GIDEON

The crook of the unpaved, dirt-tracked road veered off to the west. Potholes half emptied of the crystal clear water littered wayward of the high-rise mansion. Two stories above the decay of ground peaked the shingled roof of the large, open-spaced building. The pale coloration of the lent from the exterior suggestion an age slightly less than two centuries; in accordance of this, the shutters had all but been heavily boarded shut, and the large double swing doors sealed preventing the entering into its interior spaces.
Robert Morris glanced from the wrinkle of folded map, across the open plain of tall grasses, and onto the towering shadow that created the building before him. He’d been sure of his incorrect turn half a mile back, but the address matched that of what the tattered scrap of paper offered from the previous week’s telephone conversation.
Morris, a wealthy businessman of New York State, pressed his fingers through the abundance of graying hair. Clambering from the vehicle, he tugged at the knees the charcoal business suit, taunting the fabric from the day’s drive. His polished, black dress shoes scuffed the dampened gravel driveway.
The large, stained door consisted of the classic use of dense Red Oak from one of the surrounding forests. He lifted the corroded handle of the knocker held tight by the door, before allowing it to contact with the polish of wood. It took several attempts before Morris thought he caught the hint of footfalls approaching. But after numerous moments, the large door remained sealed. It was under usual circumstances that Morris wouldn’t attempt on entering, but this wasn’t what an individual referred to as usual—and all considered, this was his property now.
He slowly grasped the cool metallic gold doorknob, turning it as he did so; allowing the door to swing inward.

“Hello,” Morris paused, “hello? Robert Morris here…anybody here?”

The moan of wind swept into the open area of the long corridor. Glimpsing down, the gold plated switch protruded from the plaster of wall. The utter impossibility of electricity still usable in an abandon building seemed far-fetched, but it was mere instinct that prompted Morris to flip the switch.
Flipping the switch upward, he was given a startle when the lights, did indeed, come on; with flurry of sparks that snowed onto the carpeted floor and an electrical drone that remained ever steady. As his eyes took adjustment to the gloomy arrangement of the furniture, he clearly recognized the drapery of off-white sheets. The warped floor creaked with the annoyance of age.
It was the lamp, located on the far reaches of the corridor that gained his attention; the brilliance of red Safire embedded into its heavily weighted base. He brushed the lampshade of the layer of dust, allowing the dim light it provided to gleam across the small corner space. The creak of polished floor echoed across the recesses of the house, but he ignored it; bending down to examine the authenticity of the stones.
Another creak from the ancient floor—
Morris stood up and as he turn gave a shout of utter surprise. His heart raced inside the chest cavity, and he forced his breathing to slow in fear of a heart attack.

“For God’s sake, man,” he chuckled lightly, “you can’t go around doing that.”

The shorter man offered a broad grin. By his given appearance, Morris took guess as that he was the butler in charge of keeping matters in current order.

“Quite sorry, sir.”

“No need to apologize.”

The shorter man extended his hand wearily and briefly introduced himself.

“Cornelius Flemming, and you?”

“Robert Morris; the place belonged to my great uncle, Gideon Mantell.”

Arthur Flemming, the calm age of six-four with a mess of lightly brown hair, smiled, the wrinkles deepening across the surface of his forehead. His casual blue suit shone brilliantly in the flicker of light as it dimmed.

“Come this way, sir,” Flemming extended an arm, “I’ve set but a small fire in the living area…and dinner will be prepared shortly enough.”

“Thank you kindly,” Morris strolled off a slight ways, “a good meal after a day’s drive sounds more than splendid.”

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The thickening foliage whipped past Morris’s hardened features. His graying hair currently messed in a tangle, his once glorified business suit scraped to nothing more than the basic cloth.
It had been some thirty-six hours since Flemming’s preparation of the dinner. Afterwards, Flemming had taken to reading a Mary Shelley while puffing the tobacco of a pipe. He’d snick in during the night hours, and attempted to take his life—worse yet, that in this unearthly world, filled with the creatures of past horrors, Flemming had continued his pursue through the canopy of vegetation.

