Rat-A-Tat: Short Blasts of Pulp

by Russ Anderson, Jr

With that, the Hanged Man turned and walked toward the forest. The merchant frantically called out to him before he disappeared. "Wait, please!" he said. "You said three candles. One for the son and one for the father. But who is the third candle for?"

  The Hanged Man stopped and turned back. His red eyes were hidden fully in the shadow of his hood, but the noose around his neck was clearly evident. "The third candle is for me, rich man."

  And with that, he walked into the dark of the wood and out of their sight.

  To this day, in that part of the countryside, there is a stone altar where three candles are kept burning day and night, winter and summer. Three candles for three souls lost in the darkness.

  A LAST RIDDLE

  By H. David Blalock

  “Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, William. A man of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy.”

  They stood in solemn respect as the coffin was sunk into the grave, the lowering English sky mirroring their mood. It was a small company dressed in funereal attire that surrounded the burial place near the rear of the little churchyard. The priest, accoutered in somber black robes, watched them from an appropriately mournful visage. His words had been mere formality, for all there knew Yorick had little enough use for church and priests in life. Indeed, his years had been spent, or misspent if you like, in the endless pursuit of frivolity. From the time he ran away from the orphanage to which he had been sold as a babe by a drunkard father to the moment of his death at the hands of a jealous husband, he had lived each second in the truest spirit of a dedicated debauch. In his wake he left a dozen bastard children, hundreds of pounds in unpaid debt, and a plethora of broken hearts. He was a rogue and a rascal and a cheat and a liar.

  And they all loved him.

  Every one of the men there truly missed him. He owed them all money, had slept with their wives and sweethearts and mistresses, but they had forgiven him his sins and trespasses. Not out of Christian charity, but because of who he was and what he had shared with them.

  For Yorick was a libertine of the first order, and he had taken them along, had showed them that life was not just about duty and honor, but about living each minute as if it was your last.

  They filed away from the grave site, wrapped in their thoughts, their memories of Yorick. Memories that would live bright in their minds until they, too, would lie cold and lifeless on the undertaker's slab.

  In silent accord, they raised a glass in William's flat, drank deeply of the golden liquor their departed comrade had so enjoyed.

  “It doesn't seem fair,” Marlowe said as they sat staring into the fire, “that such a man should live so deeply, and then be left in the cold earth, food for worms.”

  They all nodded and murmured in agreement.

  “Death is inevitable for us all,” William pointed out. “But it always seemed that Yorick might be the one exception to the rule.”

  Again, a mumbled chorus of agreement sounded.

  Of a sudden, a cold breeze wafted across the company, causing them all to look at the little window facing the streets of Stratford-on-Avon. They puzzled at the chill, as the window was shuttered tightly against the frigid night and the fire crackled merrily in the hearth. They exchanged wondering glances as the room grew even colder despite the blaze. Soon the breeze became a wind that howled along the walls, rattling the crockery in the open cupboard and threatening to extinguish the oil lamps on the desk and mantelpiece.

  A cloudy form coalesced before the fire, which shrank as if from fear of the apparition, the unmistakable figure of a man they knew, had known, so well.

  As one, they started to their feet, glasses falling from nerveless fingers to shatter on the hard wood floor.

  “Yorick?” William breathed.

  The face turned to him and grinned widely, that smile they had come to love so much. Though the lips did not move from that smile, the dulcet tones of Yorick's voice echoed in their minds.

  “Yorick indeed, my friends,” it said. “It is good to see you again.”

  “But,” Marlowe said, “You are dead. We buried you.”

  The laughter that came then sounded hauntingly familiar and as if from far away.

  “Dead am I,” Yorick agreed. “Dead but not defeated. Death may be our fate, but not our end. I could not leave you for the afterlife without one last riddle.”

  They stared at the phantom in awe and trepidation. What could have been so special that Yorick had bargained with Death itself to come back? What profound mystery had driven his soul to risk eternal oblivion for the sake of seeing his comrades one last time? What riddle transcended the grave, compelling Yorick to brave the displeasure of God Himself to impart it to them?

