Dead Jack and the Pandemonium Device

by James Aquilone

  DEAD JACK:

  BOOK 1

  Also by James Aquilone

  Madness & Mayhem

  Websites

  DeadJack.com

  HomunculusHouse.com

  Facebook.com/OfficialDeadJack

  JamesAquilone.com

  Newsletter Sign Up

  http://eepurl.com/bx5axT

  To view a map of Pandemonium, visit DeadJack.com/Pandemonium

  Published by Homunculus House

  Staten Island, New York

  Copyright © 2016 by James Aquilone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Portions of “The Kraken” by Alfred Lord Tennyson are used in chapters 3 and 4.

  Cover, map, and interior art by Ed Watson

  Edited by Tim Marquitz

  Proofread by Eve Conte Seligman

  ISBN-10: 1-946346-01-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-946346-01-8

  For Jenn,

  who’s more addictive than fairy dust

  Contents

  Dead Jack and the Pandemonium Device

  1. Waiting for My Wee-Man

  2. The Green and the Furious

  3. Ship of Fools

  4. Kraken Bait

  5. Down and Out in the Broken Lands

  6. The Best-Laid Plan

  7. And Into the Fire

  8. Like a Bat Out of Hell

  9. I Found My Thrill on Corpse Hill

  10. They Built This City on Rock and Bones

  11. Dinner for Demons (and Assorted Other Monsters)

  12. A Room Without a View

  13. Beneath the Palace of the Arseholes

  14. A Zombie by Any Other Name

  15. Return of the White Blob

  16. A Stroll Down Mnemosyne Lane

  17. A God Reborn

  18. Flying the Fiendish Skies

  19. Monster Island Mash

  20. Interdimensional Baby Got Back

  21. The Pandemonium Device Is Fully Operational

  22. Fear and Loathing in ShadowShade

  The Case of the Amorous Ogre

  Bonus Material: Incident on Black Rock

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1. Waiting for My Wee-Man

  I reached into my jacket for a Lucky Dragon once the shakes began. The undead aren’t known for their dexterity so I had a bit of fun getting that hellfire stick. I was like a drunken mummy trying to do jazz hands. I burned off half the skin on my left index finger lighting the damn thing. That made three fingers now that were practically nothing but bone. If this continued, I’d end up a skeleton inside a cheap suit and fedora. I doubted anyone would notice.

  Being a member of the great unwashed dead isn’t all bad, though. I was happy for my dulled sense of smell. The alleyway stunk like rotten cabbage and sour apples.

  I had tried everyone in downtown ShadowShade, but no one was holding. Out of desperation, I came here to Irish Town in search of Fine Flanagan, my old dealer.

  Without dust, the hunger becomes overpowering, and when I’m hungry, no one’s safe. I’d eat my own dead granny.

  I had been waiting in the alley behind Finn McCool’s Pub for at least an hour before the leprechaun appeared.

  Flanagan isn’t your typical lep. First off, he’s not that short. Maybe five-foot-two in his pointy shoes. He’s broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and someone you don’t want to mess with. He also has the saltiest mouth in all the Five Cities of Pandemonium.

  As he entered the alley, he sang:

  “There once was a fellow McSweeney who spilled some gin on his weenie…”

  With a large sack slung over his shoulder, he swaggered past the reeking dumpsters full of what must have been hundred-year-old cabbage.

  “Just to be couth, he added vermouth. Then slipped his girlfriend a martini…”

  “Sorry to interrupt that charming little ditty,” I said, slipping out of the shadows as I blew smoke out of all the holes in my face. All nine. Real bad-ass.

  The lep stopped deader than my libido. Like I’d caught him bathing naked in his pot of gold. (Leprechauns don’t really have pots of gold, by the way, but they are known to carry sweet, sweet fairy dust, the closest thing to heaven in this godforsaken world. And Fine Flanagan had the finest.)

  The sack jerked and the lep gripped it tighter.