“Hello,” Morris rasped, listening, “anybody out there?”

He had anticipated no response, and had failed to receive any. The buzz of insects stormed in the clouds of blackness, feeding upon the occasional decay of animalia.
Dead animals were fine by Morris; it was the living ones that caused the concern to flourish inside him. Breathing monsters—demons—trudging around, living in a world unaltered by the presence of humanity. Not only the behemoth creatures that stalked the land, but also the ground decay teeming with the steady build up of insect life; twice he’d been forced to brush the trail of insects from the fabric of his slacks.

“Hello?”

The echo across the valley would have all but been welcoming under different circumstances, the fall-away of the sloping terrain lent way to the lush valley floor some ninety feet below. The stir of branches from behind signaled a rather large creature.
‘Probably the same brute that’s been tracking me the entire way; very clever…or very stupid, neither of which matter’.
In fact, the creature had remained hot on his trail for the last day or so, which had forced him to keep pace. He had immediately recognized the creature as being a dinosaur, as seen in the London Museum of Sciences. But this dinosaur he had failed to place a name onto.
Half skidding and half trot, Morris painstakingly made way down the rocky slope toward the valley floor. With a final splash of surprisingly warm water of the moss swamp, he relaxed momentarily allowing his eyes to bring in the new surroundings that made up the current environment. The lower layering of the swamp tugged at the hiking boots strapped securely on his feet, threatening to bring him into its murky depths, but he forced them from the muck as he progresses into the thinning conifer scatterings.
By dusk of that evening, the sun had all but matched the deathly coloration of ones blood. Evermore, the rays offered the last remaining glimmer of heat as he built a meager pit fire amongst the clearing thicket. As day slipped into the vast dark vacuum of night, the alteration of the landscape seemed staggering; the shadowed branches of the low-hang conifers seemed to grasp inward toward him. The smolder of fire gave way to the welcomed warmth of glowing coals, and Morris gradually placed more branches atop it to keep the fire at its steady burn.

Morris awoke to a chorus of insects and of the nearby running stream used for his drinking water. A swift motion jabbed at his attention and then the sharp crack of decaying branch alerted him to take action.

“Hello,” he called, “hello, if someone’s out there—”

“Remain quiet and you’ll be fine,” the voice echoed across his features, “we’ll speak in the morning.”

Nothing more came, but Morris held the conclusion that the person, to whom it may have been, was most definitely a female. And she had warned him—but of what. Meaning the he wasn’t along; as meaning to whether some brute of a dinosaur, or that she would keep her watchful eye over him until morning.

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The cool, dampness of the dawn swept the clearing of scrub and decay; pouring lightened rays onto Morris’s relaxed features.
The fire smoldered, pale billows of smoke rising into the calm air of the atmosphere, by the time he awoke. His senses detected the sweet odor of burnt meat—he peered amongst the clearing, he was alone.

“Are you there?”

He waited but the answer he had dearly hoped for never came.
The rush of stream refreshed his clouded mind from the night previous. Its coolness cleansed into his deepened pores as he splashed it in handfuls onto his warm flesh.
Turning, he gave a startle to the figure standing atop the null of the hill, some feet upslope. A female figure, her features grim upon him, as if he were the virus in a virus depleted world. Morris half expected for her to disappear, being a lost memory of his past life—but when that faltered, he forced back that oncoming of tears.

“Well,” Morris Chimed, “the Ol’ brutes ain’t gotten to me yet.”

The female offered a broad grin, lasting but a mere second or two.

“Oh pardon me,” he continued, “Robert Morris and you are?”

He took hold of her hand and gently kissed to, as it was traditional to do so on first occasions.

“Rosa Mantell—what year?”

“Pardon?”

“What year does it be?”

Morris couldn’t help but chuckle at his very blindness, “why I say it is 1903.”
Rosa Mantell, a fair woman with plentiful black hair, wore the lightened coloration of dress, of which appeared an absurdity in this foreign world. But Morris took note of her stature; Mantell was a good head taller than that of what Morris stood.

“Follow me, and then we can discuss issues.”

