Unidentified Funny Objects 7, page 19
Kevin frowned. "I know I should feel proud right now, but instead, I feel sort of bummed out." He looked at the boat disappearing over the waves. "I mean, I killed it."
"Of course you killed it," said Dr. Malicivious. "That's what you're supposed to do with unholy terrors like that. You did the world a favor."
"But it was a living thing," said Kevin, shaking his head slowly. "And doesn't every living thing have a right to . . . well, live?"
"You're thinking too much," said Dr. Malicivious. "Come, let's get back to the compound and I'll take out some of those dents."
Mudilda howled when she saw the dead ape sprawled across the boat's deck. This is the way of technology, she lamented, destroy what is unique and ancient using that which can be mass produced in a factory in China! She raised her hands, feeling fury manifest as balls of fire in her palms. But before she cast the flame onto the boat, turning it into a funeral pyre, she stopped.
No, she thought, that would be accepting defeat. By the Esoteric Runes of Rashini, she would have her revenge! She only needed a new strategy.
Kevin lay on the floor of Project Room 4 while Dr. Malicivious made repairs. "Why did you name me Kevin?" he asked.
"You're named after Kevin Winters, the most evil genius of my generation," said Dr. Malicivious. "He invented the automated phone tree."
Dr. Malicivious was starting to enjoy Kevin's company. He'd lost all of his henchmen years ago in a failed attempt to kidnap the President of the United States and replace him with a clone of Warren G. Harding. (It made sense at the time.) Dr. Malicivious missed having someone to talk to, someone to share his hopes, dreams, and diabolical plots with.
"That should do it for now," said Dr. Malicivious, reconnecting the last wire and slamming the face plate shut. "Tomorrow, we'll try installing rocket launchers into your hands."
"Rocket launchers?" said Kevin. "What for?"
"You never know when you'll need a salvo of heat seekers," said Dr. Malicivious. "It can get kind of crazy out there."
Kevin frowned. "Look, what I did today, I did as a favor. I can't make it a regular thing. It's just not right."
Dr. Malicivious was too tired to explain to Kevin how right was wrong and vice versa. He put his creation into sleep mode and made a plan to shut Kevin down while he installed the rockets, also to disable his moral compass. But first, he needed to sleep.
Mudilda descended a stone staircase to her Repository of Relics. The chamber was a hopeless jumble. A dusty flying carpet hovered over a barrel of virgin's blood three decades past its expiration date. The skeleton of a hippogryph stood in the corner, missing its head. An Egyptian sarcophagus contained, not a mummy, but a Bewitched Barbie, still in its original box.
Under a pile of burial shrouds, she found what she sought: the Amulet of Hozer a.k.a. the Resurrection Jewel. She held it in her hands, feeling its power.
Mudilda returned to the beach, amulet in hand, to find seagulls picking at the carcass. "Hey!" she yelled, waving her arms. "Hey! Get away from there!" The gulls scattered and she summoned a swarm of bats to keep them at bay while she worked. Mudilda held the amulet to Harrang's head and read the incantation conveniently etched into the amulet's back.
As she spoke the words of a long-dead Arkananian tongue, an eerie glow flowed from the amulet like a mist, surrounding the monster, soaking into its wet fur.
The ape eyes opened. No longer glowing, they appeared dead and unseeing.
"Rise!" she proclaimed. "Rise!"
The reanimated horror sat up, its movement deliberate and mechanical.
There was no time to waste. She had to strike back immediately, while her enemy was still gloating in assumed victory. She summoned her oarsmen and set out across the water.
As her crew strained against their oars, she eyed Key Fang with avarice. There was much she could do with a second island. Establish a colony of vampires, perhaps. Or build a Satanic resort and conference center.
Once again, the boat hit the beach of Key Fang.
"Come with me," said Mudilda, and Zombie Harrang slid off the boat, following her onto dry land. She had to look back every minute or so to see if the gorilla was still there. The thing was obedient, but mindless. She had to tell it what to do at every step. It was pretty annoying.
