by Gafford, Sam
“When I first started having these dreams, it felt weird, you know? I’d wake up all panicked. But, as they continued, I got used to them. Now I look forward to them.” Ed looked up and, for a moment, Dr. Gull felt that it was not Ed who was behind those eyes. “Because when I’m having them, I am the Crimson Scorpion! I feel everything he does. When he shoots his gun, I can feel it up through my arm. When he punches some goon with his right hand, using his scorpion ring to leave a mark on the guy’s ugly mug, I feel it.
“The smells. The sounds! They’re all real to me—as real as my sitting here, talking to you. Sometimes the dreams feel more real than this world.”
Dr. Gull made a note on his pad: “Becoming disconnected with reality.”
“You realize,” he said to Ed, “how that makes you sound?”
“Yeah, I know, like I’m a few bricks short of a load. But hear me out for a moment.”
For the first time since they had begun these sessions, Ed was animated. His voice was excited and, even though he had lost no weight, he moved strongly and decisively as he gestured.
“When I was young and in college, I studied a lot of different things. I settled on accounting because it was a way to make money and I was naturally good at it without having to work very hard, even though I hate it with every fiber of my being. Anyway, before that, I studied a lot of philosophy and physics. Have you heard of the ‘alternate universe’ theory?”
Dr. Gull pretended that he had not so he could hear Ed’s explanation.
“It’s a theory in physics that there are an infinite number of other dimensions that exist and are alternates of our own universe. That’s where a lot of science fiction novels come from. It’s the concept that because you turned left instead of right at a certain intersection at a certain time, your life changed. But somewhere, the universe that was created when you turned right exists! It’s an amazing theory and one I’ve wondered about all my life. What if those dimensions were out there and you could just shift over to one of them as easily as you walk through a door?”
“So what you’re saying is that you believe that this ‘Crimson Scorpion’ universe is real? And you’ve somehow tapped into it?”
“Why not? I mean, when I’m having those dreams, I feel alive! More than I’ve ever felt before. Do you know what my life is like, Dr. Gull? I’m not married. I have no kids. My parents both died over ten years ago. I have two brothers whom I never talk to anymore. I haven’t even had a girlfriend since I left college. I don’t even remember what sex is like anymore. Here, right here, in this reality, I am dead.
“But when I’m the Crimson Scorpion, I’m strong! I knock bad guys out with one punch. I’m confident and I’m effective. I get the job done! And that’s why, every time I wake up from one of these dreams, I cry.”
Dr. Gull was quiet . . . and worried.
“Ed,” he finally said, “the next time you come back, I want to try a little experiment.”
“What kind of experiment, doc?”
“I want to hypnotize you, Ed. I want to talk to the ‘Crimson Scorpion.’”
I had left Big Ben guarding Miss Sarah but, when I reached her apartment building on the West Side, he was nowhere in sight. It was close to midnight and there were no lights on in her place. Carefully, I went inside and walked up to the second floor. I could hear mumbled voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. One of them was male and his accent was certainly German!
Not waiting for an invitation, I broke down the door and was greeted with a horrific scene. Big Ben, one-time heavyweight contender, was on the floor in pieces and there were several zombies chewing on his flesh. They wore tattered, torn military uniforms of the Third Reich but were lowly soldiers, not commanders.
Miss Sarah was tied to a chair and gagged. Her eyes pleaded with me to rescue her, but all I could see was the SS officer standing near her with a gun in one hand and a detonator in the other.
“At last,” he hissed, “we’ve been waiting for you.”
My eyes followed the detonator wire to a pile of dynamite on the floor nearby.
Without hesitating, I leaped forward. The Nazi fired and the bullet tore through my left shoulder. I couldn’t allow it to slow me down. I kicked him out of the way as the others finally realized that there was new meat available. In one move, I grabbed the detonator and Miss Sarah. As one, I hurled us through the window as I pressed the detonator and the apartment exploded behind us.
We landed on the street-level awning and bounced down to the street. Miss Sarah’s chair burst from the impact and she landed with a broken arm. I fell hard on my left shoulder and pain ripped through my mind.
