NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART EIGHT

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Lance was off once again, flying away into the night before returning with a chipped concrete garden gnome the size of my head. This too he tossed into the air.

“Destroy!” Lance shouted.

I fired once, blowing the gnome’s head into pieces. Two more quick shots and the rest of it went the way of the head. Lance laughed in delight.

Some of the other fairies had broken off from the circle to watch. Nona, with her orange hair, was among them.

Lance zipped away once more. Within seconds he was back, this time with a small, portable stereo. Up it went, and as with the others, I shot it to pieces.

All the fairies cheered.

This went on for some time. Lance zooming off to return with an object he’d acquired from the nearby farmhouse. A basketball, then an outdoor light bulb, a bowl of some sort, and then finally, a small dog.

Lance tossed the dog into the air. The dog howled as it rose.

“Shoot it!” Lance shouted.

I didn’t move.

“SHOOT IT!” Lance screamed. “SHOOT IT NOW!”

“I—I can’t.” It was true. I couldn’t move. All I could think about was Trinity, the three headed dog I’d found a few weeks back in the Brotherhood’s labyrinth. I’d grown quite attached to her, though we’d only spent a minute or two together before she’d disappeared. 

“You CAN’T?!” Lance looked as if he was about to stamp his foot on nothing as he hovered there at eye level, small clouds of smoke puffing out from his tiny ears.

A few of the other fairies booed and hissed as the dog fell from the sky. I’d noticed that Nona wasn’t among them. She was there, sure, but she was quiet, her face turned to the ground.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” I said. And I was. A part of me anyway. There was something inside tugging at me, urging me to shoot the dog. And I wanted to. God help me I did. But I couldn't make myself do it, try as I might.

Lance caught the dog, holding it there for a moment, his eyes doing their best to bore holes straight through me before he casually dropped the frightened thing into the grass below.

The dog ran.

"You're wasting my time, Norman Oklahoma," Lance said, his voice descending to a dangerous volume.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," I said again.

“All of this was for nothing if you aren't going to cooperate," Lance said. "And I don't like doing things for nothing."

I didn't know what to say.

 "Why do you think I took the boy in the first place?” Lance said.

"I don't know." I really didn't. None of this was making sense.

“Because, Norman Oklahoma, I knew that the moment I did, you would come running.”

“You didn’t want me?” Jake was suddenly there next to me.

“Of course not, stupid boy,” Lance said before spitting. “What would I want with a useless child? You were bait. It was Norman Oklahoma I wanted. Not you.”

“But,” Jake said, his eyes filling with the beginnings of tears. “I thought I was your friend.”

Lance screamed in frustration. More smoke puffed from his ears. And I'll tell you, it wasn’t at all cute as one might imagine. No way, it was near to one of the most terrifying things I’ve seen, and I’ve born witness to many a frightening thing in my day.

“GROSS!” Lance shouted. “A HUMAN FRIEND!? YOU ARE A STUPID, GROSS, STUPID, GIANT BOY!”

Then, quite suddenly and as if from nowhere, a song began to play. From the first note it was as if the clouds had parted and I could see clearly for the first time. Furthermore, I recognized the song. Tumbling Tumbleweeds by Sons of the Pioneers, the 1946 version.

It was then that the fairies began to scream.

To be continued ...

NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART SEVEN

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A green light broke off from the circle where Jake stood, laughing. The green light zigged and zagged before coming to rest, hovering next to Nona. The light dimmed and I could see a male fairy dressed in baggy jeans and a basketball jersey from one of local teams. I don’t follow sports myself, but I’ve often wondered where these fairies got their tiny clothes. Must be another one of their magical abilities.

“Why are you wasting your time talking to this stupid giant?” The newly arrived fairy had spiked green hair and looked as if he’d just spent the better part of the last hour sucking on lemons.

“Shut up, Lance!” Nona yelled. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

“Well, but I think I do,” Lance said. “You need to fly back to the circle before I send you home.”

I glanced over at Jake to see that he’d started dancing.

“We’re already home, Lance,” Nona said.

“Not this place,” Lance said, his face growing even more sour. “Home home.”

Nona’s eyes grew wide and she floated back a few inches away from Lance.

“You wouldn’t,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Oh, but I would.” Lance smiled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Some days I’d love nothing more. Now move before I send you back.”

Without another word, Nona zoomed off, her orange light merging with the others.

“Norman Oklahoma,” Lance said, floating high enough so that he could look down his nose at me. “I have a task for you.”

“Anything,” I said, entranced and mesmerized and such.

“First,” he said. “You will call me ‘My Lord’.”

“Yes, My Lord,” I said. “Of course.” I wanted to slam my head into a rock as punishment for not calling him ‘My Lord’ this whole time.

“Next, I want you to prove to me that you can be useful,” Lance said.

“Anything, My Lord. I’ll do anything.”

“I want you to shoot something for me, Oklahoma.”

“Of course, My Lord,” I drew both of my pistols and thumbed back the hammers. “What would you like me to shoot?”

The fairy thought about it for a moment, crossing his arms and holding his chin in one hand as he mulled it over. He looked very impressive.

“I’m told you’re good,” Lance said. “Is that true.”

“Yes, My Lord,” I said. “Very good.” I looked around for something to shoot. I wanted, needed, to show him how good I was.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” And like that he was surrounded once again by a bright, green light.

I watched the green ball of light streak off toward the farmhouse in the distance. No more than two full seconds had passed before I saw the green light returning, and before I could so much as blink, Lance was once more in front of me.

Lance hovered there for a moment, an apple over his head. The apple was three times the fairy’s size, but Lance carried it as if it weighed no more than a balloon full of helium.

Before I could ask, Lance tossed the apple high into the air, the apple soaring to such a height that it began to look like a tiny, red pea.

“Shoot it out of the sky for me,” Lance said.

I smiled, and in one smooth motion, took aim, and fired. The apple exploded. Lance laughed and clapped his hands.

I’d never felt more proud of myself in my entire life.

To be continued ...

THE SATURDAY MORNING POST 003 - SILLY DAD POEMS

Ah, the weekend. 

For me that means spending quality time with the family.

The thing with them, however, is that my family has told me on more than on occasion that I'm a little odd.

That's okay, they're all a bit odd as well.

One of the reasons they find me odd, and there are many, is due to the little songs I sing or the poems and/or limericks I write off the top of my head as I'm in the kitchen preparing dinner or some such.

For example, I'll hear something on the television, a word or phrase, and before you know it I'm singing a little ditty centered around that word or phrase.

In fact, I'm reminded of an evening, some time ago, when a four line poem about my daughter popped into the my head, something silly, and by the end of the night, I'd had four more of them.

I have four kids. In order of age from oldest to youngest there is my step daughter, my son, and my two girls.

One of those two girls, the one not the youngest, I have called Noodle since she was born. I don't know why, I just have.

So that night, this crept into my head:

Noodley-Doo
What's wrong with you?
Do you have the flu?
Noodley-Doo

Which then lead to the following:

Noodley-Doo
You do have the flu
I heard an "atchoo!"
Noddley-Doo

And then:

Noodley-Doo
Why are you blue?
Did you lose a shoe?
Noodley-Doo

Which led to:

Noodley-Doo
Where is your shoe?
Do you have a clue?
Noodley-Doo

And finally:

Noodley-Doo
Would you like some stew?
Don't forget to chew
Noodley-Doo

After reciting these to her one at a time, each time one would pop into my head, Noodle told me that I needed to write them down.

And so I have.

I return you back to your regularly scheduled day.

NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART SIX

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I'm not one to use chemicals or alcohol to alter my state of mind. But then, because of my rapid healing, there ain’t much that can alter my state of mind. Not unless I imbibe more than what your average bowling team can handle. And frankly, that can get expensive.