There was no way it was going to find the robot. She'd have to find it herself. They walked around for forty-five minutes. Mudilda's high-heeled cobra-skin boots were a poor choice for traversing sand. She'd have blisters that night.
Finally they found Project Room 4 with Kevin inside, still in sleep mode.
"Destroy him!" proclaimed Mudilda, pointing at Kevin.
Zombie Harrang lurched forward and, in one movement, separated Kevin's head from his body.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" laughed Mudilda. She hadn't had a laugh that evil in years. It felt good.
"Come, my pet," she said, a smug smile curling her crimson lips. "There's someone else I want you to decapitate."
Dr. Malicivious awoke to find the roof of his bedroom torn off, Zombie Harrang staring down at him pitilessly.
"But . . . but . . ." he sputtered at the monster. "You're dead!"
"Of course he is," said Mudilda, stepping through the rubble carefully. "You scientists think that death is the end. We practitioners of the dark arts know that it is only the beginning!" She sneered. "Perhaps, after Harrang is done with you, I'll bring you back as a zombie, too."
Dr. Malicivious eyed Mudilda. He had to admit, the cape and the necklace of animal skulls were dramatic touches. Too bad she had to die.
In a single, deft motion, Dr. Malicivious grabbed the laser pistol he kept hidden under his pillow, and aimed it at her.
"Kill, Harrang, kill!" shouted Mudilda, and the zombie gorilla brought its fists overhead, ready to smash down on Dr. Malicivious.
"Stop!"
Harrang froze mid-movement, his hands still aloft. Dr. Malicivious and Mudilda looked for the source of the voice that seemed to echo from every direction.
"Stop!" said the disembodied voice again. "Enough killing!"
"Kevin?" said Dr. Malicivious.
"Yes," said the voice, and the robot's ghost materialized before them, translucent and slightly green.
"But how is it possible?" said Dr. Malicivious. "There're no such things as ghosts!"
Mudilda rolled her eyes. "Said the man talking to a ghost."
"Okay," said Dr. Malicivious. "But how can a robot have a ghost?"
Mudilda didn't have a derisive comeback for that one.
"I never felt like a robot," said Kevin. "I always thought I was a person just like either of you, only taller and made of metal."
Dr. Malicivious knitted his brow and pondered. He knew he hadn't read every line of code before he cut and pasted it into Kevin's computer brain. Did I program Kevin to have a soul? he wondered. If he had, it was beyond anything science had ever achieved.
Mudilda was equally perplexed. How could a computer manufacture a spirit? she asked herself. She had never heard of a spell or potion that could create a ghost.
Dr. Malicivious shrugged. "We'll run some experiments later. But not before I've eliminated these two."
"Ha!" laughed Mudilda. "You will grovel before me like a worm!"
"Wait!" said Kevin. "I think we can make this a win-win."
Both Mudilda and Dr. Malicivious paused. “We’re listening,” they said in unison.
"Look," said Kevin. "I'm an out-sized, disembodied spirit, and this . . ." he gestured to Harrang, "is a giant, soulless gorilla. Together . . ." Kevin brought his spectral hands together to illustrate the concept.
Dr. Malicivious considered the proposition. Ghost Kevin is useless to me, he thought. Uniting the two will give Kevin corporeal form again. I need only insert a radio receiver microchip into his central computer to make him do my bidding.
"Yes. . . yes . . . it could work," he said, trying to suppress an evil grin. "We can use my ectoplasmic converter."
Meanwhile, Mudilda pondered her options. Harrang was uncontrollable, she thought, while Zombie Harrang lacks initiative. Kevin/Harrang, though, would only need to be mind-controlled into carrying out my orders, thinking they're his own.
"It's worth a try," she said, maintaining a facade of not caring one way or the other. "I think I know some useful spells."
Kevin smiled amiably. These two are irredeemable, he thought. As soon as I'm in the gorilla's body, I'll have to kill them both. It's not something I want to do, but it's for the greater good.