Morris gathered what little gear he had left, and followed her as they progressed deeper into the vegetation of conifer forest. The vegetation thickened before lending way to the steady stain of moss cover wall; and that lending way to the double story of hand crafted mansion.

“I suppose,” Mantell paused, “that the Butler failed to tell you of the secret.”

“Indeed he did, and—”
“He tried to kill you.”

“How did you know?”

Morris felt that he may have sought an answer to a question that was trudging into someone’s buried past, and he wished not to do so.

“He tried the same unto me, but as you see…he failed.”

The moss wall leveled with the plains grass, ending in a sharp cutoff after sloping gracelessly downward. The far-reaches of the house glimmered in the segregated rays of the midmorning’s sun, as it shone past the plentiful greenery of the conifer that shrouded the house. The forest edge ended in the nimbly curvature of path that led wayward allow the front of the structure; sectioning into an individual path leading to the dense door of oak.

“Nice place.”

It was a remark Morris intended to brighten the attitude of Mantell—somewhat like a fisherman might attempt to lure fish—surprisingly and without the tension that had been present beforehand, she took and bait and laughed.

“Built it myself.”

“Really?”

“Come in,” she paused, “you’ve been out there for some time. A shower and a meal could do you some good.”

“Now that you mention that, I believe that would something more of a need—and I ask of you to get me a fresh step of clothing. That is if you have any that may be suiting…”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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The shower had left a sense of refreshment welling inside Morris as he was greeted by the fresh set of new clothing. The slacks, a light tan hue, and the casual blue shirt allowed him to feel that he has now in capability to impress even the roughest of critics. Emerging into the food preparation area, the faint aroma of steak drifted along the lengthy corridor.
Dinner consisted of a large kidney shaped steak and a side helping home grown potatoes. Despite Morris’s reluctance, he ate the steak—not of common beef—but rather more of one of the Ol’ brutes as it had been put.

“So,” Mantell paused to wisp a lock of hair behind her ear, “the secret.”

“Oh yes, the secret.”

“I suppose you’ll indeed be urging to gain knowledge of that…so lets not delay longer.”

Morris took into account what he had learned previous of his schooling day of the famous Gideon Mantell. Prior of this, he recalled that it was Mantell who’d come upon the dinosaur teeth in England during that mid-1800s. Other than recognizing that Mantell had found something more than another modern species, he’d discovered the first of an amazing species that would soon haunt our very imaginations.

“Are you telling me that your grandfather found something more? Some he didn’t tell us about.”

“Precisely,” she flashed her teeth, “this world…was his secret.”

“How is it that a place such as this remains hidden? It really fails to make sense.”

Mantell paused, obviously thinking on how to put the explanation into understandable words that would obtain a meaning.

“Because we haven’t allowed this world to be uncovered, and that is for the best.”

“And the butler?”

“He is the single nuisance that creates concern where it is no longer wanted. I’ve have grown quite tiresome of these questions you seek answers to. I will retire if you have none further.”

“I have one more—when you refer as ‘we’ you mean…”

Mantell considered the question put forth, amused by the reasoning of this newcomer. She stared toward him, trying to read him, but his face was as stone. Finding his expresses impossible to render to the dim expanse provided by the fire. She signed and decided that he would be trusted with this undisturbed, more haunting secret.
“Why who else suppose but Gideon; you’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning. Now if you’ll excuse me for the time being, I need my sleep; the same goes for you.”

The morning rush of scented tulips excited Morris’s scent glands; his on struck of allergies causing him to sneeze in a short series of convulsions before moving onward, deeper into the garden. The lining of trees, and the neatly attended rows of flowering plants gave him the clouded idea that this was a place well kept. The mid-rise of flowers bloomed of violet, maroon, and of the haunted color of red. The burst of colors, of plants and flowering bodies that he’d never laid eyes on; the dizzying flurry of joy and nausea sent Morris stumbling toward the exit, into open air.

“You mustn’t wander the greenhouse too long, Mr. Morris,” Mantell laughed.

“I found out.”