  “It is this,” Yorick began. “I am but a stage, and all my players live in me for but a moment.”

  Then, he was gone.

  They looked at each other and laughed aloud.

  “He always was lousy at riddles,” Marlowe observed.

  “But he always knew how to lighten the mood,” William said, and reached for the liquor again.

  ADMINISTRATIVE DUTY

  By Nick C. Piers

  Admiral Tieber’s head rested in his war gauntlet. Hundreds of view screens in the war room presented reptilian faces of his commanding generals. He despised these tedious meetings. When would the bombardment commence, already?

  Captain Lichen droned on. “–and the Gamma Delta Six regiment will attack the Australian continent.”

  “Yes,” Admiral Tieber muttered.

  He barely exhibited interest. He would soon lead the Reptaxian armada into glorious battle. The plans, the strategies, the ordinance: it was all planned fifty cycles ago. Why must they bother repeating?

  “–Communications with the blue planet will be disrupted–”

  “Yes.”

  “–allowing you, Admiral–”

  “Yes?” He perked up.

  “–to address the earthlings, giving them one last chance to surrender.”

  “Surrender?” Tieber slammed his gauntlet onto the conference table. The generals muttered. “These earthlings had every chance to surrender when my warship first entered their atmosphere! If it wasn’t for The Heat and the accursed Shatterpack, we would have conquered it, already!”

  “But Admiral –”

  “NO!” He slammed his gauntlet down again, cracking the table. He stood up straight and adjusted his cloak’s collar. “They had their chance! We’ll vaporize their planet into atoms, then split the atoms, and blow it all up again! Not a single particle of Earth will remain!”

  His generals, anxious for war, roared their approval. His commanding officers apprehensively joined in. Those over-educated fools. Bureaucrats always stretch things out longer than necessary.

  Ronk! The buzzer honked. It was from The Incinerator’s bridge.

  “Yes?” Admiral Tieber said.

  “Sir!” Ensign Alder shouted excitedly. Ah, young hatchlings. They displayed such vigour. “The remainder of the fleet has entered the system. We now have the galaxy surrounded with Reptaxian vessels!”

  “Excellent!” Admiral Tieber bellowed. He turned to the generals onscreen. “Prepare your weapons! Ready your boarding convoys! Ready your ionized plasma cannons! Sharpen your claws! Give no quarter! Leave no earthling, super powered or otherwise, unbloodied! Today, the Reptaxians shall march into galactic history!”

  The audio emitters nearly shattered from the thunderous roars.

  Sweeping his royal cape behind him, Tieber strode out to the main bridge. His commanding officers joined him, re-assuming their consoles.

  “On screen!” Tieber roared.

  “Yes sir!”

  The main screen displayed the puny blue planet growing closer. The puny blue planet housed not-so-puny but worthy protectors. Oh, this would be a glorious day indeed.

  The view puzzled Admiral Tieber, however. The last time his warship visited Earth, its space was nowhere near as littered as it was now. Scores of warships from every quadrant i
n the galaxy hovered dormant. They were, lacking a better term, parked. The Cragians’ legendary stone ships, the Phalian war armada, The Oulipo’s constantly morphing ships, the fabled one-man fighters of the Ghorps; all sat idly amongst each other. One great armada after another lined up perfectly behind each other.

  No matter, Adrmiral Tieber thought. The Reptaxian army would scavenge this puny blockade of lifeless ships. The beasts in their recycling pools will dine on any leftover crew. Nothing would stop his revenge!

  “Sol’s third planet is within range, sir! We’re just passing their moon.”

  “Hail them in all languages! They deserve awareness of their imminent deaths!”

  His pre-recorded speech nattered. He ignored it. He had heard it enough times in practice. Admiral Tieber dipped his hand into the feeding bucket. From it, he pulled some furry, squirming thing and gorged on its upper body. Oh, how he longed to feast on the entrails of the American president!

  “Plasma cannons ionized, sir!” Ensign Taiga shouted.

  “FIRE!”

  The cannons surged to life, and then suddenly died down. The lights on The Incinerator flickered briefly, and then faded to black. The emergency lights hummed on. His crew didn’t falter; they were warriors with lifecycles worth of training.