"Cool," said Kevin. "Let's get started!"
This is Fred's second appearance in Unidentified Funny Objects. As many times as he's been horseback riding. Fred is a member of the Brooklyn Speculative Fiction Writers, ASCAP, and the Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators. Little else is known about this magnificent and reclusive creature.
The Vampire’s Apprentice
Gini Koch
Dearest Mother,
I bring you glad tidings—I have been apprenticed! True, I was one of the last lads chosen but, as you always say, good things come to those who wait. And Count Alucard agrees.
Yes, Mother, you read that correctly! I am apprenticed to a count! He is a true gentleman and a scholar and while many of those who were there to hire and be hired seemed to find him frightening, I only saw him for what he is—a great man with excellent taste. After all, he chose me.
I must be truthful—I was unsure if I would be chosen. Firstly, because I was at least double the age of the eldest lads at the appointed place for apprenticeships. The less said about the rude slings and arrows launched at me by whispering tongues the better. As you always say, you never know until you try.
The second reason I feared being chosen was that I left it to fate to determine for me what job I would be best suited for. Naturally, there were more insults given to me for being openminded about what I would do with the rest of my life, seeing as Father’s untimely demise after losing our family’s fortunes has forced me to work for our family’s living. But I was determined to be brave and go with whomsoever saw me for the diamond in the rough that I am.
Of course, it was hard to hold onto my resolve the longer the day went on. The sun had already set before the Count arrived at the apprenticing faire. But there were so many looking for apprenticeships at the faire I lost count of our exact number, and I wasn’t the only hopeful left at dusk. Imagine my worry that I would disappoint you by not achieving a position. But I did my best to appear calm because, as you always say, if one can keep their head while all others are losing theirs, then that one can possibly manage anything. And, in case you weren’t sure, I prefer the way you finish that saying, versus how Father used to do it.
It turned out that the Count had had an engagement that had kept him from coming to the faire any earlier. However, showing his cleverness, he had his manservant at the faire during the day, lest the perfect apprentice be taken by someone else. The manservant, a Mr. Renfield, was in disguise as a wandering beggar. Many treated him poorly, but I shared my water with him because you taught me to always share what I have with those less fortunate. I also helped him to search for insects and rodents which he claimed he needed in order to live, though we were not able to catch any he deemed worthy, which I now, of course, know was part of the test of my worthiness.
And how it all paid off! The Count wants someone with a generous and helpful spirit and my kindness to Mr. Renfield was a high mark in my favor, you may be sure.
The Count is tall, slender, and imposing, with a strong presence. As I said earlier, many were afraid of him, possibly because they have no experience with a person of class and breeding. I, however, was unafraid and, if I may be honest in our confidence, not cowed by being in the presence of a noble, and I’m sure the Count found my polite but not fawning, nor cringing, demeanor to be a pleasant one.
We head off tomorrow for Transylvania and the Count’s castle. I hope I shall be able to sleep tonight—the excitement has me wide awake, hence my long missive to you.
I shall keep you apprised as I can, but fear not, Dearest Mother—your boy has landed on his feet, and that’s a fact.
Lovingly, your son,
Willoughby
P.S. I almost forgot to share that I shall be learning to be a proper gentleman’s gentleman, and the Count says that, should I be adept and seeing as I am so open to learning, he may teach me some of his personal skills. Sleep may not come tonight!
Dearest Mother,
I write this to you on the road to Transylvania. I could not, in fact, sleep the other night, and neither could the Count. When he found me wakeful he was concerned for my health, but was flattered when I admitted my excitement at becoming his apprentice, so there was no harm done. And, in fact, I was able to spend time with him, each telling the other of our histories.
Mine was, of course, brief, but the Count seemed extremely interested. He was saddened to know that Father had passed away, was proud of me for, as he put it, “venturing out of my comfort zone” and experience, and seemed amazed that I have seven younger sisters. However, proving what a gentleman he is, he gave me the enclosed money as a gift to you to help keep our family taken care of. So, spend it in good health, Mother, and remind my sisters that their brother is watching out for them and now, so is his employer.