I quickly got Miss Sarah to her feet and we ran for my car. “They were waiting for me when I got home! They . . . they killed poor Ben. Ripped him apart right in front of me and started eating him. What are these things?”
“Zombies,” I said, “Nazi zombies. Dr. Primordial created them and he’s going to use them to help Hitler take over America.”
Miss Sarah cried, “You’ve got to stop them, Rex! You can’t let this happen!”
“I’m working on it,” I replied, and the dashboard monitor lit up again.
“Boss,” Russell said, “I’ve got a lead. There’s a warehouse down by the docks. It’s chewing up electricity like it’s bubble gum. Doc P’s gotta be there!”
“On my way!”
I looked over at Miss Sarah. She was crying and nursing her broken arm but determined.
“I’ll drop you at St. Mary’s on the way. They can set your arm.”
She looked at me with such anger and resolution in her eyes.
“The hell you will. I’m going with you.”
“You’ve got a busted wing. You’ll be no good in a fight.”
She lifted her right arm. “All I need to shoot a gun is one good arm.”
I smiled. There was a reason I loved this woman.
“How are you feeling today, Ed?” Dr. Gull asked.
Ed looked nervous; more on edge than ever. “I dunno, doc. I just don’t feel right.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Ed shrugged.
“I can’t explain it. I just feel anxious, as if something is about to happen. I haven’t even been able to sleep for the last couple of days. Every time I try, I jump awake. The last dream I remember is being on the way to the warehouse for the final confrontation with Dr. Primordial.”
“So I see. Why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure. I think . . . I think it’s getting near the end. As if the story is almost over. But I don’t want it to be!”
“Every story has an ending, Ed. Maybe it’s a sign of a new story beginning.”
“I suppose. But what if it doesn’t? What if this is all I’m left with?”
“Would that be so bad, Ed? It’s a great life—”
“‘—if you don’t weaken’”
Dr. Gull looked at Ed, puzzled.
“That sounds familiar. What’s that from?”
“An old song from the Thirties. Never mind. Let’s get on with it.”
Ed lay down on the couch. Despite his girth, he tried to get as comfortable as possible.
Dr. Gull took out a pocket watch and sat down next to Ed.
“Isn’t that a bit ‘old-fashioned,’ doc?”
Dr. Gull smiled—a rare and frightening thing.
“It just seemed appropriate, somehow. Now I want you to just relax, focus on the watch, and listen to my voice.”
Dr. Gull quietly counted down as Ed slowly closed his eyes.
“Can you hear me, Ed?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in my car with Miss Sarah. We’re heading to the warehouse to stop Dr. Primordial.”
“Tell me what happens.”
It was easy to find the warehouse. It was lit up like Macy’s Department Store on Christmas with bolts of electric light streaming out the windows. I gave Miss Sarah my
.45 and extra clips. She winced from pain as she put them in her pocket. I opened up the trunk and took out some things. When Miss Sarah came to look, I was holding my trusty tommy gun and was stuffing my pockets with grenades.
“Criminy!” she said. “Do you drive around with all this in the trunk all the time?”
I smiled. “You never know what you’re gonna need, doll.”
I knew that we were likely not to come out of the warehouse alive. I’d briefed Russell before we’d arrived on what to do if we failed. There were a few similar guardians he could contact as well as the special emergency channel for the president and the Army. I set the car’s engine running, pointed directly at the heavy front door, wedged the gas pedal down, and put it in gear.
The car took off like a bullet with us behind it.
We ran through the open door and were greeted by a mob of zombies. Most were wearing soldier’s clothes, but it disturbed me to see that some were dressed normally like civilians. I flung a grenade into the middle of the crowd and watched as it blew them apart. In the back, I could see an office of some kind and people moving out.
I pointed it out to Miss Sarah. “If he’s here at all, he’s up there! Make for the stairs!”
I laid down a covering fire of bullets from the machine gun as Miss Sarah ran for the back of the room. She fired as she went, hitting a few of the zombies, but they kept on coming. “Aim for the head!” I cried. “Or their legs! If they can’t move, they can’t fight.”
I was horribly wrong about that, of course.
