nine

Part Two: Where There’s Smoke…

Part Three: Crooked Teeth

Part Four: Twizzlers And Beer

Part Five: The Canned Hunt

Part Six: Who Can It Be Now

Part Seven: The Box

Part Eight: Kalo Junction

Part Nine: Foster Got Fingered

Part Ten: Assignment Terror

Part Eleven: Pineapple Rendition

Part Twelve: The Clemens Callback

Part Thirteen: Run In With The Devil

Part Fourteen: Women And Children

Part Fifteen: The Tarantino Situation 

Part Sixteen: Our Nada Who Art In Nada

…March 18th: if this had been a movie the scene would have begun with a distant shot of Colonie Village Elementary at midnight. The building was on the edge of the streetlights’ illumination. All the ordinary sounds of Central Avenue were subdued, what little traffic there was sped past with an empty whoosh.

If this had been a movie the camera would have slowly, cautiously drawn in closer. There was a scrap of police tape snagged on an old hedge and a patch of oil to mark where Clayton (REDACTED) had spent the last night of his life. A flashlight beam, my flashlight beam, panned across the tableau to reveal boarded over doors and windows; each one had a circle with X’s spray-painted on it. The brim of my new fedora was pulled down low and I had a crowbar in my other hand. After a moment I put the flashlight away and started prying at the slabs of plywood blocking the side door. I’m wasn’t the least bit cautious or quiet about it.

After a few moments of grunting and cursing the boards cracked and fell loose. That done I dropped the crowbar, it can’t help me anymore. Then I retrieved the flashlight from my pocket. My first steps into the building were careful to the point of timidity, as though I was afraid the structure would collapse around me. If this had been a movie the last thing the audience would have seen of me was the illumination from my flashlight slowly fading away…

…if you’ve been following along then you know that I’m doing this for the sake of three kids I barely know; two of which have recently threatened my life.

But I don’t hold that against them, in their place I might have done the same thing. Originally I had planned for them to join me on this little excursion-slash-exorcism but they had still been out cold on the floor of Tameka’s apartment when I started hearing sirens. No doubt it was the boys in blue coming to investigate Tameka’s futile attempt to put a cap in the ass of a meme with a body count. I’d had no choice but to run, run here, to where it all started.

As I made my way through the first floor of the school the only things I heard were my nervous breaths and the sound of debris crunching underfoot. I don’t like to think of how many abandoned structures I’ve made my way through over the years. Cellars, attics and tunnels. Oh my!

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. 

I was halfway to the middle of the building when I stopped dead in my tracks and switched out my flashlight. I stood there for a minute or so, just waiting and listening. Then I clicked the light on and started walking again. 

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Funny thing about burnt out structures, it always sounds the same when you’re walking through them. All the fallen sections of ceiling and cracked floor tiles, all those bits of wood and glass; it can almost fool your ears into thinking you’re walking through a fresh snowfall.

But your nose won’t let you believe that because the smell of burnt wood and plaster that has been scorched, soaked and dried is unmistakeable. I swept my flashlight through one of the classrooms, it had been emptied out and boarded over like all the others, but this one still had its chalkboard intact. Someone had written on it; 

“Our nada who art in nada

nada be thy name 

thy kingdom nada 

thy will be nada 

in nada as it is in nada.”

Of course I recognized the quote. Between this and the Mark Twain it looked like someone was trying to wring every last drop of value from their English degree.

Dead center of Colonie Village Elementary were the stairs that lead down to the basement level. The articles I’d read told me that one half of the basement was where the janitor kept his tools of the trade, and the other half had been converted into a music room. Twenty kids had been there the day of the fire; they had all escaped but most ended up being hospitalized for smoke inhalation.

The janitor hadn’t been so lucky, but before you start trying to connect the dots, he was a short, stocky man with an actual face. I headed down the basement stairs, they were nice solid concrete steps, no crumbling wood for me to go crashing through at the worst possible moment. Still though, I walked cautiously with one hand pressed against the wall. After all we can’t be too careful when we marching towards almost certain annihilation can we?

I stopped again and killed the flashlight. I was in the basement now and it was so dark that my eyes were playing tricks on me. “Who’s there?” I called out, “I can hear you!”

Actually I couldn’t hear a damn thing but if you’re going to go looking for trouble it’s always polite to make yourself easy to find.

Then it was lights back on and a quick turn to the right.

Back in the day the music room must have been the most depressing music room in the history of music rooms. It was a perfectly square, perfectly windowless brick pit. All the fire did was scorch the gray walls to a sooty black. And honestly? That probably improved it. A music room? Only if you want to raise a generation of goths and death metal aficionados.

