Professor LaGungo's
Delirious Download
Of Digital Deviltry
and Doom
Mark McLaughlin
Michael McCarty
First Digital Edition
March 2009
Published by:
Darkside Digital Books
P.O. Box 338
North Webster, IN 46555
www.darkside-digital.com
Professor LaGungo's Delirious Download Of Digital Deviltry and Doom
copyright 2009 by Mark McLaughlin and Michael McCarty
Cover Artwork copyright 2009 by Mark McLaughlin
All Rights Reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table Of Contents
The Monkey's Grandpa's Paw
Shop Till You Drop
Dedications
This digital document is dedicated to nine Muses:
Mark McLaughlin thanks Greg, the Muse of amusement, for making him laugh; Shane and Larry, two outstanding publishing Muses; Martha and Dan, the Muses of friendship; Nancy and Michele, the Muses of marketing; and of course, Michael, the Muse of collaboration.
Michael McCarty is grateful to many wonderful people in his life--especially his bride-to-be Cindy Hulting, for being his own personal Muse of love.
The Monkey's Grandpa's Paw
Cyrus Crowley cried as he walked through downtown Tuttlesburg on the way home from the cemetery. That's where he went every Saturday morning. It had been three months since the death of his wife Susanne, but the grief still tore his heart to shreds every time he visited her grave. As he wiped the tears from his eyes, he noticed a little shop on Pepper Street he'd never seen before. The painted sign above the door read, in quaintly curlicued forest-green letters, PROFESSOR LaGUNGO'S EXOTIC ARTIFACTS and ASSORTED MYSTIC COLLECTIBLES.
Never noticed that before. Must be new. Kind of an odd shop to see in our little town, the fifty-year-old English teacher thought.
He walked inside. Ting-a-ling-ling! announced the bell above the door.
The poorly lit, crowded shop was extremely dusty. Apparently the shop wasn't as new as he'd thought. There was so much dust and lint in the air, he sneezed twice in a row.
"Bless you, and bless you again," called a low, raspy voice from the back room. An elderly man made his way past the many displays toward the front of the shop.
Crowley first thought the guy was somewhere in his seventies. But as he watched the proprietor wobbled slowly to the counter, he started to think this fellow was more probably in his eighties. When at last the shop owner was right in front of him, Crowley realized this man, with his liver-spotted bald pate and back as bent as a boomerang, had to be in his nineties--maybe over one-hundred. Still, he had a bright, boyish twinkle in his eyes. "Welcome to my emporium of oddities, my curio corner for the curious," he said. "I am the owner, Professor LaGungo. But you can call me Teddy."
Crowley looked around the shop. The place was filled with countless strange objects and artifacts. The only thing that seemed normal was a timeworn banjo hanging half-hidden in shadows above the glass counter.
"That banjo up there looks like it's seen better days," Crowley commented.
"Actually, it hasn't been played much. The maker strung it with fine silver barbwire," Teddy said.
"That would make it hard to play, wouldn't it?" Crowley asked.
The shopkeeper smiled. "I imagine so."
"So where did you get all these things?"
"On my travels. I used to be quite an explorer," Teddy said. "I came to this lovely little Wisconsin town from Tibet, where'd I'd lived for thirty years. Wisconsin has such marvelous cheese. All they had in Tibet was yak cheese."
"I've never had yak cheese," Crowley said.
"It's an acquired taste. It doesn't begin to compare with Cheddar or Provolone. I was really missing the good stuff. You can't get much Gouda, Limburger or Muenster in Yibet."
To the right of Crowley stood an open metal case in the shape of a person, with sharp spikes in the interior. "That's a weird-looking contraption," he said, nodding in its direction.
"That, sir, is an iron maiden."
"I think I've heard of those. It's some kind of torture device, right?"
"Yes, and it's in very good condition," Teddy said. "Practically mint. Only used once."
