The Mister Trophy

by Frank Tuttle

  As a storm gathers and night falls, Markhat finds darker things than even murder lurk amid the shadows of House Merlat.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Dead Man’s Rain:

  Curfew in Rannit falls with the sun. The night belongs to the half-dead, the Watch and anybody crazy enough to risk running afoul of the former or tripping over the recumbent, snoring forms of the latter.

  Curfew fell, and the big old bells on the Square clanged nine times. Before the last notes had faded Mama Hog herself was yelling “Boy, wake up,” and banging on my door.

  I swung my feet off my desk, put my sandwich down on a plate and hurried to the door.

  Mama Hog looked up and grinned. “The Widow Merlat found you,” she said, not asking but reporting.

  “She did indeed,” I said, opening the door. “What a chucklesome old dear. She’s coming by later for tea and a séance.”

  Mama cackled and trundled inside. “The Widow Merlat’s got the fear, boy,” she said. “Got it bad.” Mama plopped down into my client’s chair and started eyeing my sandwich.

  “You make that?”

  “It’s from Eddie’s,” I said. “Tear off a hunk.”

  She tore, bit, chewed.

  “You sent me a lunatic, Mama,” I said, shaking my finger. “Shame on you.”

  Bite, chew, swallow. Then Mama wiped her lips on her sleeve and grinned. “She ain’t crazy, boy,” Mama said. “She’s ec-cen-tric. Ain’t that the word for rich folks?”

  “She thinks her dead husband spends his evening knock-knock-knocking at her door,” I said. “Eccentric doesn’t cover that, Mama, and you know it.”

  Mama shrugged and chewed.

  “I have no love for the idle rich,” I said. “But I’ve got no desire to fleece sad old widow women, either.” I went behind my desk, pulled back my chair and sat. “Why not send her to a doctor or a priest, Mama?” I said. “Why me? Why a finder?”

  My sandwich—melted Lowridge cheese on smoked Pinford ham—was vanishing fast. I grabbed a hunk when Mama paused to speak.

  “The widow ain’t crazy, boy,” she said. “Could be she ain’t seeing things, either.”

  I shook my head and swallowed. “Your cards tell you that?”

  Mama Hog nodded. “Cards say she’s got a hard rain coming, boy,” she said. “Turned up the Dead Man, and the Storm, and the Last Dancer, all in the same hand. Dead Man’s Rain. That ain’t good.” Mama grabbed another morsel of sandwich, guffawed around it. “But I don’t need cards to see the sun. The Widow Merlat is headed for a bad time. She knows it. I know it. You’d best know it, too.”

  “Dead is dead, Mama,” I said. “That’s what I know.”

  Mama grinned. “There’s other things you need to know, boy. Things about the ones that come back.”

  “First thing being that they don’t,” I said.

  Mama pretended not to hear.

  “Rev’nants only walk at night,” she said. “It’s got to be pitch dark.”

  “Do tell.”

  “You can’t catch ’em coming out of the ground,” said Mama. “It’s no good trying. They’re like haunts, that way. Solid as rock one minute, thin as fog the next.”

  “Sounds handy,” I said. “Do their underbritches get all misty and ethereal too, or is that one of the things man was not meant to know?”

  “Don’t look in his eyes, boy. Don’t look in his eyes, or breathe air he’s breathed.”

  “I won’t even ask about borrowing his toothbrush,” I said.

  Mama slapped my desktop with both her hands.

  “You listen,” she hissed. “Believe or not, but you listen.”

  “I’ve got all night.”

  “His mouth will be open,” said Mama. “Wide open. He’s been saving a scream, all that time in the ground. Saving up a scream for the one that put him there.” Mama lifted a stubby finger and shook it in my face. “Don’t you listen when he screams. You put your hands over your ears and you yell loud as you can, but don’t you listen. Cause if you do, you’ll hear that scream for the rest of your days, and there ain’t nothing nobody nowhere can do for you then.”

  Silence fell. Only after Curfew do we get any silence, in my neighborhood. I let it linger for a moment.