But that doesn’t mean I ain’t susceptible to magic.

Fairy magic ain’t all that strong. By that I mean that they can’t do a whole lot with it. Not like a wizard.

They can make themselves invisible, though they don’t seem to like to. They can use their magic to lift objects that someone their size would never be able to lift, though they are mighty strong. But the most popular weapon in their magical arsenal is the ability to mesmerize. In other words, they cloud your brain and, in essence, put you at their command.

There are limits, of course, and one alone isn’t enough to put a spell on someone.

No, it usually takes a swarm.

As I watched the lights spin and dance, everything suddenly made sense to me. All the things in the my life that I’d been fretting over were washed away and I finally felt something I’d never felt before.

A sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger than myself, of being part of a family.

I’ve never had a family, not that I can remember. And yet, here it was, right in front of me the entire time.

Nona and her clan.

Family.

Jake would be like the little brother I never had. And the others? Well, like I said, I ain’t never had a family before.

“Is this where we’ll live?” I asked Nona.

“The tree,” she said. “The tree is now your home.”

“It’s a bit small,” I said, frowning.

Nona glared at me and I felt a deep shame course through me.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

Nona’s frown quickly turned upside down and I found my heart filled to the brim with joy.

To be continued ...

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NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART FIVE

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I know very little about fairies, and what I do know doesn’t make a lot of sense.

For example, I know that they like trees. But not just any tree. It has to be old. I get that, I suppose. The older the tree the longer it’s been connected to the pulse of the earth or some such. But as much as they like old trees, they prefer those that stand alone. That’s what I don’t get. Like I said, I’ve asked, and if you’ve ever tried to ask a fairy anything then you’re intimately familiar with the meaning of the word ‘futile’.

Fairies dislike questions. They ain’t secretive or nothing, they just find them annoying. Like they ain’t got time to be messing with such nonsense. Most fairies ain’t willing to explain much of anything and just asking them a question tends to put them off. But the one time I finally got an answer, it went right over my head.

“A forest is too noisy,” I was told. “One tree is nice and quiet. Means we don’t have to do what they tell us.”

See what I mean.

But then, that’s fairies. If it weren’t for the wings, the height, and the magic, I’d think they were nothing more than bored teenagers in a small town with nothing to do but make a nuisance of themselves.

“You ain’t excited to see me, Nona?” I said, keeping the barrel of the gun trained on the fairy.

Nona and I had met before. In fact, we’d had our fair share of run-ins over the years, but I’d never known her to do something like this, kidnapping a child.

“Should I be?” said the fairy. “You’ve only come to ruin our fun. Again.”

“Come on, Nona,” I said. “You know better than that. You kidnapped a child.”

“So?” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Well, you should know that that’s something I’m gonna have issue with. Playing pranks is one thing. You want to drop water balloons on people or toilet paper a house, I’m likely to look the other way cuz no one’s getting hurt. But you have to have known that I’d draw the line at this.”

“Maybe I did,” she said. “So what. We’re just having fun.”

“The boy’s family is worried, Nona.”

“Family.” She said the word with such scorn that I wouldn’t have been surprised if fire had shot from her eyes. “He doesn’t like his family. They’re mean to him.”

“Oh?” I said. “And how’s that? How are they mean to him?”

“They wouldn’t let me go to the movies last night,” Jake said. “I wanted to see the new Walter movie and they said I was too young.”

“Walter?” I said. “You mean them Walter Dark movies?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “All my friends have seen it.”

“Well dang, Jake, that’s one of them slasher movies. You are too young for such a film. They’re more than graphic.”

“I can handle it,” Jake said. “I’m the only one in school who hasn’t seen it.”

“I highly doubt that,” I said.

Jake didn’t respond.

“So, is that it?” I continued. “Is that how they’re mean to you? By not letting you see the kind of movie that’s bound to give you nightmares for weeks?”

“You don’t understand,” Jake said.

“Yeah,” Nona said. “You don’t understand. Jake wants to live with us now.”

“Does he?” I said. “Is that why you have him tied up?”

“We were just coming to let him lose,” she said, glaring down her nose at me. “But then you showed up.”

She buzzed off a little to the left. I kept the gun trained on her.

“Stop pointing your stupid gun at me,” she said. “You’re so dumb. You and your stupid guns. Guns can’t hurt fairies. We’re invincible.”

“Now that ain’t necessarily true,” I said.

“Yes it is!”

“Sure, this gun here won’t kill you. I know that and you know that. But you also know that if I were to fire this here gun, I’d hit you. And while it might not kill you, it’s sure gonna hurt like the dickens.”

“So?” she said. “You don’t scare us. You’re just big and stupid like all the other humans. Leave us alone!”

“Why don’t you go ahead and untie young Jake there,” I said. “You say he wants to stay. Prove it. Let him go.”

Nona rolled her eyes again. But then she turned to the others who were still buzzing here and there so fast that they were just lights streaking by. She shouted out in the fairy language and two of the lights broke off from the group and zipped over to Jake. A few seconds later the rope that bound him to the tree fell away.

Jake took a few steps back, massaging his wrists. They had been bleeding from where the rope had dug into his skin. I don’t think he was even aware of it. He was smiling, and he moved like a drunk. 

“Jake,” I said “Let me take you home. Your parents are worried sick.”

“No,” he said. “I am home.”

“You got a spell on him,” I said to Nona.

To prove my point Jake walked into the the center of the circling lights, laughing.

“Go away, stupid giant,” Nona said.

“Yeah,” Jake called out. “Take off, dude.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I said, watching the lights as they circled the boy. They moved so fast that they were all just one solid line now, as if Jake stood in the center of a multicolored neon ring.

“Maybe you want to stay too?” Nona said.

That sounded like the best idea I’d heard all day. Heck, all week.

“Maybe I do want to stay,” I said.

“Maybe you want to be a part of the family?”

“Family,” I said, holstering my pistols. “Ain’t never had family before.”

“We’ll be your family, Norman Oklahoma,” Nona said.

Like I said, I don’t know much about fairies. What I do know, however was that had I been in my right mind at that moment, I would have opened fire.

To be continued ...

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THE SATURDAY MORNING POST 001 - NOTHING TO SEE HERE

Hello and welcome to the Saturday Morning Post.

This is the post that I will use to try and force me to write something each week, even if it's just something about what I read, watched, or witnessed through my window.

The problem here, however, is that this is the first Saturday Morning Post, and I have a great big ball of squat to give you.

Don't get me wrong, I had a post planned today.

And believe you me, it was going to be a good one.

Trust me on that.

This post, had I been able to put it together today, would have changed the way you look at life.

For serious!

But, alas, a big part of the post involved, well... stuff. Secret stuff that's being kept in a mysterious location. In other words. Not here.

So, this is what life does, right. Life happens while you're out there making other plans.

So, rather than post what I wanted to post, I'm going to post a great big bunch of nothing and hope that if I use enough images and a lot of words that maybe I can trick you into reading it.

But really... I have nothing to say.

For example. Let's take a look at the image there at the top of the post.

It's just a bunch of doors. What does it mean?

Nothing.

Here's another useless image:

What does it mean?

I don't know!

Okay, so here's a little bit of something.

I was getting ready for bed last night, so it's late. Not too late. I mean, I'm an old man, for me 10 PM now is like 2 AM in my Twenties.

Anyway, I was getting ready for bed when suddenly, I get this idea.

It's not a great idea, but it's an idea just the same.

But this idea, the one that wasn't great, spawned another idea. This one, too, wasn't all that great. But then the two ideas bounced around in my head until another new idea burst forth, the one leading to the other, which lead to the new one.

It was like a bunch of colorful lights bouncing around in my head, looking for a place to rest.

See:

Okay, it wasn't like that at all. I just needed an excuse to use that image.