Crowley noticed a large, parti-colored metal box on the counter. The box had a hinged lid and an orange crank on one side. "A jack-in-the-box!" he said. "May I try it out?"
Teddy shook his head. "I would not advise it. That is actually a Jack-the-Ripper-in-the-box. A little man in a cloak pops out on a sturdy spring."
"Good Lord!" Crowley said. "Will he stab me?"
Teddy shook his head. "No, but he will shoot you with his little rifle. He is possessed by the spirit of Annie Oakley."
Crowley wasn't sure what to say about that. Then he spied a shriveled, bony, gray-haired--thing--on the counter next to the cash register. "What in the world is that? It looks hideous."
"I used to have a pet monkey, and this is a paw from his grandpa--the oldest temple monkey in all of Tibet," Teddy said. "That old monkey was very wise in the secrets of life and death, and also skilled at making yak cheese fondue."
Crowley leaned closer to the strange object to get a better look.
"That paw is capable of granting all of its owner's wishes for a full hour, but not a second more," Teddy said. "The owner must be holding the paw when making his or her wishes. Because of its amazing power, I have always refused to sell that particular item, no matter how much any would-be buyer might offer."
"That sounds like some sort of old wives' tale. Or a spooky campfire story." Crowley touched a knuckle on the paw. It felt surprisingly warm. "Have you ever made a wish with this thing?"
Teddy grinned. "Yes. My needs are few, so I stopped after my first wish: to transport all of my dusty old collectibles--and myself, of course!--to a nice little shop in Tuttlesburg, Wisconsin, where the cheese is plentiful. I made that wish about an hour and five minutes ago, so my turn is all used up." He glanced at his reflection in an antique mirror near the counter. "I did think of asking for eternal youth, but decided to quit while I was ahead. A person can screw up a wish so easily. They're tricky things. It's all about the wording, really."
"You know, I was wondering where this shop came from..." Crowley pulled out his wallet and counted his cash. "I have two-hundred and thirteen dollars on me. I must give that paw a try! I have a very special wi--"
"I'm sorry, but like I said: the item is not for sale." The proprietor shrugged his bony shoulders. "You seem like a nice man, but I simply cannot allow the paw to leave this shop. Still, I have plenty of other wonderful oddities and gewgaws in stock. Some of them have interesting...properties."
Crowley put away his wallet. "Very well then. Can I take a look at that funny-looking candle on the bottom shelf of the display behind you?"
"You must mean the one shaped like a human hand..." Teddy turned and bent down to get the item
While the old man's back was turned, Crowley snatched the withered gray paw and ran to the door. Ting-a-ling-ling! scolded the bell above the door.
As he raced out of the shop, he thought he heard the low, dry rasp of Professor LaGungo's laughter.
Crowley ran straight home. Once inside, he locked the door an
d unplugged the phone. He did not want to be disturbed. He gave the matter some thought, figured out some wording that seemed perfectly reasonable, and at noon precisely, made his first wish.
"I wish I was together with my dear wife Susanne," he said.
The monkey's paw snapped its creaking, bony fingers.
The results were instantaneous.
Blonde, statuesque Susanne appeared in the room. In fact, she was right next to Crowley--still quite dead and attached, like a conjoined twin, to the right side of his body.
Truly, they were together.
Her puffy, rotten skin and muscles burned where they were joined to his living flesh. Her deflated, milky eyes stared dully at him.
"This isn't what I wanted!" he cried. "I wish she was living!"
The monkey's paw snapped its fingers and instantly, Susanne changed--into one of the living.
The living dead, that is.
A zombie.
Still attached to him.
The red fires of Hell blazed in her eyes as she bit and scratched at him mercilessly. She squealed like a maddened hog as she tore out clumps of his hair.
"Ow! Ouch! No! Stop!" he screamed. "I wish we weren't joined like this!"
Again, the paw snapped its fingers--and Crowley and Susanne were attached in a different way. Now his head was on her zombie body and her head was on his living, healthy body. And she was still biting and scratching. He snatched the shriveled paw out of her hand--or rather, his old hand.