The cobble stone pathway led down the gradual sloping of the grassy null, to what Rosa had reluctantly referred to as Gideon’s Laboratory. And that Gideon would arrive noontime for tea and a small gathering of the mid-day meal. The movement of scrub and low hang brush gained the attention of Morris; a pale face of hideousness glaring from the camouflage of leafy plants—the paled, fearful face of Cornelius Flemming. His voice a rasp of a whisper, but Morris heard the words clearly, “Be warned—these people are to soon consider your welcome out stayed.”

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Twenty-three hours later, Morris wiped the bead of sweat from his brow. The trek across the rugged landscape had all but left him exhausted; several yards up the trail, Flemming rested amongst the outcroppings of palm ferns

“Cornelius,” he paused, “you should have killed me.”
Flemming glanced up sharply grinning with the remark, “With all do respect sir—I tried.”
Despite the warning previous from Morris’s sighting at the garden’s exit, his welcome had been outstayed shortly after the mid-day luncheon. His talks with Gideon were of the rather most unpleasant experience and a secret long held as impossibility had been stumbled upon. A secret as great as the pyramids themselves, and there was little doubt that the source of madness had to be halted and conclusions meant that it was to be destroyed by all means.

“How much farther, Cornelius?”

The thinning of vegetation signaled the end of the redwood forest and the entrance into the forbidden zone; an area marked by the worn skulls of ancestors from ages past. Not only was it forbidden from the entering of beings, but also the mysteries of the forest and swamp regions occupied the area.

“Mr. Morris,” Flemming slowed his pace, “If you’ll remain close. Our dangers of not surviving have just increased.”

The Butler extended a narrow finger outward, allowing Morris to gaze along into the distance tangle of reemerging foliage. Ahead the rustle of movement gained his attention and glancing lower his glimpsed the youthful face of Rosa; not the same Rosa that he’d been delighted to meet on this entry into the mysterious regions, but of a Rosa far older, distorted into a barely recognizable silhouette. Surprisingly, he felt little symphony for her and began to continue onward.

“Wait.”

The hand of Flemming pressed gradually backward, halting his progress. The crack of branches echoed to the left, followed by the deep rasped breathing of a creature. A large creature by the standards of Morris and he took heed of the warning from Flemming and followed suit in crouching down, camouflaging his body amongst the spoon-shaped leaves and floor of abundant ferns. Numerous yards walking distance, the muscular body of the animal emerged from the mist. Its large, square head swaying gently from side to side, eyeing the terrain surrounding it.
Flemming tugged on the fabric of Morris’s vest sleeve, “You know that beast?”

“Tyrannosaurus rex…same one that I encountered on the way in.”

Flemming paused, “Well, it couldn’t be much—”

“Don’t say it—never say those words because,” Morris lowered his tone, “it always gets worse, no matter what.”

True to his words, a second animal lifted into view from the right. Both shared the similar snouts and statures, with only the difference in size. There thick skin bulged with each movement, and surprisingly for their size; Morris could not help to be astonished by the speed of which they moved. Weaving past the thick rooted trees, the Tyrannosaurs approaching in a circular motion, each animal differing on traveled paths. Their lengthy strides allowed for sort work of the area and they were nearly upon them by the time they froze, listening to the steady drone of insects and the cool night’s breeze.
Morris could not help but distort his face; the stench of decay and putrid flesh nearly causing his reflect action to regurgitate, but it hadn’t allowed for such to occur, in fear of drawing the creatures nearer to their current hidden position. He stared as they animals cocked their bulky heads, searching for prey, their nostrils inhaling the air for scent molecules left from animals long abandoning the area.

“Cornelius…”

“Quiet.”

The faint rustle of ground brush and tree foliage gradually came into earshot. Then seconds later, the faint outline of a human swept between the two Tyrannosaurs and toward them. Passing by the two behemoths, the figure began to scream; an unpleasant drone that remained steady as the unknown being stumbled off into the distance. A single echoing thought clouded heavily into Morris’s brain; a phrase that Rosa, as well as Dr. Mantell had used numerous times: “Cruelty will and always does come in unusual forms.”