  “What’s in the bag, Flanny? Someone didn’t pay their vig?” I noticed the lep’s fashion sense had changed since I last saw him. He wore a green duster that hung to the ground, but there was no pointy hat on his head. His curly red hair blew in the wind. Leps love hats almost as much as their shoes. And his shoes, I noticed, weren’t even pointy. They were square-toed boots. What the holy heck?

  “None of your fookin business,” the lep said. “Now, if you wouldn’t be minding, I have better tings to do than conversate with a zombie. I be needing to get to me apartment.” When the lep took a step forward, I blocked his way.

  “Look, meat bag, I don’t be wanting any trouble tonight,” he said.

  “No trouble. I’m just looking for dust.”

  The lep exploded into laughter. He actually placed his hand over his belly. A real guffaw.

  “You fookin dust head. Oh, Jackie boy, I thought maybe you was on a case. I should have known what you was after. All you zombies are the same. You people are the dumbest pieces of filth in Pandemonium. Just soulless, corpse-faced, brain-licking ghouls.”

  I told you he had a mouth on him. “Nope. Never licked a brain. Total myth.”

  “Mouth-breathing, empty-husk, meat-headed, motherless bags of bones, the whole lot of you.”

  “Keep going.”

  “You’re wasting me precious time.”

  “Just a gram, Flanny. The hunger is starting to eat through my innards.”

  “You have innards? Figured it’s all just sludge inside you by now. Like ya fookin brain.”

  “The last time I went cold turkey, it ended real bad for some fairies. I went wilder on them than a pack of weres. I’m still not welcome in the Red Garden.”

  “You ain’t threatening now, are you, ya dead dick?” He smiled, exposing the four or five teeth left in his mouth. I heard he was quite the boxer back in his day.

  My hands shook and my bones rattled as I held them up. Flanny probably thought I was trying to conjure a demon. I dropped the hellfire stick and ground it out with my shoe. “I’m desperate.”

  “Then you’re out of luck. I don’t deal anymore. I have new opportunities.”

  There was a clink, like a glass bell, from inside the sack and then it shot up in the air. Flanagan nearly lost his grip but managed to pull the canvas bag back down. The lep shot me a look so dirty I thought of taking my first bath in seventy years.

  “What’s in the sack, Flanny? A sentient beer keg?”

  “None of ya fookin business, you filthy corpse.”

  “Does Dana know what you’re up to?”

  “Don’t you be talking about that blessed woman. This is none of ya business.”

  “What if I told your leprechaun queen you were up to some unsavory stuff? She might just kick you out of the club. Unaffiliated leprechauns aren’t treated very well in Pandemonium, are they?”

  The lep spit out a laugh like it was venom. “I don’t have to be worrying about that, zombie. You are the on
e who needs to worry. This is going to be your last night in Pandemonium.” The fairy swung the sack into my crotch. I flew into the wall, and Flanagan took off down the alley. Fortunately, I have a dulled sense of pain so I easily shook off the between-the-legs shot. (As for my zombie genital situation, the less said about that the better.) Still, something in me snapped. Maybe my hunger had reached its apex, or maybe I didn’t like the way he called me a filthy corpse. Either way, I pounced on him like a lycan on a moonpie. I don’t even remember feasting on the little guy, I was in such a blood frenzy. I do remember him tasting damn delicious, though, like smoked sausage and sweet beer. Then Oswald, Pandemonium’s most obnoxious creature and my associate, appeared out of nowhere.

  I sat on the ground, gnawing on a leg bone, when the alley filled with a blinding light. I continued eating. Like I said, it was damn good, and I hadn’t eaten in so long. The light died out and I saw the Studebaker—my Studebaker. The driver’s-side door opened and out slid the homunculus.

  The little bugger stared at me, not saying a word, his X-shaped eyes unblinking. This was supposed to shame me. But I’m a revenant (which is a fancy way of saying zombie). I’m beyond shame.

