Marshall Conrad: A Superhero Tale

by Sean Cummings

  The media furor surrounding my very public outing was as intense as ever in the days after my battle with Grim Geoffrey. You’d think the discovery of a dead man on the gazebo at Delaney Park might possibly grab their attention. Surely the notebook that investigators found in the pocket of his trousers containing the names of eight murder victims written in their own blood might knock me from the front pages. Hell, you’d think someone, anyone, would notice when police announced they’d found a mass grave containing the mutilated corpses of five homeless people beside the barn with the checkerboard roof, but no.

  No, of course not.

  Talk of dead bodies is a downer when everyone is flapping their gums about how they caught a glimpse of Greenfield’s mysterious flying man or “Hooded Mystery” as they now called me.

  God, humanity pisses me off.

  I laid low for a couple of weeks to give my ankle some time to heal, staying in my apartment and keeping track of the world through the Internet. Marnie visited me every day, bringing godawful concoctions that she swore up and down came from the pages of her Betty Crocker cookbook.

  At least I learned to overcome my phobia about other people’s cooking.

  The media grew tired of waiting for another appearance of Hooded Mystery and eventually left town.

  Walter decided I was worth visiting from time to time, appearing in my apartment in the mornings and just before bed. He even brought me a dead bird.

  He’s thoughtful that way.

  Stella bought him a new collar encrusted with green rhinestones that were actually small flakes of sentient quartz for protection from anything that might want to get at her through her familiar. Her coven were kept busy shooing away everything from malevolent gnomes to mischievous faeries. And me? Well, I was enjoying a well-deserved rest. Until, of course, I opened my email one morning and read the following:

  Dear Marshall Conrad:

  Your actions over the course of the last few weeks have jeopardized The Guild’s security.

  We are sending a representative to provide you with a membership package as well as an orientation briefing. Your base of operations has yet to be determined, therefore, we recommend that you arrange to have your possessions put in storage until completion of training. Be advised that your refusal to become a member can only be regarded as a security threat and as such, we will take measures to safeguard the organization. It is our sincere hope that you recognize your obligation to serve within our ranks. Our work in the promotion of peace, order and justice is of critical importance to global harmony. As you are no doubt aware, The Signet Pact of 1972 requires those displaying meta-human qualities to function under the auspices of the Guild. We look forward to working with you in the near future, and we continue to monitor your activities while we await your response.”

  For a body of meta-humans, they sure as hell seemed pushy. Naturally, I felt compelled to respond, writing:

  Dear “The Guild”:

  I’ve never heard of “The Signet Pact” but it occurs to me that if the Guild were a functional organization, I wouldn’t have fallen through the cracks. Incidentally, I didn’t ask to become a Vanguard, and God knows I have more productive things to do with my time than to hang with a bunch of bureaucrats wearing capes. I’m not interested in joining your Guild so, you know, get bent.

  Lovingly,

  Marshall Conrad

  It would be just a matter of time before I faced a reprisal for my refusal to join. Not that I was worried about it. I had other things on my mind, like news that a shape shifter was making inquiries about my health to some of Stella Weinberg’s unseen world associates.

  The next day I found myself standing atop the roof of The Curiosity Nook. Stella and Marnie sat in lawn chairs as the warmth of the mid-morning sun took hold. In my right hand was a modest ceramic urn containing Ruby’s ashes and in my left hand was her infamous pewter flask.

  “Are you sure she’d want us to scatter her ashes where she died?” I asked, holding the urn in the air.

  Stella smiled. “Of course! The Curiosity Nook used to be called Pilgrim’s Tavern before I moved in. I’d like to think she’d be pleased as punch to know that we scattered her ashes from the roof of a former drinking establishment.”

  “Good call,” I said.

  Marnie put her arm around my waist and squeezed. “You ready?”

  I nodded silently as I flipped over the urn, spilling her ashes into strong west wind. “Goodbye, Ruby Thiessen, you miserable old crank,” I said quietly, trying to maintain my composure.

  “Bye, Ruby,” Stella whispered. “See you on the other side.”

  I unscrewed the cap of her pewter flash and sniffed, then recoiled.

  “Jeez, that’s Tequila!” I coughed.

  “I thought she was a whiskey lover.” Stella said. “A toast, then?”

  “Yes, a toast,” I said, remembering the first time I met Ruby. “Whiskey is the Devil’s drink, and may the Devil remain scared shitless of me!”

  I took a sip and cringed, handing the bottle to Stella.

  She chuckled. “That’s quite a toast, Marshall. Did you just make it up?”

  “Nope,” I said, as I watched Ruby’s ashes disappear in the breeze. “I stole it from a little old lady.”

  About The Author:

  Sean Cummings is a fantasy author with a penchant for writing quirky, humorous and dark novels featuring characters that are larger than life. His debut was the gritty urban fantasy SHADE FRIGHT published by Snowbooks in 2010. He followed up later in the year with the sequel FUNERAL PALLOR.

  2012 saw the publication of Sean’s first urban fantasy for young adults. POLTERGEEKS is a rollicking story about teen witch Julie Richards, her dorky boyfriend and a race against time to save her mother’s life. The first sequel, STUDENT BODIES is now available at bookstores everywhere.