  “What nonsense is this?”

  “Sir, we’ve lost power to the weapons!”

  “Everything but life support is inoperable!”

  Just before passing the rest of the dead armadas of the Cragians, the Phalian, Ghorps and others, his own armada stalled to a halt. They were disgracefully directly behind the Ghorps! Tieber leaped out of his captain’s chair and looked out one of the small portholes on the bridge. His armada lined up perfectly behind the Ghorps ships. Like all the others, they were ‘parked’.

  “Hello!” chimed a cheerful, bodiless voice, “And welcome to Planet Earth, home of such amazing sites such as the Great Wall of China, Niagara Falls and, of course, John Goodman.”

  “Wha…?” Admiral Tieber stammered.

  “We hope you enjoy your visit to our humble planet,” the voice cheerfully continued. “Be sure to stop in at Universal Studios and collect some memorabilia from our E.T. ride’s gift shop! Maybe you’ll find a familiar face there.”

  “Sir?” Ensign Taiga asked. “What is Universal Studios?”

  “Please choose from the following options.”

  “Options?”

  “For service in English, say or press one. For service in French, say or press two. For service in your own language, say or press the corresponding word for three.”

  “One!” Tieber shouted. He did not study English for three cycles to let it go unused.

  “Thank you!” the voice chirped. “For our records, please state the name of your fleet’s commanding officer.”

  “I will incinerate your Great Wall of China to dirt, then boil the dirt into glass, then blast it all over again!”

  The recording paused.

  “We’re sorry, but our system doesn’t recognize that name. Please state the name of your fleet’s commanding officer.”

  Admiral Tieber sighed. “Admiral K’Tlax Ginyu Tieber.”

  Pause.

  “Thank you, Admiral Exlax.”

  What? No!

  “Our records show you are from the Constipation Constellation. We’re relieved to see you again. We hope you’ll enjoy your next visit to New Jersey. Please select your musical preference while you wait for an operator.”

  “I am not Admiral Exlax! I am Admiral Tieber! Admiral Tieber!” He shouted repeatedly.

  “Thank you! We’re unsure why you’ve chosen Justin Bieber, but we’re happy to accommodate all alien tastes, no matter how odd.”

  The most godforsaken, ear bleeding, nauseous clamour spewed through the audio emitters. His crew covered their ears, attempting to drive out the noise. The youngest hatchlings screeched, begging for their hatching mistresses.

  “What infernal weapon is this?” Tieber begged. “If this is torture, we will not yield. A Reptaxian never yields!”

  Gratefully, the music discontinued. His crewed sighed, relieved.

  “Earth appreciates your patience,” the voice chirped. “A planet representative will be with you shortly.”

  Then the cacophonous, tortuous noise continued.

  “Argh!” screamed Ensign Taiga.

  “Yield, captain!” Captain Lichen pleaded.

  “Never! We will not rest until Earth is a smouldering nothing!”

  Admiral Tieber barrelled out of his chair. He gorged the remains of his furry snack. No Earthling – no matter the torture, no matter the technology – would overcome the Reptaxian Imperial Armada! He dug his claws into the elevator door. If they could launch the escape pods, his army could conquer Earth, Reptaxian by Reptaxian.

  The torturous racket suddenly ceased.

  “Yes, hello? Admiral…Exlax?” a courteous voice asked. It was immediately obvious their first language was not English. His accent reminded Tieber of that Hindu clerk in that accursed cartoon.

  Tieber ceased prying the elevator doors and turned to face the main display screen.

  “You address Admiral Tieber. Tread carefully.”

  “Yes, I am Ranjit,” the voice stammered. It was obvious he nervously read from a script. “How may I help you today?”

  “Oh, for Prelate’s sake!”

  “Admiral…Prelate?” the voice asked. “This is not Admiral Exlax?”

  “This is Admiral Tieber of the Reptaxian armada!”

  “Oh! Yes. Very sorry, sir. One moment.”

  The agonizing sound recommenced.