Once my back was against the far wall I called out “Come on then. Don’t keep me waiting.”

A figure walked into the circle of my flashlight beam; hooded, slightly hunched and still wearing that fanged, googly eyed mask. “…I, yOuR pOoR sErVaNt,” Crooked Teeth spoke into its smartphone again, autotune was set to maximum, “HaVe ReVeAlEd YoU tO yOuRsElF aNd SeT yOu FrEe….”

“Why don’t you just cut the shit…” I said calmly, “…Suzie.”

The smartphone clattered to the floor, the masked figure stood perfectly still. Was it shock or anger I was seeing? I took ten steps foreword. Finally Crooked Teeth spoke, “How long have you known?”

“Not long.” I admitted, “The finger was a nice touch.”

“The Priest should have taken it… And you.”

“Was that… The Priest’s idea or yours? How much of all this was your doing?”

“The Priest of Nothing saved us from the fire,” she said, “and saved us for the smoke. We all promised.”

“No,” I said, “be honest.”

“Alright then,” Suzie looked feverish and pale. She said, “I promised them to the Priest. Seven children. One for each arm.”

I switched off the flashlight. The dull illumination from the smartphone had a sickly underwater quality to it. Was enough for her to see my expression? Did it matter? “Listen,” I said, “you were a kid when you made that promise.”

“I wasn’t a child, I was 18 years old. It was only a few months ago,” she explained, “the Priest of Nothing sent a blessing back in time, that blessing became a fire.”

A blessing back in time? That was one headache-inducing revelation I neither wanted or needed so I blew right past it. “The Slender Man is nothing but a figment of the Internet’s imagination. A high tech demon called a Nirmita. You can stop this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“He’s here,” she smiled.

Air wafted over my back like something rushing forward. I had heard no footsteps but I could feel a presence behind me, it made my skin prickle and my mind ache. When I blinked my eyes I heard static.

I did not, would not turn around.

“He’s here,” Suzie spoke reverently. Her eyes glimmered, her vision was focused on something at least a foot over my head.

How can you not see something but know exactly what it looks like? Even without turning around I knew every detail of the Entity. The empty face, head cocked to one side like a curious bird. The necktie the color of smoke, or maybe it was smoke. It’s suit was immaculate and a perfect fit for a body that bent and stretched and swarmed with limbs.

“Never to have lived is best…” the voice was in my head but it was not mine. It was soft as the prayer of a dying man, “…never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day.”

That was Yeats. Yeats here and Hemingway on the chalkboard upstairs. Where were these quotes coming from? Why was this monster so well read? It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t let it matter. 

This time, when I pulled the pistol from my waistband it didn’t snag. I could feel long fingers curling around me but I didn’t look. I drew a bead on Suzie.

“Don’t make me do this,” I said. It was time for one last chance, one last cliche, “Don’t make me shoot you…”

…if this had been a movie the camera would have pulled slowly away from the bleak remains of Colonie Village Elementary. Seconds would have ticked by with agonizing slowness, the nearby streetlights would have flickered and dogs would have howled in the distance. Earlier there had been stars in the sky, but now the horizon was black.

If this had been a movie the scene would have ended with the sound of a single gunshot.

Part One: The Graveyard Game

Part Two: A Firesign Variation

Part Three: Digging In The Dirt

Part Four: The Red Chimes

Part Five: Back From The Shadows Again

Part Six: The Devil’s In The House Of The Rising Sun

Part Seven: The House Of Gorgo

Part Eight: The Parliament Of Moloch

Part Nine: Under The Eye Of Luna

Part Ten: The Tale Of Detective Bradshaw

Part Eleven: Waiting For The Mortician Or Someone Like Him

Part Twelve: The Shape On The Stairwell

Part Thirteen: It’s What’s Inside That Counts

Part Fourteen: Dies Irae

 

Part One: The Graveyard Game

Part Two: A Firesign Variation

Part Three: Digging In The Dirt

Part Four: The Red Chimes

Part Five: Back From The Shadows Again

Part Six: The Devil’s In The House Of The Rising Sun

Part Seven: The House Of Gorgo

Part Eight: The Parliament Of Moloch

Part Nine: Under The Eye Of Luna

Part Ten: The Tale Of Detective Bradshaw

Part Eleven: Waiting For The Mortician Or Someone Like Him

Part Twelve: The Shape On The Stairwell

Part Thirteen: It’s What’s Inside That Counts

Part Fourteen: Dies Irae

Part One: Hello Operator, Give Me Number Nine

Part Two: Where There’s Smoke…

Part Three: Crooked Teeth

Part Four: Twizzlers And Beer

Part Five: The Canned Hunt

Part Six: Who Can It Be Now

Part Seven: The Box

Part Eight: Kalo Junction

Part Nine: Foster Got Fingered

Part Ten: Assignment Terror

March 15th: Sorry it took so long for me to get to posting again. Let me give you a few quick updates.