Anyway, after about ten minutes, my mind sparked on what I still think is a rather great idea.

Well, maybe not great. But surely fun.

And frankly, just so you're aware, even after all that, I'm not going to talk about it. Not at all.

That wasn't the point. I'm not talking about it so that I can talk about it.

I'm talking about it because I find it frustrating.

Frustrating that these ideas keep coming to me and I can't do anything with them.

But, hey, I'm having ideas, and that's a good thing. So I'm not going to complain. Even though I did.

So what I need to do is just write some of this stuff down, put in in my idea place so that when I've run out of ideas, I can have that to fall back on.

Okay, I'll tell you it's a sci-fi story, what could easily become a series of books, and it's set in space.

There.

Space.

Pigs in Space!

That was one of my favorite Muppet Show bits.

Not sure where else to go with this.

I'm working on something new. A new publication is on the horizon. I've been working hard on it for the last few days.

Want to know what it is?

Tough. I don't want to talk about it.

See, that's been a lot of my problem. I want to talk about everything I'm working on. I start a book, it's going great, I talk and talk and talk about it, then I get stuck and start something else.

That's what happened with Norman Oklahoma.

People were like: "Yeah, great, more Norman Oklahoma. You ever gonna finish that thing. I'm tired of hearing about it."

But hey, I eventually got a book out though.

So I'm sure I'll eventually get a book out with this other story that I'm not talking about. And when I do, y'all will be surprised.

Just.

Like.

That.

Y'all will be like: "Whoa, where did this book come. That caught me totally off guard. Bravo, Steeven. Bravo."

Or something like that.

Well, I think that's it. I need a nap.

NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART FOUR

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It hadn’t taken me long, once I was on the case, to figure out where they’d taken Jake. I’d been hearing rumors of fairy lights out this way for a few weeks now. Of course, most folks think they’re seeing fire flies. Their brains won’t let 'em think any other way, despite the multiple colors.

So I’d used Google to look at satellite images of the area until I found the tree. One tree in a sea of grass. Well, lets just say that fairies like trees. And one tree by itself like that in the middle of nowhere? For some reason they find that something next to sacred.

I’ve had one of the fairy folk try and explain it to me once. Didn’t make a lick of sense at the time, still doesn’t. Something about too many trees in one place making too much noise or something.

Anyway, I’d had a hunch, and for once it turned out to be right.

I holstered the pistols and pulled a bottle of water from one of the deep pockets of my coat. I popped the top and dumped half of it atop young Jake.

Jake Finn, eleven years old, from Grantville, Kansas, was awake in an instant. I stood so that he could see me, ready to assuage any fears that might bubble to the surface after waking to find himself tied to a tree in the dark.

He blinked as this eyes adjusted to the light before he turned them on me.

“Hey,” he said. Though his voice was still thick with sleep, his greeting felt a mite too casual, considering the situation.

“Jake,” I said. “You know where you are?”

“Tree,” he said. “Middle of a field. Yeah.”

“You know how you got here?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said with more than a little disdain as he rolled his eyes. “Fairies brought me out here.”

“And you’re okay with that?” I said.

But I didn’t get an answer. Instead Jake only smiled, his eyes going big like one of them creepy paintings from the 60’s, and in those eyes I could see the reflection of dancing lights. 

I spun, a gun in each hand, the hammers thumbed back before I’d even cleared leather. But it was too late, the lights zipped all about us, hundreds of 'em in every color of the rainbow.

It was a bit like watching miniature comets, about three or so inches in diameter, streak here and there around the tree. One of the lights eventually broke off from the main group and made its way to me.

The light, orange, hovered there in front of my face for a moment or two, so bright that I couldn’t see into its center. But then the light dimmed, and as the ghostly image of orange faded from my eyes, I could see her.

She was about three inches tall with thin, gossamer wings that moved so fast they were only a blur. She wore jeans and a red t-shirt emblazoned with a yellow star. Her feet were bare and the orange hair that fell from her head reached just below her shoulder.

She flew in closer and I followed her with the barrel of one pistol. Her eyes took me in and quickly grew bored, if not disgusted.

“Ugh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s Norman Oklahoma.”

To be continued ...

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NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART THREE

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To be honest with you, fairies ain’t all that powerful, magically speaking. But that don’t mean folks should just dismiss 'em outright. I mean, while they maybe just a few inches tall, they can fly, and when there are a bunch of 'em about, they tend to swarm. When that happens, there’s usually more of them then I have bullets.

Plus they’re crafty and more than a little sadistic. They also tend to find great pleasure in bringing pain to us big folk. In other words, while I ain’t never feared for my life when going up against a passel of fairies, they have been known to be a giant pain in my butt from time to time.

What you have to understand is that fairies ain’t necessarily evil, of course, they ain’t all that good neither. They’re what you might call ‘Chaotic Neutral’, to use a role-playing term. They don’t want to kill nobody, that ain’t their intent, fairies just like to play jokes on people. Of course, they’re idea of a joke differs greatly from mine, and if one of us big folk does die during one of their pranks, they ain’t gonna shed no tear.

The thing is, they don’t really empathize or sympathize, and they don’t quite understand that there are consequences to their actions. They’re a bit like teenagers in that way. One of ‘em might get the idea into their head that it would be funny to drop a flower pot on someone’s head, not taking into account how big the pot might be or how high up they are when they drop it. Extremes in either direction might kill a person or just give ‘em a nasty bump on their end. Regardless, they’ll just laugh and fly away.

But kidnapping a boy? That ain’t happened as far back as I can remember. Frankly, it was the hundreds of small colorful lights that clued me in on the tiny folks in the first place. But it just ain’t like 'em to take a child. Sure, there’s always been tales of fairies snatching children, legends stretching back to the days when men carried swords and wore armor. But I’ve never found it to be true.

Yet, here we are.

To be continued ...

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NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART TWO

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The ten second sprint felt like an hour out there in the open with no cover. I was exposed, vulnerable, your basic duck in a barrel. And yet, despite the impending sense of doom that sent a tickling sensation racing up and down my spine, I reached Jake’s side without incident.

I turned and scanned the immediate area to find nothing behind me. No ax-wielding maniacs in pursuit. No angry mob rising from the ground with pitchforks and torches. No danger whatsoever. I didn’t like it. In fact, the quiet stillness of it all soured my belly something fierce.

That’s when it hit me. Not a bullet, or an arrow, or even a rock. No, I was hit square in the jaw by the raw force of cold, hard, truth. It was the swift and sudden realization that this empty field surrounding me, Jake, and the tree, had quickly turned into an old cliché, because frankly, it was a bit too quiet out there.

I mean, there was no sound at all. No crickets chirping, no owls hooting, no cicadas doing whatever it is they do. Nothing but the still void of emptiness. Even if nature had collectively gotten together and chose to keep it down for once, I should have been able to hear the occasional car from the highway. I could see the headlights out there in the distance, but all my ears could pick up was me. It weren’t at all natural. Not in the least. But then, I wouldn’t be here if it was.

My name is Norman Oklahoma. I’m a private investigator that specializes in the supernatural, the unexplained, and the just plain weird. I’m the guy people call when their son, out playing in the backyard, is suddenly surrounded by hundreds of tiny lights and then disappears. 

Sure, they go to the cops first. Why wouldn’t they? But for the police, this is a little out of their league. So eventually, my name comes up and I’m given a call.

This is my area of expertise. I know what took the boy. I mean, hundreds of tiny lights abducting a child can only mean one thing.

Fairies.

To be continued ...

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NORMAN OKLAHOMA - FAIRY TALE: PART ONE

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BY THE TIME I found him, Jake Finn was unconscious.

He’d been bound by his wrists, his arms pulled tight around the trunk of a tree that was almost to big to believe. The tree stood alone in over a hundred acres of grassland just east of Topeka, Kansas. It was an ancient tree, a transplant from the old world that now rose in proud dominance over what felt like the middle of nowhere.