  He could no longer take it! Rage filled his cold blood. A sacrificial death would calm him. He stomped over to the front of the bridge and tore out Ensign Taiga’s throat. His crew saw nothing. The hell-sent sounds kept them bent over in agony.

  The sounds stopped again. “Earth appreciates your patience. Please enjoy our solar system’s sights while you wait.”

  The suffering sounds finally stopped. The bridge’s view screen blipped on. Now, Tieber saw the full scope of the situation. It was not just the armadas of the Cragians, the Ghorps, and the Phalian. There were dozens of different armadas, some configurations unrecognizable even to Admiral Tieber. Additionally, he saw large, humanoid-shaped blotches on the surface of Earth’s moon.

  “Enhance grid 7802!” he bellowed. Ensign Adler followed the direction.

  On the surface of Earth’s moon, Tieber could see gigantic, powerful beings. Some were familiar: The Eternal Crimson, Celestialsaurus, and The Big Banger. Some of these celestials stood together, deep in discussion. Others had paired off, sitting across from each other. A closer look showed a giant board with beads. Chinese checkers? Some of the most dominant creatures played a board game! Red tape enwrapped the more unruly ones, like Celestialsaurus. It wiggled on the dusty grey ground, occasionally lapping at a giant red bowl of water. The bowl had its name on it.

  “Who on Earth has this power, sir?” Captain Lichen asked, joining Tieber’s side.

  “Earth appreciates your –”

  “Silence!”

  Amazingly enough, the bodiless voice ceased.

  “Thank you for waiting,” said the voice. “A representative will join you shortly.”

  “Finally!” Admiral Tieber bellowed.

  There was an ethereal ‘click’. A ringing followed, then another click.

  “Permission to come aboard, Admiral Tieber?” a pleasant voice spoke from nothingness.

  “Granted!” Tieber replied with bloodthirsty glee.

  He motioned to his crew to ready their weapons. They would rip this ‘guest’ asunder. They would serve as a warning unless someone released them.

  Without a teleportation signature, a puny Earthling appeared on Tieber’s bridge. His short blonde hair was disgustingly well groomed. He politely adjusted his spectacles. He brushed some dust from his 3-piece business suit. Cradled under one arm was a clipboard. Habitually, h
e adjusted his glasses, refer to the clipboard, and jotted down a note.

  “My humblest apologies, Admiral Tieber,” the puny, yet confident man spoke. “Thank you for waiting.”

  “Release my ships,” Tieber demanded, “so that we may drink Earth’s blood!”

  The man searched through papers. “I don’t see your name on the list of today’s appointments or for the next few months.”

  “The Reptaxian Imperial Armada needs no appointment!”

  “Ah,” the human said. “You’re new. Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Beau Uricrat, Secretary of Intergalactic Threats and Other Dimensional Invasions.”

  “You are a puny human who has entered the wrong ship!” Tieber bellowed and gave the command to his crew.

  The Reptaxian army was courageously unstoppable. Throughout the quadrant, they notoriously decimated their foes. Tieber himself had faced a great number of the armadas waiting outside. All trembled before their might.

  All, that is, except this puny secretary.

  His crew surrounded Mr. Uricrat. Some charged with edged weapons. Some engaged with claws. It was a gory mess of red…ribbons?

  From up the secretary’s sleeves, long strands of crimson flowed. In a brief whirl of thin ribbons, Admiral Tierber’s best soldiers found themselves wrapped like Christmas presents. They thumped to the grate floor, relentlessly struggling to break away. The binding material ignored their razor-sharp teeth and claws. Beau Uricrat stood unharmed in the circle of dropped soldiers.

  “Now then,” the secretary said. “We’ll forgive this little misunderstanding since the Reptaxians are new to Earth’s invasion policies.”

  “What nonsense do you speak of?” Tieber demanded.

  Mr. Uricrat casually stepped over the bound soldiers. He held out his clipboard and tapped it with his pen.

  “Currently, Anubis leads a planet-wide invasion by the Egyptian Pantheon. He’s been on the waiting for three years because he felt the invasion required two whole weeks. So, I’m sure you understand we can’t just put that on hold for another alien armada.”