I threw another grenade into the crowd but, to my horror, I saw more zombies piling into the room through the side doors. Beyond them, I could see hundreds more along with lines of incubators. This must have been Dr. Primordial’s main lab.
I’d taken too long in throwing grenades and had fallen behind Miss Sarah as she ran up the stairs firing.
At the top of the stairs, she turned to the right to go through the door.
“Rex!” she called to me. “He’s in . . .”
I screamed to her to get back, but it was too late. Bullets ripped through her and she fell over the railing into the sea of zombies below. The ones whose legs she had shot off got to her first. She was screaming as they ripped into her flesh and tore her arms off. Crying, I did the only thing I could do and shot her through the head, killing her instantly.
“PRIMORDIAL!” I yelled.
I ran into the room, ready to shoot anything I saw, but I wasn’t prepared for what greeted me. Primordial was standing between two giant pieces of machinery that took up nearly the whole wall. Sparks and electricity jumped through the air. The smell of burning ozone was overpowering.
“Schwein!” Primordial spit. “Did you think that you could defeat me? I, who have conquered death itself? My armies are all over the globe, ready to rise and bring on the Thousand Year Reich. And I, not that paper-hanger, shall rule over all!”
Suddenly the air around Primordial shimmered and . . . broke. I fired the machine gun at him, but it had no effect. The bullets passed through him and shattered the wall behind as he laughed.
“Where I go, you can never follow!” His body grew thin, like a ghost. I shot at the machines next to him, but the process could not be stopped.
There was only one thing to do as Dr. Primordial began to disappear. Gritting my teeth, I threw my gun on the floor and leaped.
“Ed! Ed, you’ve got to wake up. Wake up now!” Dr. Gull screamed.
Ed’s eyes shot open wide in fear and terror. His hands gripped Dr. Gull’s arms and squeezed.
“I’ve got you now!” Ed yelled triumphantly. “You thought you could get away, but I followed you.”
“Ed, you’ve got to calm down. Nurse! Nurse!”
The middle-aged nurse from outside ran into the room. The sounds of the hospital echoed in from outside.
“Nurse!” Dr. Gull shouted. “Quickly! I need a tranquilizer for this patient!”
She left the room. Dr. Gull looked down at Ed but could not believe what he saw. Instead of the thirtyish, pudgy accountant, a thin man clad in a black leather aviator jacket with a red mask was gripping his arms with a strength that suddenly became titanic.
“Through oceans of time I’ve chased you, you bastard! And now you’ll pay for what you did to Miss Sarah!”
The Crimson Scorpion threw Dr. Gull against the wall, knocking all his old photographs off the wall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not who you’re looking for!”
“Oh, yes, you are, Billy Boy. Think back to when you were a little snot-nosed brat. Remember how everyone played superheroes? But not everyone could be the hero, could they? Someone had to be the bad guy, and you loved it. You were never Superman or Spider-Man. You were always Lex Luthor or Dr. Doom. Because you knew how they thought. You knew how to be the bad guy.”
Dr. Gull backed up against the wall as far as he could as the Crimson Scorpion came closer and closer. “No, no, I’m not listening!”
“Think about it, doc! Why else do you think you became a ‘doctor’? He’s there, inside of you, and I’m gonna make him come out if I have to rip you apart!”
The Crimson Scorpion pulled Dr. Gull to his feet and punched him hard in the face. Dr. Gull flew across the room and landed behind his desk. Slowly he climbed back up, but what stood there was no longer Dr. Gull. His face was long and pointed with stringy, crazy hair that hung down in front of his eyes, which shone with a special kind of madness.
“Schwein!” Dr. Primordial scowled. He touched the mark on his chin gingerly where the Crimson Scorpion’s ring had left its mark. In red, the skin already bruising, was a tiny scorpion. “I will never surrender! Never!”
The Crimson Scorpion quickly slammed the door shut and lunged for his enemy. From outside, the nurse pounded and called for the doctor.
“Get security!” she cried as the sounds of fighting and screaming came through the closed door. The sounds of running feet came up behind her as the security officers tried to open the door.
“Dr. Gull!” they yelled, but no response came. Suddenly, there was the loud sound of something heavy hitting the floor and then something swirling, like a sound effect from a science fiction movie.