Highway 24 was a few miles off to the south, and I could see the lights of a farm house to the north over half a mile away. But at near Two in the morning, Jake and I might as well have been out on the open prairie of the Old West.

I approached the boy with little in the way of stealth. I wasn’t good at it, so I didn’t bother trying. Besides, they’d been watching me since I’d crossed the barrier, so there weren't no point in trying to hide.

Using the light from the full moon over head, I approached Jake at a run, a pistol in each hand. The way I figured it, inside the barrier the way we were, a swift resolution to Jake’s predicament would be best, and nothing expedites a solution like a couple of Colt Peacemakers.

To be continued ...

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WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP

If I could have any job in the world, you know, if I had my druthers and stuff, I think I'd like to be a professionally paid podcaster and writer.

Actually, to be honest, that's not true. Not at all. If the druthers were truly mine, then frankly, I'd prefer to just skip the whole job thing altogether and be one of those people who are independently wealthy. At that point I could write and podcast and not have to worry about being paid for it.

So yeah, I need to get started on that already. Plans need to be made. Plans that when they come to fruition, I'm there at the other side one flipping independently wealthy dude. That shouldn't be too hard. Right?

Okay, so let's see...

Step One: Get a great big bunch of money.

Step... well, that's pretty much it.

Alright then, I have the plan. Now all that's left for me to do is to just get out there and do it. I gotta go out there and get that money. Legally, of course. I don't condone thievery.

And really, I don't need all that much... money, that is

I don't think I could live an extravagant lifestyle with a giant house, pool, butler, maid, driver, and all that. I mean, it sounds exhausting. All I need is just enough to get the things I want, and then, of course, have enough left so that I don't have to worry about money ever again. You know, for like paying the bills and stuff.

Okay, so just enough to get what I want... which is what, exactly?

Well... a slightly larger house. We're currently living in a relatively tiny house. So yeah, something just a bit bigger. A place where everyone could have their own room and we'd have an actual basement. A finished basement where I could build my studio to do all the podcasting and stuff. 

Plus, we need more than one bathroom. Five people, one bathroom, don't get me started.

Oh, and a garage, that's something we don't have. A two-car garage for our two new, paid for, reliable cars. Maybe a four-door sedan and some sort of big SUV or truck for the really snowy days. Nothing fancy or too expensive, I don't need all the bells and whistles. But it would certainly be nice to drive something reliable for a change.

And hey, back to the basement, I'd want to get a drum set, something I haven't owned for two decades.

Oh, and a nice, big, TV. Three of them.

But that's it. That's all I want.

Well, my wife is gonna want some stuff. I'll have to make sure I get with her and get a list.

And of course, I'm sure the kids will want some stuff too.

But that's everything. That's all we want or need. Just that.  

Well, that and the ability to pay any bill that might surface, to pay the way through college for my three kids, and then still have enough left over for whatever life throws my way.

That's all. Nothing else.

I mean, that's not too much to ask. Is it?

Okay then. So now I know what I want, and I have a plan. I just have to do it.

Or I could just focus on the writing and the podcasting, appreciate what I have, surround myself in the love of my family, and just live life.

So yeah, I'll go back to my first answer. If I have to work for a living, then I'd like to do it writing or podcasting.

Or as a Space Ranger.

Wow, choosing a career is tough.

BONUS EPISODE - MY OTHER PODCAST #115

Here's a bonus episode, folks. It's not only an episode of My Other Podcast, it's rip-roaring adventure through this sponge I call a brain.

First, the weather. From there it's all about future episodes of Just Another Fanboy, songs that get stuck in your head, my weekly newsletter, how I write, struggling with words, writing about a piñata, and so on and so on and all that and then some.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

More stuff:

The theme song used in each episode is Night Drive by The Oldfield Victory. Find them and their music at theoldfieldvictory.bandcamp.com

Want to help support the show? You can do that in a number of ways:

First, just spread the word. Tell a friend, tell two friends, tell your father, mother, sister, brother, neighbor, coworker, plumber, and even the guy or girl who cuts your hair.

Beyond that you can support Steeven and the show for as little as a dollar a month on Patreon: www.patreon.com/steevenrorr

Or, if the idea of a monthly payment doesn't appeal to you and you just want to throw the show a one time payment, visit ko-fi.com/steevenrorr and buy Steeven and the show a coffee for as little as $3, but as high as you want to go.

Ask me questions, tell me stories, lie to me, speak your truth, make suggestions, or even complain right here: feedback@steevenorrelse.com

Just Another Fanboy is a proud member of the Comics Podcast Network. Find it and more great comic book podcasts at comicspodcasts.com

JAF EP060: THEN A PENGUIN WALKED IN

Celebrate, folks, for I have a new book out today. It's called Then a Penguin Walked In and Other Tall Tales and this is the episode in which I talk about it and even read for you a couple of chapters.

Take one sword-wielding penguin, add a time traveling cowboy, and throw in more zombies than you can shake a stick at. Mix it all together and that's just a taste of what you'll find in this all new collection of four novellas by Steeven R. Orr.

This quirky collection opens with "Then a Penguin Walked In", a fantasy tale about Dominick Hanrahan, a fast food cook surrounded in the gray of day to day dullness and drudgery. Then a penguin walked in, taking Dominick from a life of tedium and thrusting him into a world he never knew existed. But is he destined to save his new home?

Next is "Fanboys of Doom" in which former police officer and survivor of the zombie apocalypse, desperate to add the Holy Grail of comics to his mobile man cave, will risk being eaten alive by a bevy of zombie fanboys to gain his prize.

Then, in "The Undead of the Night", a group of strangers find themselves trapped in a convenience store in the middle of nowhere as the dead rise to feast. But not everything is as it seems. (A Norman Oklahoma adventure).

And in the last tale of this collection, "The Other Gunfight", an icon of the Old West travels in time to the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral on a mission to stop a fellow time traveler from killing the wrong person.

Humorous, exciting, and just a bit weird, "Then a Penguin Walked In and Other Tall Tales" is the book you didn't know you needed until now.

Pick up the book now at penguin.steevenorrelse.com

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

More stuff:

The theme song used in each episode is Night Drive by The Oldfield Victory. Find them and their music at theoldfieldvictory.bandcamp.com

Want to help support the show? You can do that in a number of ways:

First, just spread the word. Tell a friend, tell two friends, tell your father, mother, sister, brother, neighbor, coworker, plumber, and even the guy or girl who cuts your hair.

Beyond that you can support Steeven and the show for as little as a dollar a month on Patreon: www.patreon.com/steevenrorr

Or, if the idea of a monthly payment doesn't appeal to you and you just want to throw the show a one time payment, visit ko-fi.com/steevenrorr and buy Steeven and the show a coffee for as little as $3, but as high as you want to go.

Ask me questions, tell me stories, lie to me, speak your truth, make suggestions, or even complain right here: feedback@steevenorrelse.com

Just Another Fanboy is a proud member of the Comics Podcast Network. Find it and more great comic book podcasts at comicspodcasts.com

THE DEATH OF WYATT EARP

December 4th is tomorrow!

Why should you care? Well, December 4th is when my new book, Then a Penguin Walked In and Other Tall Tales, hits the digital shelves for $4.99. But you can preorder it now for just $2.99!

This book collects four novellas into one volume. Three of them I wrote a number of years ago, one of them is new, and I'd like to use this time to talk to you about it. In fact, I'd like to provide you with a bit of a preview.

Going through the book, the four novellas, I wanted to share with you one chapter from each. Not the first chapter from each, as some previews do, but some of my favorites.

Today I have something for you from the last story to appear in the collection: The Other Gunfight. This is Chapter Three: The Assassination of Wyatt Earp.