And this was in no question that this was indeed an unusual form…running past two monstrous dinosaurs and leading them into their unwanted path.

Morris reentered reality only to find Flemming frantically tugged on his shirtsleeve on the verge of shear panic.

“Run, Damnit, Run!”

Now Morris was on his feet and sprinting toward the over the thick roots that cut off to the west. The darkness provided by the coves that would not only allow for further invisibility from the predators, but would also halt them from making way into the densely down hang of ancient roots. The bellow from the creature’s deep chest cavity sent a warm tingle down his spine and he hadn’t needed to glance back to face death…he could feel the slight tremors provided by the Tyrannosaur as it instinctively pursued its smaller prey. Stride for stride, Flemming was more than able to remain in steady pace with him, even at the present age that made such physically capability seem implausible.

“We can make it.”

But even so, the Tyrannosaurs were already upon them, ready for the final bite that would undoubtedly end with the brutal crushing of their bones and rupture of internal organs. Morris surged with the momentary fear, deciding to break to the left, and away from Flemming. Despite his best wishes, the larger Tyrannosaur picketed along his path, gaining along the game trail that led wayward toward a drop off; the sandstone gradient littered into the reddened soil that served as topsoil.

“Leap of faith…leap of faith.”

Morris paused slightly, reaching the cliff runoff, and peering outward to be greeted by the current of pale blue water. He thrust his body into the open air and from the reaches of his pursuer.

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Flemming mentally kicked himself, glimpsing the figure of Morris as he trailed off toward the sandstone cliff face, some hundred yards down. It was a brilliant idea; it truly was, and it allowed him to dispose of the remaining creature of which it hadn’t been the first time his abilities had been tested to do so. Veering to the right, he pressed his way into the thin layer of roots; realizing that the Tyrannosaur could follow, he forced his way into the deeper tangle of roots that soon prevented the animal from pursuing.
The enrage bellow of the Tyrannosaur filled his ears, as the creature charged the tangle of vines. Using its body as a battering ram, it bellowed yet another time before ramming the vines repeatedly. Glimpsing upward, Flemming witnessed the steady bending of the vines, their long held creak for an ancient past sent a fine mist of sand grain down unto him; powdering his hair into a sandy gray that he hadn’t the time or reasoning to compliment to his looks.

“Give it up, you can’t get me—so give up.”

The Tyrannosaur bellowed, slightly less than moments before turning to stalk away, disappearing into the low mist of the redwood forest. Twenty minutes, Flemming would wait as a precaution of safety. Twenty minutes and then locate his missing counterpart.

Twenty minutes later and the jungle around had grown to its comforting chorus of insects and canopy bird cries; twenty minutes and not a single signal revealing the whereabouts of the Tyrannosaurs. There was little to doubt that they may have waited him out, but then why had the chorus of usual forest music arisen? He stepped from the thick tangle of roots, glancing around. The initial attack came from the side; a brushing of the sharp talon of a swift predator, smaller in size than that of the Tyrannosaurs themselves. This alone caused for great concern. Ahead the animal paused, motionless amongst the decay of forest. Its large, yellow eyes staring forward, across the clearing and onto him. He panicked knowing that he should not do so, but the instinct reflex was to hide—to live. Pressing deeper into the rooted plants, the realization slowly crept into his conscious mind; although the bulk of the larger Tyrannosaurus had been unable to enter his small cavernous space, the raptor before him was more or less his size, and could easily make way into his space. And yet what was there he could? There was no running, the raptor being undoubtedly more agile, and he also lacked the proper place to hide, there would be no escape this time. Instinct overcame will power and self-control and he torn and thin branch from a nearby sage bush; its splintered ends arranging in a prickle of various protrusions. If this was a memorable catch-22, then he hadn’t the slightest intention of leaving this world without a fight, not matter the briefness of the encounter.
The raptor vocalized, a heightened shriek, as it charged forward; the animal’s speed building, spending spirals of dust floating gently into the still air of the clearing. The surprising force shook Flemming, but failed to set his balance off by a reasonable margin. It was then that he realized the raptor had actually used its body and a physical projectile—more of a missile. He stared as the animal disappeared into the thick foliage; it wasn’t until moments later that he heard the growth of chirps and shrieks, realizing that this single animal was a mere scout for the pack.
He turning, sprinting for the sandstone cliff; daring to glance only a second as the animals methodically swept across the clearing and gained ground on him. Forcing his legs to pump harder, his speed increase slightly and he was now able to glimpse the receding edge of the cliff runoff. His breathing came in raged gasps and his sixty-four years of hardship began to take its toll of his physical capabilities. No more than a handful of yards from the edge, he began to slow…