The Count hopes that we will return to England, though he expects it to be some time. He joked that it might do to wait until Edwina would be fully grown when we return, but since she is only twelve right now, I have hopes that we will be able to see you all sooner than that.
The Count told me many stories of his homeland and his family line, but he spoke very little of his time in England. He seemed quite sad when discussing England but cheered up immeasurably when he noted that he could never have found me elsewhere. I was and remain complimented!
The Count’s lineage goes back centuries, and he is an excellent storyteller. Every story made me feel as if the Count had been there himself, even when he was speaking of events during his great-great-great-grandfather’s day.
Do you know that one of the Count’s ancestors had three wives?!? The Count seemed to find my shock amusing—things are different in Transylvania, I suppose. However, the Count made it a point to mention that whenever his ancestors had more than one wife, they only did so if they were sure they could keep all the wives well fed. So, while my provincial nature was a bit put out, the realization that the Count’s people truly care for their own wisely made me stop and consider that foreigners have ways different from ours, but that doesn’t make them bad people. Truly, we only learn if we open our minds, as you have always told me.
The Count’s ancestors conquered Transylvania, but these days the Count feels that people can govern themselves and he has not required taxes or similar for a good many years. However, the people still give to him of their own free will, which goes to show what a beloved ruler he truly is.
Well, I wish to get this letter and money to you and we are about to leave the tavern where we’ve rested and I’ve been writing, so I will close now.
Your loving son,
Willoughby
P.S. In case you fear that I was writing to you and ignoring the Count, rest assured this was not the case. The Count finds traveling exhausting and spends much of our time on the road asleep in the back of the large carriage we possess. Mr. Renfield likes to take the air whenever we stop, so I was not being rude and remain in possession of all the manners you taught me.
Dearest Mother,
Apologies for not writing sooner—there has just been so much to do!
Travel was more demanding and taverns fewer the closer we got to the Count’s homeland, so I was needed to spell Mr. Renfield at the reins. I now can command four-in-hand and am quite proud of the skill, particularly because the Count’s horses redefine the term "skittish."
Once we arrived, the business of making a castle that has been standing empty for many months livable again required all our focus. We worked night and day, but I can now say that the Count’s castle is impressive, inside and out, to say the least! It goes up at least five stories and down three—I haven’t even begun to investigate it all! Mr. Renfield focused on the lower levels and I took the upper ones. There were many rooms the Count told me not to worry about, but even so, it took concerted work to get this place shipshape. It’s a beautiful example of Continental architecture, so I’m glad we put forth the effort.
Due to the weather here, there are few windows, and those are covered with heavy tapestries. Frankly, we have tapestries everywhere—I know because I had to beat the dust out of all of them. They keep the castle warm, though, so that’s a pleasant thing, but with them covering the windows, it makes the castle quite dark. However, the Count has sensitive eyes, so the darkness suits him. As for me, we have an abundance of oil and candles, so I have no issues.
We have no mirrors, because the Count detests vanity. I am impressed by his resolve. He always looks his best, and I’ve learned to comb my hair and shave in the reflection of the water in my basin. Mr. Renfield corrects whatever I may have missed. (I must confess that I do still possess enough vanity that, when I go to town, I am able to verify that I look properly presentable. Mr. Renfield is a genius with hair cutting.)
The Count is a man of some renown in his native country as well—everywhere I go I’m asked how I am faring as “the new servant of the vampire.” Apparently, the term vampire means ruler here—so many new things learned daily! I’ve tried explaining what an apprentice is, but they seem unclear—they all believe I will be a vampire, too, one day! If only, hey Mother? I’m sure you’re laughing just as much as I am about that.
The people here are also generous, almost to a fault, and many gifts have been given to me. Most are religious in nature—apparently wearing a cross is quite the “thing” in Transylvania right now—but some are herbs and even wood for whittling.