I SAT FOR JUST a moment, taking another shot of whiskey, before following Wyatt, Morgan, and Virgil out of the saloon, saddle bags thrown over one shoulder. At first, I couldn’t see where the three brothers had gone, but quickly found them standing in the middle of the street talking to a man who leaned on an ornate walking stick.

This new addition looked as if he’d just crawled out of bed and thrown his clothes on in haste. He dressed as the other three–black coat and pants over a white shirt and string tie–he just looked a bit more disheveled.

I edged closer.

“This isn’t your fight, Doc,” Wyatt was saying.

“That’s a hell of a thing for you to say to me, Wyatt,” the fourth man returned.

John Henry ‘Doc’ Holliday.

The four were together. Now all that was left to do was let it all happen.

The whole town was buzzing with activity. The people of Tombstone knew that a fight was coming and they’d all come out to watch, which shouldn’t hinder me in the least. I had a good idea where to find the man I was looking for, and when I should be there.

I watched as a fifth man approached the four. I don’t recall the fella’s name, but this would be when the Earps and Holliday would learn that the cowboys had moved away from the O.K. Corral, and now loitered in the empty lot next to Fly’s Boarding house over on Fremont Street. This is where the gunfight would actually happen, not at the O.K. Corral as legend tells it.

But really, The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral sounds more exciting and rolls off the tongue better than The Gunfight in the Empty Lot Next to Fly’s Boarding House on Fremont Street.

I left the horse in front of Hafford’s and headed out on foot, walking west on Allen, moving fast, but not fast enough that I’d stand out. I turned right onto Third, then right again on Fremont.

The Earps and Holliday would use Fourth and approach from the south side of Fremont.

I’d arrived before them, however, and could see the cowboys hanging out next to Fly’s. A small crowd had gathered on the street. Not many people, not yet. Most of the town would be out here by the time all was said and done, but for now it was just a handful of the more curious townsfolk who’d been hearing the rumors of a fight all morning.

I ignored them all and entered the dress shop across the street. I didn’t have an exact location for the guy I was looking for, but that’s where I’d be. It was directly across from where the gunfight was about to occur, and it had a second floor.

The shop was empty. I didn’t question it. Whoever ran the place may be one of the few out there in the street now. Didn’t matter. What mattered was getting upstairs.

I took a moment to pull the gun belts and pistols from my saddle bags. I strapped them on and moved into the back of the store, both pistols drawn, cocked, and ready to fire. I found a door in the back that opened to a set of stairs leading up. I took the steps quietly. As I came to the top of the staircase I could see into a small room full of dressmaker’s dummies, bolts of cloth, and other various sundries.

More importantly, I saw him.

His back was to me, but I could see that he dressed like one of the locals, though local he was not. He stood looking out a window at the other end of the room. The window was open and would look down upon the empty lot next to Fly’s. A gentle breeze eased through the room from the open window, causing the dresses and cloth to flap lazily in the wind.

The man at the window held a Spencer rifle. He had it pointing at something below outside.

I had to handle this carefully. Back in my youth, before the men from the Phoenix Initiative had come to see me, I’d have done something reckless. I would’ve charged up the stairs, guns blazing, hollerin’ for joy at the top of my lungs. I was an idiot back then. Still am, honestly, but I’ve learned a thing or two about restraint since then.

So, rather than hootin’ and hollerin’ and making more noise than a Chinese New Year’s parade, I simply eased into the room, pistols at the ready, and then spoke:

“Bob,” I said, my voice as soft as a rabbit’s back.

I had a whole speech prepared. Nothing much, just who I was with and how I was taking him in. You know, all the official stuff.

But he never gave me the chance. The moment his name left my lips he’d spun to face me, the rifle pointed at my head.

“Don’t,” I said, both pistols aimed at his most sensitive areas. I took a step closer, reducing the gap between us.

“Why not? You aren’t going to kill me.”

“No?”

“You’re one of them Phoenix guys. You can’t kill me. Not here. Not in this when.”

“Strictly speaking, Bob, that ain’t necessarily true. Sure, the people I work for don’t like us killing folks who are out of time. In fact, they downright frown on it. And yet, we’re encouraged to fix the time stream by any means necessary. That means up to and including ending the life of some desperate loser who thinks coming back will cure their woes. That would be you, Bob.”

“Now,” I continued. “Do the smart thing for once. Drop the rifle and come with me. No fuss. Otherwise I drop you where you stand.” I took another two steps toward him.

Bob only laughed.

“I got you too,” he said. “You think you’re faster than me?”

“I know I am.”

“You’re pretty cocky for a little guy.”

Little guy. That hurt. This fella was practically begging to be shot in the face.

“Look, Bob. It’s obvious that you didn’t do much research before coming back here. If you did then you’d know that what you have there is a Spencer rifle.”

“I know that.”

“Did you know that you have to thumb back the hammer before you can fire it?”

The Spencer rifle was a lever action, meaning it had a lever below the trigger that you had to cock to expel the spent cartridge and feed a new one into the tube. But you also had to manually cock the hammer as well. Bob looked from me, to the rifle, and then back to me. Then he pulled the trigger. Or tried to anyway.

“Give it up, Bob,” I said. “This was a damn fool thing for you to do. You know that? I mean, killing Wyatt Earp? What were you thinking?”

“Wyatt Earp ruined my life.”

“And how do you figure that?” I was just trying to stall for time at this point.

“My great grandfather is down there,” he said, gesturing out the window behind him with a jerk of his head. “Billy Claiborne.”

“Great grandfather?”

“Add a few more greats and yeah.”

“Okay, so then what,” I said. “Wyatt shoots him or something?”

I’d already known the answer to my question.

“No.”

“No, he does not,” I said. “Billy Claiborne, for all his guff and bluster, runs from the fight without firing a shot.”

“The Earps had them outnumbered.”

“Now that ain’t true neither,” I said. “It was the three Earp brothers with Doc Holliday on the one side and your Great Grandfather, Ike Clanton, his brother Billy, and Frank and Tom McLaury on the other. That’s four against five to my math.”

“He shouldn’t have run,” Bob said. “His reputation wasn’t worth spit after that.”

“Come on, Bob. Billy Claiborne’s reputation wasn’t worth much before that, either.”

“It was hard being a Claiborne after that,” Bob said. “Each of us, right on up the line, had nothing but bad luck all our lives.”

“And you attribute all of that to Billy Claiborne running from the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral?”

“That’s where it started,” Bob said.

I was about to retort when someone down below us, out in the empty lot, began to shout.

“Throw your hands up!” It was Virgil Earp. “I want your guns!”

This is what I’d been waiting for.

“Hold on!” Virgil shouted once again. “I didn’t want this!”

Then the shooting began.

I smiled. Bob cocked an eyebrow in my direction.

I opened fire.

But I missed.

You can preorder the book now for your Kindle, Nook, or any other device by clicking the cover below, or going to penguin.steevenorrelse.com.

SURROUNDED BY THE LIVING DEAD

December 4th is just around the corner.

Why should you care? Well, December 4th is when my new book, Then a Penguin Walked In and Other Tall Tales, hits the digital shelves for $4.99. But you can preorder it now for just $2.99!

This book collects four novellas into one volume. Three of them I wrote a number of years ago, one of them is new, and I'd like to use this time to talk to you about it. In fact, I'd like to provide you with a bit of a preview.

Going through the book, the four novellas, I wanted to share with you one chapter from each. Not the first chapter from each, as some previews do, but some of my favorites.

Today I have something for you from the third story to appear in the collection: The Undead of the Night. This is Chapter Twelve: Hatching the Plan.

TRACEY LOVED ZOMBIES. MOVIES, television, books, comics, the media didn’t matter. If there was a zombie or two involved, she consumed it.