Five yards

Four yards

Three yards

Two yards

He took his chances; the decaying putrid scent of the animals hot on his heels was more than enough. He leapt, but it was all too late. The head raptor thrust itself into the air. Landing hard atop Flemming in mid-air. The creature’s weight bogging both down over the still, vacuum of air and then…the shearing pain as the raptor’s lengthy hind talons dug into his lower leg; attempting to grip its prey and they plunged into the cool waters of the river. The force of the current forced the bulk of the animal from his body, carrying it swiftly downriver, and leaving him to drift steadily down the banks of the river.

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Morris stared from his small, makeshift campfire when the limply clothed body of Flemming floated past. The dinged coloration of blood surrounded him, and he appeared as death. But he saw that it was not so, Flemming’s chest rose in a rhythmic unison with the tide before falling and—
Flemming turned his head and smiled, the tangle of light brown hair seemed duller now as did the once brilliant gleam in his eyes. His waved Morris over and the current steadily carried his body downstream.

“Mr. Morris,” Flemming explained, “you’re a brilliant man, you just hadn’t realized it yet.”

Morris glanced around at the pooling of blood, “You hurt?”

“Raptor ambush, I should have known,” he paused, “but I tied off the bleeding—and worry not, this isn’t all my blood.”

“Then whose? Or what”

Flemming held of the rectangular head of the raptor. Its dull yellow eyes, staring outward into open space; Morris touched it and the head twitched in reflect, causing the wary man to jump backward, giving a hesitant chuckle toward his own stupidity.
“I found him swimming down the river, by the time I passed—he’s the one that done the job, so I felt that I should repay the debt with a little of my gratitude.”

“Tell all about it—if we get out of this hellish place.”

“Well, in that case we’re almost there.”

Further own the current seized and the waters became shallow; the faint dimness of torches from the crude cuts stairs lighting the way back to the reality of modern civilization.

“Ready.”

“For What?”

“This is your mansion after all, is it not. You’re the one who must make the final decision and if you do, we can seal this door…permanently."

The silence came and went in the moment as Morris planned his decision; and Flemming was slow to rush the man in order for the allowance that was needed for the correct response.

“Do we have a choice?”

“Pardon me, sir, but after all you’ve gone through—”

“Of course…it’s a joke, you follow? But anyway seal the door, blow it up if you have to.”

Flemming forced his weight into the door and slowly forced the large stone flush with the wall. The locking mechanism was more than Morris could handle; a complicated twisting and flipping of levers until the door sealed the remaining inches into the crudely fashion doorway. A secret of worlds unknown would be locked inside forever, without escape or the knowing progress of the outside world.

“Mr. Morris, we’d better head on up stairs. It’s best to relax for the time being, and we can finish up whatever ever plans you had in mind.”

“In mind.”

“With all do respect, sir—no one thinks that long to decide whether the door to that place should remain open. You had something else in mind, and I’d be curious to hear what you have in mind.”

“Tomorrow.”

The hand-carved steps twirled relentlessly upward at an angle that seemed nearly impassable by Homo sapien form. The walls upward plastered with the gleaming of torchlight as they ascended into the wine cellar; the heavy dust of ages wintering atop the curved shape of the glass bottles.

“What’d you say,” Morris lifted the dark bottle, wiping the label clear, “Gewürztraminer, from the grand date of 1837.”

“Good Lord, Mr. Morris,” Flemming grabbed the wine from his grasp, “You should know that these wines are a rarity…forget the wine, I’ll set some whisky out—believe me, you’ll need it.”