  I leaned forward, put my eyes down even with Mama’s, motioned her closer, spoke.

  “Boo.”

  Mama glared. “Don’t get in his way, boy,” she said. “He didn’t come back for you. But that won’t mean nothing if you get in the way.”

  “Dead is dead, Mama,” I said.

  Mama sighed. “Dead is dead,” she agreed. “Sometimes, though, good and dead ain’t dead enough.”

  In the search for home, sometimes you find more than you bargained for.

  Talnut

  © 2008 J. H. Wear

  Awakening to find himself deposited like a zoo animal on an alien world, all Carl wants is to find a way back to Earth. But he’s stuck on a peninsula, hemmed in a small paradise by sea monsters and an impassable desert.

  His fellow villagers, also specimens plucked from Earth, live in primitive conditions, paralyzed by superstitions that keep them from venturing beyond the peninsula. To complicate matters, Carl has fallen for Tanya, the witchdoctor’s enchanting daughter. If she would just stop refusing his advances, he might almost—almost—be content with his new life.

  But Carl arrived with something the rest of them lack—memories of home. And a growing suspicion that the “desert ghoul” the villagers fear could be his ticket back to Earth.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Talnut:

  They found Carl looking at some of the bones lying around. He picked up the skull of a raptor, turning it over in his hands.

  “Hey, Carl, look who I found hanging around the beach while the rest of us were working.”

  Carl wiped his hands as he smiled at Rog’s joke. Tanya tried to look exasperated at the slight but was amused. Since leaving Sorbit she had established friendships of sorts with Malcolm, Rog, and Hilliard and an odd relationship with Katrina, who was now trying to be her friend. Then there was Carl—Carl who was tempting her to abandon her commitment to be a Witchdoctor.

  “Tanya, I was wondering if you could use your talents to determine what happened here? Do your Aura thing.”

  “Aura thing? It’s a little more than just that.” She looked around. “Sure, I’ll give it a try.”

  Tanya searched for a quiet spot and found several near the ocean, but didn’t like the feel of the area. She walked along the beach and found a secluded spot on a rise that overlooked the ocean. This was going to be difficult for her. Trying to read the far past was not easy and she had taken one of the bones with her to aid her search. She tried to get as comfortable as possible, taking off her sandals and loosening her skirt and top. Her best contact with the Aura occurred when she exposed herself as much as possible to the outside, and while she didn’t dare undress with the potential of someone seeing her, she tried to give herself the illusion of being naked. She started her chant, quickly finding the rhythm that allowed her mind to reach the trance state where she felt herself disappear from her physical self. The Aura came strong and fast this time, much stronger than it had before and for the barest of moments, she almost withdrew from its space, feeling almost overwhelmed by its strength. She pictured herself falling upward and allowed the Aura to take control.

  It never had close to this power before and it made her a bit nervous. She heard her own voice telling herself to relax though her own lips didn’t move.

  Suddenly, she found herself in the middle of the settlement, the image soft as if she was looking through a fog. She knew instinctively where each person was, and when she watched Carl talk to Malcolm, his voice became clear as if she was next to him. What was interesting she found she had an image of everything around her, as if she had suddenly developed 360-degree peripheral vision. When she used to call on the Aura in the past, the best she could see were smoky, shadow images on a grey slate.
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br />   She tried to contain her excitement at her new powers for fear she would slip out of the trance state. She felt the bone in her hand, concentrating on its shape and then its being. The images of Carl and others began to fade, to be replaced by the ghostly images of events long ago.

  She found it confusing to sort out the various images at first, but then she concentrated on a thread of energy that twisted its way out of the settlement. She felt herself moving in both time and place, to the start of the battle.