  I took a bite out of Flanagan’s calf. It was stringy, but I wasn’t complaining.

  “I cannot express how very disappointed I am in you.” Oswald tried to sound tough, but when you’re all of eight inches and nothing but a marshmallow with a mouth, the effect is underwhelming. No one knows what Oswald is, or was. The best description I’ve come up with is a homunculus, which is another way for me to say I have no idea. I think I’d rather not know where he came from. It would most likely lead to trouble and Oswald is plenty of trouble already.

  The sack rolled down the alley.

  “What’s that?” Oswald said.

  I licked the lep’s shin. Salty with just a hint of sweetness. It just made me hungrier.

  “Hey, dummy!” Oswald shouted. “Let me remind you that you’re eating a leprechaun in the middle of Irish Town!”

  I sprang up—as best a zombie can spring up, which meant I awkwardly repositioned my bones into a standing position. I stepped over to the sack and picked it up. I opened the bag, but wasn’t prepared to find what I did.

  Mr. Obvious said, “Is that a naked baby inside a glass jar?”

  “I’m sorry for ever calling you a terrible detective, Oswald. You figured it out on the very first try.”

  The dope smiled.

  I stood the glass jar up. The baby looked at us with curious silver eyes.

  “Maybe this is like those ships you find in bottles,” I said.

  “How did you get in there, little guy?” Oswald asked.

  The fact that he didn’t cry should have alarmed me, but I was still on a high from my leprechaun buffet. I wasn’t thinking straight.

  The baby pointed at the top of the jar. He was a cute little fellow. Pink and soft and full of rolls. A mass of golden curls covered the top of his head.

  The observant marshmallow said, “I think he wants you to remove the glass stopper and let him out.”

  The fact that the baby didn’t pop off the glass stopper himself should have made me wonder, but Oswald distracted me with his prattling.

  I removed the stopper.

  The hole certainly didn’t seem big enough for a baby to fit through, even a naked one, but that didn’t stop him.

  He slid out of the bottle like he was a piece of taffy. But instead of falling onto the ground as a normal baby would, he floated into the air. The large, black wings that had unfurled from his back helped a lot with that, I think. The now-winged baby stopped just out of our reach, shot me a dirty look, gave me the finger, and disappeared into the blood-red sky of Pandemonium, going north. Bye-bye, evil baby.

  I wasn’t able to conjure up one of my famous ripostes, though, because at that moment two irate leprechauns barreled towards us.

  2. The Green and the Furious

  I’m driving!” I shouted as I ran for the car (though it was more like power-shambling).

  The leps made a beeline for us. They must have come out of Finn McCool’s. One was dressed in a red overcoat and pants. A pointy hat bobbed on his head. At least there was no bell on it. He was most likely a clurichaun, a meaner, nastier, more inebriated leprechaun. He looked like a sauced Saint Nick. The other was dressed in traditional green, a real stereotypical lep, right down to the buckles on his shoes. He was probably born with a four-leaf clover in his mouth.

  We made it into the car just as the Irish fairies reached us.

  “You bastard, you et Flanagan!” the clurichaun screamed. So much for getting away with eating a leprechaun in Irish Town.

  “Where’s the fookin IDB?” the other shouted.

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t have time to rack my brain because I sat in amazement as Little Red picked up what was left of Flanagan’s arm and banged it against the passenger window. Meanwhile, his comrade stood on the hood kicking at the windshield with his pointy shoes. Good luck causing damage with those leprechaun loafers. Maybe he’d tickle the windshield to death.

  “What’s an IDB?” Oswald asked.

  I threw the Studebaker in reverse, gunned the engine, and we flew backwards. The clurichaun gave out a banshee-like screech. I think I ran over his foot. Oh well. He could always cobble himself a new pair of clown shoes. The other lep fell backwards and slid halfway off the hood, but somehow managed to grab hold of the grille.

  The car took a hard bounce as it hit the street. I swerved and jammed on the brake, hoping that would knock the lep off the Studebaker. No chance. This lep was a regular Harold Lloyd. He flipped back on the hood and glared at me.