Yet now, as she took her place behind the counter, watching the creatures beyond the glass, living one of the stories she had immersed herself in time and time again, she thought she might want to give mysteries a try. Maybe even romance.

Regardless, she was done with the zombie genre.

“The plan is simple,” Norman said as everyone stood around the counter. “I’ll go out the back door and make my way to the pumps. By then, Tracey will have one of them running.” He looked to Tracey.

“Pump Four,” she said. It’s closest to the creatures out there.”

“Pump Four it is,” Norman said. “I’ll soak the shufflers in as much gasoline as I can. I mean, once they realize I’m out there, they aren’t gonna give me that long, but I’ll do my best. Once I’ve done what I can, I’ll drop the nozzle and run. That will be your queue, Tracey, to turn off the pump.”

“Got it,” Tracey said. “Though I can’t quite see the pumps over the barricade.”

“I’ll be your eyes,” Connie said.

“What do I do?” Emily said. The little girl had woken just minutes earlier and had been listening silently as the grown-ups made their plans.

“You’re with me,” Connie said. “My eyes aren’t as good as the used to be so I’m going to need you, sweetie.”

Emily glowed.

“Okay,” Norman said with enthusiasm. “Connie and Emily are making themselves useful. But, we need someone to start the fire.”

“I can do it,” said Doctor Gilkey.

“Oh no you will not,” Connie said.

“I need to do my part,” he said. “I’ll be okay.”

“You are going to stay right here,” Connie said. “With me. With Emily.”

“She’s right,” Dan said. “You aren’t going out there. You got that little girl to think of.” He turned to Norman. “I’ll go.”

“Me too,” Luke said.

“No you’re not,” Dan said. “You’re gonna stay in here and let me do this on my own.”

“Not gonna happen,” said Luke.

“It only takes one person,” Dan said.

“What if you die out there?” Luke said.

“I won’t,” said Dan.

“But what if you do? Dan,” Luke looked down for a moment and cleared his throat. “You’re my best friend, man. We’ve known each other since kindergarten. If you don’t make it—”

“I’m gonna make it,” Dan said.

“But if you don’t,” Luke said. “How am I supposed to go on knowing that I stayed inside? What am I supposed to tell your mom?”

“Luke—” Dan said.

“No,” Luke interrupted him. “I’m going with you. We’re doing this together. That’s all there is to it.”

Dan smiled. “Okay, you’re the boss.”

“Damn right,” Luke said.

The two then engaged in a rather intricate handshake that Tracey couldn’t quite follow.

“Okay then,” Norman said. “That’s settled. Dan and Luke will bring the fire. We have matches in the store, I presume?” Norman asked Tracey.

“I can do you one better,” Tracey said. “How about a pair of road flares.

“Those will do nicely,” Luke said. “But maybe we should each take two, or three. You know, for backup.”

“Good call,” Norman said. “Connie, Robert, and Emily. Once you see me drop the nozzle and you let Tracey know, the three of you head out the back door and go straight back, as far as you can go. You’ll either hit the barrier, or you won’t. If the barrier is down by the time you get there, you just keep going. Adam will go with you.”

“I can’t move fast, but I think I can fire a gun while on crutches if need be,” Adam said.

The three nodded.

“Tracey, once you’ve shut off the pumps, you follow them out.”

“Got it,” Tracey said.

“Dan and Luke, you’ll go out back with me. I’ll go west, you go east. You hang back and watch from behind the east front corner of the building. Once I’ve dropped the nozzle, you two make your move with the flares.”

“What if we can’t see you?” Dan said. “There’s gonna be a lot of those things out there. I don’t want to throw a flare while you’re still pumping gas.”

“Good point,” Norman said. “Okay, how about this. Once I’m done, I’ll drop the nozzle then fire three shots into the dirt.”

“If you’re going to do that, then there’s no need for me to watch you and tell Tracey when to shut off the pumps,” Connie said.

“Another good point,” Norman said. “Okay, slight change. Here’s what we’ll do.”

But, as Norman went through the plan once more, Dan cut him off.

“Why can’t Luke and I just come around with you?” Dan said. “I mean, what’s the point of us going east while you go west.”

“Well,” Norman said. “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” Tracey asked.

“Look,” Norman said. “I never said I was the best when it came to strategy. Me, I prefer just jumping in feet first with both pistols firing.”

“Okay,” Adam said. “But that’s not going to work here, is it?”

“You got a better plan?” Norman asked.

“I’m sure if you give me a moment I’ll come up with something better than what you keep pulling off the top of your head,” Adam said.

“Will you two shut up,” Tracey said. “This is what we’re going to do.”

Tracey went through the plan. She’d taken most of what Norman had come up with already, she just made it better. When she’d finished, everyone had agreed that her plan was sound.

“You’re going to be okay in here by yourself?” Adam asked as the rest made their way to the back door. “I can stay if you want, go out with you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Tracey said. “You look after them. I won’t be too far behind.”

“You sure?” Adam said. “I don’t feel right leaving you behind like this.”

“Go,” Tracey said. “You’ll just slow me down.” She smiled.

Adam smiled back, patted her once on the shoulder, and hobbled on down the hall. She knew how he felt about her, and he was sweet, good looking even, but his breath…

She could always carry mints or something. The thought made her smile even more as she followed the group to the back door.

Once they were all out, she locked up behind them and then took her station at the counter. She turned on Pump Four. She put in a prepaid amount of a hundred dollars. She didn’t think Norman would need to pump that much, but she felt it better to have more and need less then need more and have less.

Now all she had to do was wait.

She couldn’t see the pump through the barricade, but to the right, she saw movement outside the window. Sure enough, it was Norman moving in.

There was nothing for a moment, but soon she heard the muffled sound of someone shouting out there in the lot. A feeling of dread seeped into her. Who had shouted? Was someone in trouble? She was about to climb onto the counter to get a better view when the living dead turned as one and moved away from the building.

For just a moment she thought about running up to the glass and looking out at the lot. She didn’t like that someone had been out there shouting. It was wholly unexpected and filled her with worry, but as she stood there stuck somewhere between action and inaction, a gunshot sounded outside. Her queue to move.

She shut down the pump and ran to the back. As she reached the door, slid the key into the lock, and pulled the door open, she heard a second gunshot, followed by a third and a forth. That wasn’t part of the plan. Something had gone wrong. She didn’t have long to think on it however. As Tracey stepped out into the night, something struck her on the back of the head and everything went black.

You can preorder the book now for your Kindle, Nook, or any other device by clicking the cover below, or going to penguin.steevenorrelse.com.

BLACK FRIDAY IN SLOW MOTION

December 4th is just around the corner.

Why should you care? Well, December 4th is when my new book, Then a Penguin Walked In and Other Tall Tales, hits the digital shelves for $4.99. But you can preorder it now for just $2.99!

This book collects four novellas into one volume. Three of them I wrote a number of years ago, one of them is new, and I'd like to use this time to talk to you about it. In fact, I'd like to provide you with a bit of a preview.

Going through the book, the four novellas, I wanted to share with you one chapter from each. Not the first chapter from each, as some previews do, but some of my favorites.

Today I have for you a chapter from the second story to appear in this collection: Fanboys of Doom. This is Chapter Five: Escape.

THE WORLD STOPPED SPINNING. It felt like an eternity as I stood there frozen, left hand on the door knob, right hand holding the Glock, the curse of all curses hanging there above me like a fecal encrusted brick. All five shufflers turned to me as one. Bones creaked. Skin stretched. The mood in the room shifted from the idle browsing of a window shopper to the animalistic fervor of a Las Vegas all you can eat buffet.