  She ran next to a thunderous herd of triceratops, the thousand hoofs churning up small trees, grasses and soil in a cloud of dust. The smell of fear and excitement stimulated her, causing her to cry out. She looked at the long spear she was using to poke at one of the beasts, to keep him charging at full speed regardless of what lay ahead. In her mind she could feel the need for revenge, for the death of their young and strong alike. A raptor ran past her, banishing a spear as well and its scream mixed with the bleating of the triceratops. She knew that over three hundred like her were chasing the creatures towards the settlement. Once again, the stone towers were an effective deterrent to the triceratops. The towers did not offer enough space between to squeeze through and caused them to veer away from the doors. But this time the triceratops were sent towards the thorn trees and a rumbling storm of yellow and brown crashed into the green perimeter. The first few triceratops died, impaled by the pointed branches and then trampled by those behind them. Soon a path was made through the trees to the brick and stonewalls before they collapsed under the weight of the three-horned dinosaurs. They did more damage inside the compound, trampling people and buildings alike as they panicked.

  Tanya’s ghostly raptor leaped among the stalled triceratops, as they were no longer being driven into the thorn trees. She and her comrades poured into the opening screaming the death-kill at the humans, the smell of blood and fear sending the raptors into a near frenzy.

  Tanya saw her raptor plunge a spear into a woman’s back. Around her several raptors fell to arrows, another took a spear in his throat. The raptors, almost two feet shorter than the six-foot humans, continued to flood in.

  A raptor used her spear and then a claw on her foot to maim and then rip open a human. The humans were in disarray from the triceratops trying to escape and the assault from the raptors.

  More raptors died from the cornered humans but they continued to be attacked from the combined clans of the raptors. Some humans died as they tried to open the heavy front doors but they weren’t quick enough to allow escape.

  A few lucky ones managed to escape in a boat, leaving the raptors howling in anger. The raptors could not swim and did not like to venture even into shallow water.

  Suddenly, Tanya saw a face of a human up close. His eyes full of fear and rage and then the image became dull as the raptor that carried her spirit fell to the ground dying. A moment later she found herself back in the middle of the settlement but in her own time. She drew back on herself and emerged from the Aura, trembling, sweating and exhausted.

  Passion and danger on a collision course with the Mayan Underworld…

  Mayan Secrets

  © 2008 Ciar Cullen

  If you found an antique journal with the map to the Mayan Underworld, would you follow it? If you’re Tyre “Indiana” Rasmussen, you would. Tyre’s reputation for unorthodox treasure hunting is matched only by his reputation for breaking hearts.

  The ever-professional Troya Twamley is determined to get her hands on the secret journal of a great explorer, even if that means joining forces with the sexy renegade and his oddball crew.

  Tyre and Troya think they’re about to discover an ancient treasure, but instead find a horror that might end their torrid affair-and their lives.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Mayan Secrets:

  Troya awoke and wished she hadn’t. Her head spun with pain, making her stomach churn. She opened her eyes and saw nothing but a faint light from under a wooden door. She ran her hand along the back of her skull, where a tender goose egg bulged beneath her hair. Where the hell was she? Where were Tyre and SinJin? She tried to prop herself on one arm to slither to the door, but the exertion sent her vision swirling, and she fell back to the ground, helpless and frustrated.

  “Help!” Her raspy call was a mere whisper, and she realized that she was completely parched. How long had she been there? The earth—no, it was stone—was cold beneath her skin, and she ran her hand along the roughly-hewn surface, looking for any clue to her surroundings.

  A scratching noise nearby sent coils of dread spiraling up her limbs. God, was it an animal? A rat, or worse?

  She kept perfectly still, peering into the blackness, wondering what she could do to fight off the creature. Something grasped her ankle, and she screeched in terror.

  “Quiet,” came a man’s harsh reprimand. “You don’t want them to come.”

  Troya realized that a human hand held her ankle, and pulled away in horror, close to vomiting from the fear. Biting back tears, she edged her way closer to the door, away from her companion.

  “Who are you?” What are you? “Where are we?”

  “We’re underground, in a building they call Chicanna.”

  Chicanna. The Serpent House. Surely this was a nightmare, brought on by too much of Catherwood’s journal, too much stress, fear for Jack. She must have fainted and hit her head. Any moment, Tyre would wake her up and hold her.

  “Who are you?” the man demanded. “How did they get you? Are there others?”

  A sudden fear of giving Tyre and SinJin away stopped Troya from speaking. Had they really been captured? Why?