  I threw the car in drive and shot forward. Now with two hood ornaments.

  Like some creature emerging from the primordial soup of existence, the lep crawled up the hood and grabbed onto the windshield wipers. Now that he was up close I could see he had a rat face. Pointy nose, eyes too close together, sharp, little teeth jutting over his lip.

  “You fookin brain-licker!” rat face shouted.

  “What’s with the brain-licker business with you guys?” I said. “Do you know something about me I don’t?”

  “When I get me hands on you, you’re gonna wish for death.” The lep was seething, practically foaming at the mouth. His bloodshot eyes bore into me.

  “Take Bleak Street,” Oswald said. “It’s a mess with potholes. Maybe it’ll knock him off.”

  I turned east and blasted onto Bleak Street like a hawkman raiding a basilisk nursery. We immediately nose-dived into a crater-sized pothole. The Studebaker bucked like a wild kraken, but the lep had a grip of iron.

  “I’m going to start with ya head, ghoul,” the little guy said, his red beard glistening with spittle.

  “You make a nice hood ornament,” I said. “A little mouthy, though.”

  “You fookin bastard! I’m going to stick ya head up ya decayed arse.”

  With a finger, the leprechaun etched strange symbols on the dusty windshield. I admit I hadn’t washed the Studebaker in forever and, by that, I literally mean forever. It had never felt the soft touch of a chamois. It was a miracle I could even see through the windshield. The lep squiggled a row of sigils, no doubt working some magic to seize the engine or turn me into a toad or put a pointy hat on my head. I destroyed his nefarious plans with a simple turn of a switch. I laughed as the windshield wipers swept the fairy’s symbols away. The lep’s face grew redder than the clurichaun’s jacket. He ripped off the wipers, and then used them to whack at the windshield.

  The Studebaker bounced like an excited goblin as I managed to hit every pothole on the street. The lep stopped smashing the windshield and now held on for dear life. Then I spotted the mother of all potholes. It was a ditch, really. I hit the gas and we sailed into the hole, hard. I immediately lost control. We slid toward the sidewalk. The lep’s body swung out to the side as he held on to the hood with one hand. One of his pointy shoe
s flew off.

  A group of posh vampires drinking blood toddies at an outdoor café panicked, instantly turned into bats, and flew off. My front tire jumped the curb and turned over a chair or three, but I managed to steer the car back onto the road. I floored it, going farther downtown, when an orc biker came zooming down Bleak Street and tore off my passenger-side mirror. As the demon flew by, he screeched something about me being a no-good, soulless husk. I thought about chasing him down and getting his insurance info, but I had other fish to fry.

  A car behind us honked like crazy.

  “Go around, dunzy!” I shouted, but when I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw that the driver wore a pointy hat. The clurichaun grinned like a madman and tapped my back bumper. We shot forward. I wanted to stab that lep in the eye with his pointy hat.

  The lep on the hood bashed his head against the windshield. A small crack began to spiderweb across the glass.

  “You really messed up, Jack,” Oswald said. “Admit it.”

  “I admit nothing, marshmallow.”

  “You didn’t have to eat that leprechaun.”

  “I can’t help myself. I’m a zombie.”

  “You’re only a zombie if you believe you’re a zombie. You can rise above it.”

  “Don’t give me that pansy talk. Try not being a homunculus.”

  “I’m not a homunculus. I’m Oswald.”

  “Oh, jeez.”

  Blood dripped from the fairy’s forehead as he continued to bash it against the windshield.

  “Jack, do something,” Oswald said.

  “What are you doing, besides looking pretty?”

  I cut a sharp right and the clurichaun blew past us. I cut another sharp right, and then a left, and came to a screeching halt in front of an abandoned warehouse. I knew the clurichaun would be back on us any minute so I had to work fast.

  “Let’s settle this like men,” I said to my windshield fairy.