Oddly enough, the shufflers seemed almost surprised to see me, which must have been why they didn’t come at me right away. I stood there looking at them, and they stood there looking at me. I’m not sure how long the six of us could have continued in such a fashion, but being one who values the life that God gave me, I broke the tension with a quick shot to the zombie nearest me. It was a woman in what would have once been called a power suit, and she went down lickity-split. Before she hit the floor I popped off four more shots. All four connected, but only three were head shots. It took two more to clear the room. Seven shots in under four seconds. Five shufflers lying still on the gray carpet.

I felt pretty good about myself.

Then I noticed the zombies on the other side of the glass.

Out on the sidewalk I could see dozens of them, with hundreds more in the lot behind. And I had their complete and undying attention. Yes, that pun was very much intended.

I holstered the Glock and turned back to the locked door. I threw myself into it only to bounce off with a curse. I looked back toward the entrance to see the shuffling mob bottlenecked at the broken front window where I had come in. That would slow them down for now, but it wasn’t going to last but a few more minutes before the sheer weight of them brought the entire front wall down. At that point I’d be up to my neck in biting teeth.

Panic set in. I kicked and beat at the door, but it just wouldn’t open. Three zombies had made it into the store and were shuffling my way while the others struggled to pull themselves through behind them. I ran toward the three shambling creatures, coming within inches of their outstretched and rotting hands. Then, before they could get a piece of me, I turned and sprinted back to the door and slammed into it. Wood splintered and the door banged open, spilling me into the hallway.

I pulled myself to my feet and ran to the outer door at the end of the short hallway, flicked the locking mechanism on the knob to unlock and threw open the door. A shuffler fell in, knocking me to the ground. It lay atop me, biting and clawing. Bastard must have heard the commotion and had been trying to push its way in.

I’d managed to get my arms between the two of us as we fell and it was all I could do to keep the thing’s biting teeth from my face. The zombie’s stinking breath had its way with me and it was then that I noticed something wrong with its face. It was hard to spot at first through the decayed flesh that hung off the creature’s skull, but I’d quickly realized that its face was red. The moment after that realization hit me I could see that the red was actually face paint. Pushing the thing back with all my might I could then see that the zombie’s face had been at one time painted up to look like Spider-Man. I could only hope that the painting had come before the creature had been turned, otherwise the human race had some kind of deranged face painter on its collective hands.

I pushed against the shuffler and had nearly thrown if off of me when another waddled in through the back door and joined in on the dog pile.

I rolled one way, then the other. The momentum tossed the newer creature off of me, but I still had the original to contend with, and his buddy wouldn’t stay down long. Not to mention the horde squeezing in at the other end of the store.

I took a chance and used my left arm to keep the thing’s teeth from clamping down on my neck and pulled the gun with my right. I brought it up to the creature’s temple and squeezed the trigger. The fight went out of it mighty quick. His friend clawed at me, pulling itself closer. I rolled away, pulled myself to my feet, and put a bullet into the thing’s head.

A third zombie, this one a female in the red uniform of an expendable Star Trek crew member, shuffled in through the open back door and I fired off another shot, dropping in down among its companions. I stepped over her, still thinking that the alley was my best option. That idea was quickly shot down by the hundreds of shufflers that crowded about behind the store, most making a beeline for the closest living human being.

That was me.

I jumped back into the hall and tried to slam shut the door. The red clad crew member lying in the doorway made that chore a bit difficult. I kicked and pushed the creature outside and managed to get the door shut and locked before any others could push their way inside.

That was when I heard the moaning behind me. I’d forgotten about the shufflers at the front of the store.

I spun to find half a dozen ambling their way into the hall. I backed against the door and opened fire.

It was a simple process, I squeezed the trigger and zombies fell. I moved forward as I fired, stepping over the bodies as I left the hall for the store itself. Less than a minute later I was empty, but the store had been cleared. All that remained were the mass that still bottlenecked at the front of the store, letting just one in at a time.

Now I had a choice to make. Zombies ahead of me or zombies behind.

To me the choice was simple. The zombies out back couldn’t get to me as long as the door held. I closed the inner door that led to the hallway just in case. That’s two doors the creatures out back would have to get through. But more importantly, the alley was bordered by a high wooden fence on one side, and the strip mall on the other. I had more room to work in the parking lot.

Out front it would have to be.

I inhaled deeply, then exhaled. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In with the good, out with the bad. Three times I breathed; in and then out. I tried to relax and calm my nerves. I didn’t quite reach Nirvana, but I could deal. I ejected the spent magazine from the Glock and replaced it with a fresh one from my vest, dropping the spent one in a pocket to reload later.

Then I turned to face the uncountable undead at the front of the store.

The decaying horde shuffled toward me. I became a machine. Aim, fire. Aim, fire. I shot and the monsters fell.

I fired the last shot and slammed in a fresh magazine. I’d only two left in the vest. Plus the spare Glock in the small of my back.

I’d managed to clear the front of the shop of shufflers and for the moment, I was alone with the comics and the bodies. That wasn’t going to last though. I could see through the front glass wall that the hundreds of others crowding the parking lot were ambling my way. Many had made it to the entrance and were climbing over their fallen zombie brothers and sisters toward the hole in the window. It looked like Black Friday in slow motion.

It was time for a Hail Mary.

You can preorder the book now for your Kindle, Nook, or any other device by clicking the cover below, or going to penguin.steevenorrelse.com.

THE PENGUIN AROUND THE CORNER

December 4th is just around the corner.

Why should you care? Well, December 4th is when my new book, Then a Penguin Walked In and Other Tall Tales, hits the digital shelves for $4.99. But you can preorder it now for just $2.99!

This book collects four novellas into one volume. Three of them I wrote a number of years ago, one of them is new, and I'd like to use this time to talk to you about it. In fact, I'd like to provide you with a bit of a preview.

Going through the book, the four novellas, I wanted to share with you one chapter from each. Not the first chapter from each, as some previews do, but some of my favorites.

First up today is a chapter from the title story, the first to appear in the book, and that's Then a Penguin Walked In. This is Chapter Six: The Stench of Loyalty.

THE DREAD LORD HOB; Scourge of the West, Defiler of the East, Plague of the North, Overlord of the South, and King of the Nighttime World was in a bad mood. But then, abject failure and acts of cowardice perpetrated by his dark legions tended to rub him the wrong way in even the best of situations. And this was not the best of situations.

Lord Hob, who had always thought of himself as a fair and even tempered man, brooded silently to himself as he paced alone inside his command tent. The tent was exactly seven paces wide, and each time he turned to the east side of the tent, he’d walk to his mirror.

It was a glorious mirror. It stood eight feet tall and three feet wide, and each time he would come to it, the Dread Lord would pause and gaze deeply at his reflection. It was the only thing, the sight of himself resplendent in his white armor and black cape, that kept his bad mood from graduating into a full on rage.

Being the fair and even tempered man he’s always thought himself to be, it was uncommon for the Dread Lord Hob to progress any further, emotionally speaking, than an allover feeling of intense annoyance. But today he feared that if he didn’t get himself under control, he would go immediately from his tent and commit horrible acts of violence upon his cowardly horde.

Not that he was opposed to violence, just the opposite. Lord Hob was known far and wide for the brutal and creative ways he’d been known to inflict bodily harm upon others. But he preferred to the one in charge of his emotional self when violence was on the table. If someone was to die by his hand it would be because it was the logical thing to do, not because he was in a tiff.

He paused once more at the mirror and patted at his perfectly cut and sculpted jet black hair. Not a strand out of place. He smiled and resumed pacing.

The Dread Lord Hob was a man who could keep his emotions in check, something he’d always felt a certain sense of pride in, most especially after rising to the title of Overlord of the South when his predecessor, the Dread Lord Glatchington had mysteriously died a most violent, and don’t forget mysterious, death.