  “Look, we may not have much time. Right now I’m all you have, and that’s not much, trust me. Tell me who you are and how you got here.”

  “You’re American.” A tourist?

  “So are you, Boston from the sound of it.”

  “Where are you from?” Troya was trying to buy time, wondering what was safe to tell the stranger she couldn’t see, the man who could be friend or foe.

  “As much as I’d like to chat over a Corona with you about our backgrounds, it’s more important right now for you to get a grip and tell me who you are. We’re prisoners, and any time now may be sacrificed at the altar of Xibalba. I know that doesn’t mean shit to you, but trust me, it won’t be pretty.”

  “Oh my God. Are you Jack Peders?” A wave of relief was quickly replaced by renewed fear. If it was Jack, he would certainly speak the truth. Were they both about to be murdered?

  With labored breath, obviously in pain, he inched his way along the stone floor, closer to her. She squinted, pain still pounding through her brain from the blow to her head, trying to make out his image in the darkness. All she saw was the outline of a man, propped on his side, with something around his waist.

  “Yes,” he blew out finally. “I’m Jack Peders.”

  “I’m Troya Twamley.”

  “Oh God. Tyre brought you here. For the journal. The fucking journal.”

  “Tell me what’s going on. Surely this Chicanna House isn’t real? Have you been here all this time? What happened to you? We’ve looked everywhere for you. SinJin and…”

  “Quiet. Whisper softly. The longer they think you’re out, the more time we have. Now, tell me, who else were you with?”

  “Tyre and SinJin.”

  Jack groaned. Troya held still, then heard Jack’s low sobbing. “I prayed for them to come. Then I prayed for them to never come. If they get hurt because they came for me… Tam and the baby. Oh God.”

  Troya edged closer to Jack, heart breaking for him. Of course, he’d been trapped, alone for all these days, mind tortured with fear, even possibly literally tortured. She reached out and found his shoulder, edged closer and pulled him into her arms. He wept as she brushed away his tears.

  “I’m sorry. Behavior unbecoming an explorer. Sorry.”

  “My God, don’t apologize. I’m so sorry we couldn’t find you sooner. Who are these people?” />
  “Lunatics. Dangerous lunatics. Black marketers, engaged in every other illegal activity as well, at least as far as I can tell. Sometimes they speak in Mayan, and I get a little lost.”

  “Why would they capture us?”

  “Because we stumbled into the underworld.”

  “Stop with the riddles. You sound like Catherwood.”

  “I should. I’ve encountered everything he did. We’re in an underground sanctuary, dedicated to the Lords of the Underworld, of Xibalba. It’s a rabbit warren of rooms and hallways. From what I can get out of their conversations, these tunnels go out to the Sac Be, the path that connects all Mayan Post-Classic sites. Several of the sites have tunnels that haven’t even been discovered above ground. They’ve worked for years to keep them clear of debris, and keep the antiquities flowing. It’s a fucking gold mine.”

  “They must be ancient tunnels, of course. Perhaps they were secret escape routes built for times of inter-site warfare?”

  “I don’t think it’s the time to launch into a new area of research. You get that you’re in real danger, Professor?”

  “Who are they? Mexicans? Surely someone would have ratted on them?” An underground Mayan street system? Is he hallucinating?

  “Not just Mexicans. There are others.”

  “What are we going to do to get out of here?”

  Jack’s sigh was all the answer she needed. Her heart sunk, and she prayed that Tyre and SinJin had somehow escaped, and were planning a way to free them. In the meantime, she was going to do all she could to help herself and Jack. But how?

  “You look ridiculous.” Tyre realized his voice sounded odd from the blow he’d taken to the jaw. Swollen, but not broken, he thought. He’d been swallowing his own blood for the last hour from the cuts to the inside of his cheek. He’d whispered occasionally to try to wake SinJin, fearful to call too loudly. His friend was only a few yards away, but in and out of consciousness. At times, only the gentle rise and fall of his chest in the dim light had calmed Tyre’s fears that his friend might be dead.