Fact: Just as I suspected the severed finger I found belonged to Suzie (REDACTED). My sources in the local coroner’s office told me the finger had been torn off .

Fact: None of the five remaining members of the Colonie Village Nine have gone missing in over a month. It’s all quiet, but to quote that famous cliche, it’s too quiet.

Fact: Detective Phillp Bradshaw threatened to get my house arrest revoked. I almost took him up on the offer, prison might be more relaxing than the situation I’m in now.

But enough of that, lets talk about the file, lets talk about Assignment Terror. Like Mike said, Assignment Terror is the codename for the American government’s project to investigate and exploit the uncanny, the supernatural and the impossible.

That’s right folks, your tax dollars are being spent to find out if Bigfoot really does shit in the woods.

That’s what took me so long to get back to you, this disk had so much information on it. Too much information really. I had to cull so much interesting stuff but if I didn’t I would be setting the record for the longest blog post of all time.

So without further adieu here is everything relevant from Assignment Terror…

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ALONE IN SHORELESS SPACE++++++++++++++++LIMITLESS SOLITUDES++++++++++++++++++++++++++ FOREVER+++++++++WILL REMAIN A THOUGHT, THE ONLY+++++++++ THOUGHT++++++++++++++++++++ INEXTINGUISHABLE, INDESTRUCTIBLE. +++++++++++ POOR SERVANT++++++ REVEALED++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ FREE. DREAM++++++++++++++++++++++++++ STRANGE! +++++++++SHOULD NOT HAVE SUSPECTED ++++++++++CENTURIES, AGES, EONS,+++++++++++++++++++++++++++ COMPANIONLESS, THROUGH ALL THE ETERNITIES.++++++++++++++++++++++ YOU SHOULD +++ HAVE SUSPECTED +++++++++ UNIVERSE AND ITS CONTENTS WERE ONLY +++++++ VISIONS+++++++++++STRANGE, ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ INSANE+++++++++++++++++++ GOD +++ COULD MAKE GOOD CHILDREN++++++++++++++++++++++ PREFERRED+++++++++BAD+++++++++++++++++++++ MADE EVERY ONE OF THEM HAPPY++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ MADE THEM PRIZE THEIR BITTER LIFE+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ HIS ANGELS ETERNAL HAPPINESS++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ PAINLESS LIVES,+++++CURSED++++++++++ CHILDREN+++++++++++++++++++++++++ MALADIES OF MIND+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ INVENTED HELL+++++++ MERCY+++++INVENTED HELL+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ MULTIPLIED BY SEVENTY TIMES SEVEN+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++HAS NONE+++++++++++++++++++++++++ CRIMES++++++COMMITS THEM ALL+++++++++++++++++ WITHOUT INVITATION++++++++++++++++++++++++++++RESPONSIBILITY++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ DIVINE++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ABUSED SLAVE++++++++++++++++ +++ PERCEIVE+ NOW+++++++++++++++++++++++++++ IMPOSSIBLE+++++++++++++++++++++++ PERCEIVE+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ INSANITIES++++++++++++CREATIONS+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++CONSCIOUS++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ THE MAKER+++++++ THE DREAM-MARKS++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++RECOGNIZED+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++ NO UNIVERSE++++ HUMAN+++++++++++++++++ LIFE+ NO HEAVEN, NO HELL.+++++++++++++++++++A GROTESQUE AND FOOLISH DREAM+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ YOU ARE BUT A THOUGHT+++++++++++++++++++++ USELESS+++++++++++ HOMELESS++++++++++WANDERING++++++++ ++++++++++EMPTY ETERNITIES+

…OK lets all take a breath and reflect on how pants-shittingly amazing and terrifying those reports and photographs are. I guess the one advantage to living in a surveillance nation is that if there’s something going down there’s probably a camera somewhere recording it.

But then there’s the theory that the entity thrives on being observed, that it is a ‘Quantum Organism’ or Tulpa? That it only exists when it is being watched. Is our tall friend some kind of social media hookworm? Is it made stronger by every rumor, YOUTUBE video and blog post? Is it learning about us while we learn about it?

Wiser men and women will have to answer that question but the one common thread going through all those reports is that the Slender Man aways has a proxy. It’s a classic double act just like Dracula had Renfield, Dr. Frankenstein had Igor, Leopold had Loeb. 