The Dread Lord Glatchington was a man who had known about rage, having spent most of his life deep in the thick of it. Lord Hob, Glatchington’s second in command, had borne witness to many a foam-mouthed murder spree in which anyone in reach could find their life snuffed out for no other reason that passing by when Lord Glatchington had dropped a spoon or found his soup too hot.

It was from Glatchington that Lord Hob had learned how not to behave. And so he resisted the urge to give himself over to the rage that skittered within reach. But still, punishments would need to be handed out. Lord Hob would just have to wait until he calmed himself before deciding on what was fair and just.

His pacing brought him once more to his mirror and as before, he paused. He ran a hand over his strong, squared chin. He needed a shave. Yet, the stubble made him look somewhat… roguish? Sure. Rough and tumble? Most assuredly. Sexy? No doubt about it.

Then a stench hit him that would have knocked most men flat on their backsides. But the Dread Lord Hob was not most men. Besides, Lord Hob knew what the stink signified.

Only an ogre could produce such a foul odor.

There came a tentative scratching at the tent flaps and the Dread Lord Hob sighed. The sheer meekness of the act was just the fuel needed for a kill crazy rampage, but Lord Hob kept his head.

“Come,” he said. His voice clear and commanding as he stepped to his chair.

The chair, a throne really, had been ornately carved from a massive block of white marble and needed more than ten men, or four ogres, to carry it about with them from place to place.

As the Dread Lord Hob sat upon his vast throne, the tent flaps parted and an eight foot tall ogre entered on cautious feet. It had skin like craved granite and wore a simple loincloth made from the hide of some unlucky woodland creature. Accompanying the colossus was the nearly overwhelming stink of the thing, which wafted into the tent on swift winds and brought tears to Lord Hob’s eyes.

The amount of ground between the tent opening and the space before Lord Hob’s throne was about six paces for a man of average height. The ogre crossed it in two.

The thing went down on one knee and bowed its head.

Lord Hob tried his best to look down on the ogre in disgust, but truth be told, even kneeling the thing towered over him in his throne.

“Dread Lord,” it began in a voice like a small avalanche. “Captain Branch has arrived.”

The Dread Lord Hob and all of his lofty titles attempted a reply but could only choke on the putrid smell that rose from the creature in great waves.

Ogres make great bodyguards and soldiers for a variety of reasons. First off, at an average height of seven-and-a-half feet and an average weight of four hundred and fifty pounds, the ogre is built like a tower of iron and muscle. You stand a half dozen side to side and you’ve got yourself a fairly impenetrable wall.

Beyond their impressive physical attributes, the ogre is a fiercely loyal creature. They aren’t afraid to die, and the art of killing is so ingrained in their society that it is taught in what would be the ogre equivalent of elementary school. There’s a casual savagery about them that Lord Hob found both chilling and exciting at the same time. They know hundreds of ways to kill, and will at times use combat as a way to compete with each other over which one can find the most creative way to end an enemy’s life.

The problem with ogres, the extent of which cannot be stressed enough, is that they stink. Like nobody’s business.

Ogres don’t believe in soap. Or water. Or adding soap to water, heating it to near intolerable temperatures, immersing their tough, leathery bodies into it, then wasting away the evening with a favorite book and a good, long soak. Ogres have no word for bath, or tub; not to mention wash, scrub, rinse, or even loofah. It is said that nothing precedes an army of ogres like the stench, the likes of which can often be enough to drive an occupied force out from behind the walls in which they have become entrenched.

But Lord Hob could stomach a great many things, and he often prided himself on his preternatural ability to enclose himself in a small room with three or four ogres and resist the urge to vomit. He was, in fact, known for it. So, he choked back his desire to send this particular ogre off to dunk itself in the nearest body of water, and found the strength to respond.

“Send him in, soldier.”

The Dread Lord Hob didn’t know the ogre’s name, nor did he particularly want to. It was bad enough having to put up with their stink, so remembering the names of each of his personal guards seemed to him to be a little much. He had more important matters to occupy his brain.

Captain Branch entered the tent with more than a little trepidation. The Captain was not an ogre. While Lord Hob could fully depend on the ogres to keep him safe or to depopulate a village, they didn’t quite have the intelligence for leading others, and Lord Hob believed in putting the right people in right positions.

Branch, the Captain of the Dread Lord Hob’s armies was one of his lizard men, created by magic in the jungles of the South, and bred for war. He wore mail over leather, but no boots. The feet of the lizard men had such thick soles that footwear was not required. Besides, their razor-like toe claws kept poking through whatever they tried to put on their feet.

Captain Branch had a small sword belted at his waist and he moved it aside with one clawed hand has he knelt.

“I come as bidden, Dread Lord,” the Captain said, his eyes on the floor.

“Rise, Captain,” Lord Hob said. “And tell me how fares the battle.” He knew quite well how the battle had gone. “I hear not the clash of sword nor the screams of the dying. Has the fighting stopped?”

“It has, Dread Lord.” The Captain rose, but his gaze remained on the floor.

“Why, Captain? Have we won?”

“No, Dread Lord. We are in retreat.”

“Yes, Captain Branch, I know that we are in retreat. That was a test. I thank you, however, for telling me the truth. As a reward, you will continue to remain among the living.”

“Thank you, Dread Lord,” Captain Branch said, sounding as if he had just taken his first breath since entering the tent.

“Think nothing of it, good Captain. Now I bid you to tell me why my army has retreated.”

“We were winning,” Branch said.

“Yes, we were. And quite gloriously.”

“But then something happened.”

“Something happened?” Lord Hob said. “Something?”

“Something unexpected.”

“Something,” Lord Hob repeated. “Unexpected.”

“Some one, actually.”

“Pray tell, Captain. Just who was this unexpected someone that caused my army, the grandest army in all of Gund, to flee before their terrible might?”

Captain Branch did not answer right away. Instead he kicked at rocks that did not exist, shrugged his shoulders a time or two, and even threw out the occasional “um” before stammering out his intelligible response.

“I’m sorry,” Lord Hob said. “You’re going to have to speak up, old boy. I didn’t quite catch that.”

The Captain cleared his throat. “It was The One, Dread Lord.”

Now it was Lord Hob’s turn to try his hand at speechlessness.

The silence hung in the air between them like a two ton mime. Lord Hob stared at Captain Branch as the Captain continued his intense scrutiny of the carpet fibers.

“The One?” Lord Hob said at last.

“Yes, Dread Lord.”

“That’s impossible.”

“He bore the Sword of Power, Dread Lord.”

“He?” Lord Hob said. “A human?”

“Yes, Dread Lord. He is said to have appeared suddenly in the midst of battle. He wore strange clothing but wielded the Sword. He called down lightening and our army ran.”

“Then Commander Jund’s mission to the Ancient World failed,” Lord Hob said.

“It appears so, Dread Lord.”

The Dread Lord Hob; Scourge of the West, Defiler of the East, Plague of the North, Overlord of the South, and King of the Nighttime World stepped down from his throne and resumed his pacing, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Well then,” Lord Hob said as the Captain tore his eyes from the floor to watch his master pace. “It appears that I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”

“Lord?”

“If The One has been reborn, and if he brings with him the full might of the Sword of Power, then I am the only one powerful enough to face him in combat.” He turned to the tent flap. “Guard,” he called.

The ogre entered, bowing.

“Yes, Dread Lord,” it said.

“Fetch me my sword.”

“Souleater?” the ogre said with a gasp.

“The same,” Lord Hob said.

“At once, Dread Lord.” The ogre bowed and rushed out on its task.

“Captain, prepare the army, we strike at dawn.”

“Yes, Dread Lord. At once.”

The Captain made to leave.

“Oh, and Captain,” Lord Hob said, stopping Captain Branch at the flap.

“Yes, Dread Lord?”

“Ready my dragon.”

You can preorder the book now for your Kindle, Nook, or any other device by clicking the cover below, or going to penguin.steevenorrelse.com.