The upper section of the mansion appeared an abandon ruin, some Indian site from Colorado or Utah. Papers scattered the remnants of the carpeted floor that had been ripped lengthwise of the seams. Fine antiquities and glass furnishings had been hurriedly been strewn from one end on the living area to the other.

“Looks like we had ourselves some visitors.”

“More or less—but the question is where are they now.”

The darkened shadow—an inhuman form—slunk across the wall bookshelf. It’s thin legs reminded Morris of a spider, and the oversize head something out of a horror film; though Morris knew this was not the time to be recalling past childhood obsessions. One shadow followed by two similar, but distinctly different animalia with varied characteristics and size.

“Gideon,” Morris paused, “where are you. What the hell is this?”

A hiss from the far corner of the bookcase sent the under whelming feeling of an about to happen disaster was about to or already taking place.

“Morris,” the creature spoke in slurred tongue, “we welcomed you into a world not of your own, and you refused. We offered our secret. We offered you the solution to eternal life…and still you refused. If you shall not join us, than you will die.”

“Why me? Why not the butler?”

The small creature to the right shifted into a lower stance, offering the broad grin of a jaw filled with the countless razor sharp teeth.

“Robert, you should have accepted our offer. Is it that you not see, your friend is one of us? We are all one in the same.”

Morris spun around, taking in the lightly bathed coloration of the living area, the upturned furniture to the loosely strew assortment of papers that littered onto the floor. Yet, the withered figure of Cornelius Flemming was absent from the scene. It couldn’t be true, never would such a man make a decision to embody himself into such a hideous design of nature. But no matter how much he wanted to believe so, the fact was that Flemming had disappeared in utter silence from the scene.
The searing pain pushed in Morris’s lower ribs, slamming him violently into the corner of the bookcase and out of the dim lighting. Next the unbearable pain of his head twisted—and the delicate bones of his neck began to crack and finally, after all he’d survived, Morris realized that this was the end; this was where and how he’d pass into the next life. He felt the tension as his muscled neck strain to remain intact; and if it did not, then death would be upon him and life would end.

“Hey—”

The three oddly bodied creatures turned in union to face the silhouetted figure of Flemming and he leaned against the lazy-backed chair, grinning with utter astonishment.

“Get you damned claws off him.”

Gideon’s furious form barked an order in a language understood by neither Flemming nor Morris himself, but the tone made it clear. The first shots rang to the left of Morris and his stared after the first creature toppled onto the carpet. The leakage of dimly illumines blood forming a circular puddle around the creature of death. The body shrived into its original form and Morris forced his body to gleam back toward Gideon in his current form. The second shot—the second body followed suit, withering into the dead form of Rosa as she lay in an awkward position.
Morris bunched a taunted fist and swung hard, landing square to the jaw of Gideon; surprisingly the thrust of the blow sent the creature’s bulk swaying unsteadily backward. Morris took no chances and dove across the room, as Flemming fired the last bullet. The final plume of smoke from the guns barrel and the bullet planted deep into Gideon heart, killing the creature that he now appeared instantly.
Morris glanced up and grinned, “Took you long enough.”

“Well, at least I made it here in time to stop human bloodshed. I could have just left you and saved my poor hide.”


Half an hour later the bodies had been disposed of and the living area rearranged to the original concept appearance. All had been restored and nothing looked as if some disaster scenario had played out during the course of the evening. Morris and Flemming tipped their shot glass and gave a long toast to the past hours that had shaped the future of their lives.

“So, Mr. Flemming,” Morris paused, “you need a job.”

“Are you offering?’

“We’ll see. About that stuff about you being on of them; you immortal too?”

“Me?” Flemming laughed, “Not that I have any knowledge of.”

Two additional shot glasses were filled at the long account and laughing of the previous experiences filled the air around them into the late hours of the morning; both finding that luck had nothing to with there survival and that by the book—that under the normal circumstances both should be dead. But one must acknowledge that the experiences were not of their will and doing—both had been thrust into their past situations and spared for a lengthy life by a higher force—a force not found on earth, but more or less, elsewhere.