Our masked friend Crooked Teeth is the proxy or, as they said in the ninth paragraph of the third article, “an asymptomatic carrier.” The proxy finds the victims and prepares them to be taken by the entity.

But as we’ve learned the process is usually not a quick one, there’s a reason for all these close encounters and near misses. The Slender Man is of its world and we’re of ours.

With each encounter the entity slowly infects its victims with… With something… One report calls it “Sigma radiation” but that sounds too much like something from a comic book. Another report calls it “the Taint” but that sounds like something from a bad horror novel. Whatever it is, it affects everyone differently. Some, like Suzie are ready to be snatched from the very first meeting, others take more time.

The encounters and vanishings move like a virus, spreading out from one group of people to the people those people knew, then to the people those people knew. On and on and on.

So as you can see I’ve learned a lot from the Assignment Terror files, everything I need to know.

Except how I’m going to stop this thing.

The Cold Inside

Chapter Twenty-three

part two

By AL BRUNO III

Friday December 16, 1994

Around eleven-o clock in the morning it began to rain, clouds and gloom conspired to make the cafeteria cold and dull. The six boys sat at their usual place and stared sullenly at the pile of fruit sitting in the middle of the table.

“Where did the bananas come from?” Rich glanced over his shoulder at the other students, knowing they were being watched.

Yusuf shrugged between sips from his thermos “They were here when I got here, waiting for us. Should we eat them?”

“If I wanted to eat fruit I’d stick to my diet.” Warren flinched at a particularly loud eruption of laughter from the front tables. “Is it me or is everything getting a little too Lord of the Flies around here?” 

Tristam laughed, “Man I should have read that book.”

“I am getting tired of this shit. Real tired.” Adelphos glared at a few choice students.

Greg frowned, “And what’s up with the whole slurping thing? I’ve been getting that all day.”

“You too?” Tristam asked.

“I think maybe it means that they think we suck.” Yusuf said.

Rich shook his head, “That’s too clever.”

“Even though I know what the answer is going to be…” Tristam said, “…has anyone heard anything from Drew?”

Greg frowned, “Still MIA.”

“Midterms are coming up, is she going to miss midterms?

Warren said, “I tried to call but it looks like they changed their number.”

“Changed their number?” Tristam shook his head, this week was just getting weirder and weirder. 

“It says the number is no longer in service.”

Yusuf asked, “Doesn’t that just mean that they have caller ID and call blocking?”

“Is there a difference?” Adelphos asked.

Rich shrugged, “Well if her family’s changed the number I think that’s a little worse than blocking calls.”

“I don’t think so, I think the other way is worse.” Yusuf said.

“Yeah but you liked Highlander 2, that makes every decision you’ve ever made suspect.”

Evan, Bobby and a few other of the popular kids began catcalling in their direction. From where he sat Tristam could see his sister watching it all and looking pissed off. It almost looked like the popular kids were splitting up into warring camps.

That doesn’t usually happen until the spring. Tristam thought.

Dave wondered aloud, “She must have the mumps or chicken pox or something like that.”

Warren frowned, “So speaks Mr. Positivity. Is the game on hold for now?”

“No way.” Rich said, “We have enough people for a small raid into goblin territory.”

“I’m up for it.” Greg said, “What does everyone else think?”

“Well,” Warren said, “I’d really miss the game but it sure wouldn’t be the same without her.”

“Besides, she’s the only one of us that comes up with plans that work.” Tristam laughed.

“Maybe we could play Talisman until she comes back?” Yusuf suggested, “I can’t imagine the game without her- she’s our fifth Beetle.”

Adelphos looked up in confusion, “Didn’t they fire the fifth Beetle?”

“No Talisman. No board games. I hate them.” Warren said.

“How can you hate board games? Were you beaten with a Parcheesi set when you were a boy?”

Greg said, “That would scar the heck outta me.”

“A Monopoly set would be worse, all those sharp edges and metal pieces.” Rich said.

Adelphos shook his head; “I could take a Monopoly set but imagine if someone beat your ass with a copy of Candyland. I don’t care how secure you are in your masculinity you could never go to the police and tell them you got clobbered with a copy of Candyland.”

Tristam scratched his head, “How exactly did the conversation get here?”

To Be Continued

Part One: Hello Operator, Give Me Number Nine

Part Two: Where There’s Smoke…

Part Three: Crooked Teeth

Part Four: Twizzlers And Beer

Part Five: The Canned Hunt

Part Six: Who Can It Be Now

Part Seven: The Box

Part Eight: Kalo Junction