"This still isn't right! I wish we'd split apart!" he screamed.
With a snap of the monkey's fingers, they did indeed split, splashing blood and gore all over his living room. But, his head was still on the zombie body, and Susanne's head was still on his old body, and she jumped on him and began biting and scratching him all over again.
"I wish Susanne couldn't bite and scratch me!" he screamed.
Snap! went the monkey's fingers.
Susanne's lower face fell off, so that her entire mouth--bones, teeth, lips and all--were now on the floor. Then the hands of his old body fell off. Her chomping mouth and his grasping, clawing hands tumbled around on the floor like three monstrous puppies. Then they jumped up and tore at his old body--apparently the "me" in his wish hadn't included that, since it wasn't currently attached to his head. Susanne started kicking at Crowley, her eyes still blazing with zombie rage.
Crowley suddenly realized the teeth and hands were trying to destroy his old body, which he certainly still needed. "That belongs to me! I wish that body wasn't getting scratched and bitten!" he said.
A snap from the paw activated the wish.
This time, the teeth and hands jump onto Susanne's body and began to tear at it. Evidently his last wish had made her zombie body fair game for attack again, since he had clarified which body should not be torn to bits. Susanne continued to kick at her own body with his old legs.
Exasperated, Crowley cried, "I wish I was out of here!"
Snap!
With a jolt of horror, Crowley saw that he was now in the middle of a busy intersection. And because he hadn't stipulated otherwise, Susanne's head on his old body and the biting mouth and the scratching hands had made the jump, too--and they all continued to attack him.
Suddenly he was hit by a gasoline truck, barreling down the highway at incredible speed.
Caught in the grillwork, he tried to scream but didn't have the lungs to do so. The impact had torn off the lower two-thirds of his zombie-Susanne body.
He looked over the hood of the gasoline truck, just in time to see the fat, red-faced driver take a swig from a whiskey bottle as he leaned toward the radio to crank up a Lynyrd Skynyrd song to full-blast.
"Great. That's just great," Crowley said.
So he was stuck in the grill of a big-rig manned by a drunken suicide jockey.
The truck swerved more and more, and bugs began to splat on Crowley's head as they roared down the road. Some of Susanne's stringy innards flapped in the wind below the broken ribcage. Every now and then, Crowley caught glimpses of various drivers' faces in the other lane. They all stared at him in complete horror, and rightly so.
He had no idea how long he was on the open highway. He tried to think up a good wish to fix his situation, but everything he thought up seemed to have yet another downside. Professor LaGungo had been right: wishes were tricky things.
Eventually the gasoline truck headed up a narrow mountain road, climbing higher and higher. Then the eighteen-wheeler crashed through the metal guard-rails and flew off the mountain, right toward the clock-tower of a small town in the valley below.
Suddenly Crowley had an idea. A wonderful idea.
"I'm so stupid!" he said to the shriveled paw still clutched in his female zombie-hand. "Now I know what I should have wished for in the first place! Why didn't I think of that before? Yes, I wish--"
But it was too late.
The minute hand of the town clock clicked from 12:59 to 1:00 p.m.
His hour was up.
Shop Till You Drop
It was a dark, snowy Christmas Eve in Tuttlesburg, and Neil Gluckman was mad at his job, his wife, and himself. Mostly himself. He was a busy man and in the wild hurly-burly of managing Gluckman Gifts and Goodies during the holiday season, he'd completely forgotten about buying a present for his own daughter.
He couldn't give her any of the toys or novelties from his own shop, for he knew exactly how his wife Cynthia would respond to that: "Oh, look what Mr. Gotbucks got his daughter for Christmas. A piece of crap from the warehouse. Something he bought wholesale for--what, two bucks, maybe three? They say you can't buy love, but Christ, that's not even a down-payment!"
There was once a time when he'd been enthralled by Cynthia's crisp wit and clever turns of phrase. That time had passed long years ago.