“There’s no time to get the keys. Just stand back!” the security guards warned as they used their shoulders to smash open the door.
Inside, they simply stood and stared.
There was no one there.
The room was in a complete mess and looked as if a football team had been using it for practice. The desk was overturned. The couch was ripped and crushed. Bookcases were smashed and there was a burn pattern on the far wall that looked suspiciously like a concentric circle. But no bodies, no people, and no sign of where they could have gone. One of the guards checked the windows and found they were all shut tight and unbroken.
“I’m calling the police,” a guard said as he ran out the door.
On top of a pile of debris was a smashed photo. It was in black and white and very old. Previously it had held a place of honor and respect on Dr. Gull’s wall, but now it had been ripped apart as if in a psychopathic fury.
“What’s that?” asked another guard as the nurse bent to pick up the picture.
“It’s a picture of the doctor’s grandfather. This is dreadful. Dr. Gull loved this picture.”
The guard held out his hand and looked at the picture. It had been taken in the ’30s or ’40s and showed two men standing side by side, their arms on each other’s shoulders. The taller man was on the right and was wearing a scientist’s lab coat. The man next to him was smaller and more compact and was wearing a black leather aviator’s jacket with goggles on the top of his head. They were both smiling and laughing at the camera while, in the background, a military airport hummed busily along.
“Who’s the guy on the left?”
“Dr. Gull used to tell me the story. That was his grandfather’s best friend. He was the man who smuggled the doctor’s grandfather out of Naz
i Germany and into America. His grandfather went on to do some top-secret science work for the government or some such thing. The doctor would probably never have been born if it hadn’t been for that man!”
On the photo, in a tight script, was written simply, “To my best pal, Rex.”
What Was That?
It all began, as most things generally do, rather slowly. It’s like gaining weight. You never notice the pounds you put on until, one day, you walk by the mirror. Then it all starts to come together: the late-night snacks, the extra helpings at dinner, that scoop of ice cream you just couldn’t resist. The result is always so much easier to see than the hundreds of little causes along the way. That’s the way it was with Tim Ghee. He’d never really thought too much about it until the day he stopped and realized that Cthulhu was everywhere.
Tim had always been aware of him, of course, operating somewhere on the periphery of his sight. One couldn’t be a fan of fantastic literature without knowing who Cthulhu was: the creation of writer H. P. Lovecraft. The big “C” was a member of the Old Ones who existed before man and would rule the world again in the future. He, like all the other gods Lovecraft created, was a way for Lovecraft to symbolize man’s insignificance in the cosmos. Cthulhu was a symbol of terror and horror, of the universe’s indifference to man. It was a frightening concept when Lovecraft wrote it back in 1926—but now? Now it was just a commodity.
Without anyone realizing it, Cthulhu had become commercialized. Suddenly, Cthulhu had become plush dolls in a variety of costumes (including Santa Claus!), T-shirt logos, toys and even, perhaps the most frightening of all, slippers! His influence had spread through media and movies to the point where even the most uninterested of people knew who he was. Perhaps they did not understand exactly what Cthulhu was or what he stood for (other than some lumbering giant monster with a squid face), but he had ceased to have any power as an image.
It was right about when Tim came to that realization that he finally realized something else as well: he’d gotten stupider.
When he was younger, his mind was on fire. Filled with concepts and ideas, it burned like a creative inferno. Tim understood things so much better then. Now it seemed that he could barely understand anything anymore. His brain couldn’t hold concepts in his head, and he found himself having to relearn things he had known instinctively years ago. Not basic things, of course. He could still walk, eat, and drive his car. But his thoughts were jumbled, unfocused, and his memory was shifty. Tim could no longer remember large portions of his childhood. He could remember where he was, such as “in 1970, I lived in New Milford, Connecticut,” but he could not recall any details of it. He could only remember what he could see in old pictures. The graying black-and-white figures stared back at Tim, who knew that “this was me and my mom on the beach . . . somewhere . . . the lake maybe?” But he had no connection to those people in the pictures. He might as well as been looking at pictures of World War II GIs marching into Europe for all these family snapshots meant to him.