Neil steered his Toyota Primus Hybrid down Pepper Street, looking for a lit-up store window. He glanced at the time, spelled out in green glowing digits on his dashboard clock. 7:17. The streets rolled up early in this small Wisconsin town, but surely some store-owner was greedy enough to stay open on Christmas Eve and make a few extra bucks.
Then he saw it: at the end of the block, a two-story brick building with a front window blazing with welcome light. He drove closer.
A weatherworn wooden sign above the door read, in quaintly curlicued forest-green letters, PROFESSOR LaGUNGO'S EXOTIC ARTIFACTS and ASSORTED MYSTIC COLLECTIBLES.
Even though he'd lived in Tuttlesburg his whole life, he couldn't remember ever seeing this shop before. It had to be very new, even though the sign looked very old.
He pulled the Primus into the empty parking lot. He wondered why the owner's car wasn't in the lot. Maybe this Professor LaGungo guy had forgotten to turn the lights off because he was in a hurry to get home. Or, maybe he didn't have a car and he lived up on the second floor.
As Neil stepped out of the car, a bitterly cold wind blew snow in his face. He felt like he had just been hit between the eyes with a snowball.
He opened the front door and a bell chimed ting-a-ling! From wall to wall, shelves and cabinets were packed with a bewildering array of trinkets and artifacts, picture and puzzles, gizmos and whatchamacallits--most of which were extremely dusty. He sneezed twice.
"Bless you and bless you again," said the proprietor, a thin, elderly man in a light-gray suit that matched his wispy hair and thick mustache. He wore dust-flecked glasses with lenses as thick as the bottoms of soda bottles. He waved a gaunt, liver-spotted hand. "Welcome to Hell!" he cried. "A Hell of a mess, that is. The place really needs dusting."
"I've noticed," Neil said.
"I am Professor LaGungo--but please, just call me Teddy."
"I'm Neil Gluckman. I was hoping to do a little last-minute Christmas shopping. I've been so busy lately, I've barely had time to eat. I sure was glad to see your lights on!"
"And I'm glad to see you, Mr. Busy Businessman!" Teddy said. He gestured toward a stuffed green iguana on the counter. "I was s
o lonely, I found myself talking to Bertram here. You came at the perfect time. I'm having a special holiday sale--everything is half-off. Look around! There's so much to see! Shop till you drop!"
"Half-off? Wow! Usually stores jack up the prices before the big day," Neil said. "You're a great guy, Teddy. I need to get something for my daughter Missy. Have anything a ten-year-old girl would like?"
Teddy cocked his head to one side. "Nothing for the wife...?"
"Cynthia and I don't exchange gifts," Neil said.
"Really? What a pity." Teddy walked slowly from behind the counter. "Are you absolutely sure you wouldn't like to treat the wife to something special? For the couple that has everything, over to your left you will see a his-and-hers bed of nails. Only used once."
Neil grimaced at the horrid heart-shaped bed. "Are the nails rusty, or is that blood on them?"
"Both."
Neil sneezed a third time.
"Once again, bless you."
"So Professor, just what are you a professor of? Dust collecting?"
"Dead languages," Teddy said. "I used to teach at a private college in Asia for about thirty-five years. Of course these days, students have enough trouble with live languages, let alone dead ones."
"I suppose so."
"I bought this shop with my savings. Something to keep me busy in my retirement. The shop was originally located in Tibet, but besides yetis and spiritual gurus and the occasional mountain hikers, there weren't a lot of costumers. So I came to Wisconsin--the cheese here is so much better. That Tibetan yak cheese... blecch! Have you ever tried it?"
"Can't say that I have."
"Over there," Teddy said, pointing toward the rear of the shop, which was not as well-lit as the front, "you will see a brass maiden."
Neil squinted into the far shadows. "What's a brass maiden?"
"Same as an iron maiden, except made of brass. This one has the prettiest opal eyes."
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