Radu-Chapter XXXII (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)

Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
PartThree
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Radu-Chapter XXXII (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
19 pages approximate
Radu, of course, was not truly dead, as in fact he had not truly lived in the conventional sense of the word. He was, however, for the time being, indisposed. When Louise made her way to the basement of the funeral home, at this stage more than three quarters of the way to being completely renovated (the only thing now completely lacking being the roof and attic) it was with the intention of warning him that he had damn well better pull himself together. That, indeed, was what he was just in the process of doing.

“If it were not for Cynthia,” he explained, “I would be finished for good.”

As he said this, he picked up his eyeball and, gently and carefully, yet firmly, angled it back inside the socket, which he pinched together in a remarkably difficult effort to fuse the gash.

“It will be a few hours of course before I can see out of this one,” he explained as he then cautiously began stuffing his entrails back inside his abdomen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Louise asked.

“Wish me luck?” he replied.

“I hope to hell you have learned your lesson,” she said. “That creature you restored obviously wasn’t aware of the limits of your recuperative powers. If she had been, you obviously would not have gotten off so easily.”

“At least she drove Marlowe away for good, I hope,” he replied. “That was the whole point. Of course, I will admit it was a bit unnerving sitting here helplessly, just watching as she ripped me apart. Still, I suppose I will get over it.”

“Well, I have something else for you that might just be what you need,” Louise replied. “Oh, I almost forgot-the heroin. Do you still feel a need for it, I mean?”

“I wouldn’t be inclined to turn it down, but no, not to the extent I did,” he replied. “I guess it’s like they say, once you are an addict, its one day at a time. So, anyway, what have you got for me?”

With a smile, Louie reached into her purse and produced what appeared to be a fifth gallon bottle of some form of liquid. Radu, through the damaged eyes of Marlowe Krovell, focused on the proffered gift, as his nostrils automatically sniffed like the feral animal he now was. He had no doubt as to what the bottle contained.

“Blood from a baptized teenage boy, quite vital and chock full of vitamins, minerals, and proteins, and all the other good amino acids a growing boy needs whilst going through puberty-taken from him as he slept of course, to minimize the release of all those negative chemicals that would prove troublesome for you in your condition. As it is, they should hasten your healing process. By this time tomorrow, you should be as good as new.”

“However did you manage this?” Radu asked as he reached for the bottle. Louise’s eyes shone with a gleam of pride.

“I lured him to my hotel room, of course,” she replied. “I was surprised I still have it at my age. I only regret the poor dear had to die a virgin.”

When she said this, he looked at the bottle suspiciously.

“Are you sure”-

“Oh, for God’s sake, we didn’t do anything, so yes it’s all right,” she replied. “It is a natural urge, after all.”

“Yes, but you are aware of the peculiarities of my brother Vlad’s curse on me,” he reminded her.

“Radu, drink the fucking blood!” she demanded.

Cautiously at first, he put the bottle to his lips and sipped slowly. He stopped, considered whether to continue as he breathed a deep and rare breath, and then he put the bottle once more to his lips. He downed more than half the fifth in one gulp at this point, whereupon Louise stopped him.

“Not so quickly,” she advised him. “Wait a few minutes before you drink it all.”

“I feel better already,” he said. “I think I will be well now.”

“Just the same, be wary of that creature. She will doubtless return here at some point, so you must be strong. She has gone o a rampage throughout the city. She has murdered and mutilated seven people already. When I return, I will do all I can to find and destroy her, so”-

“No!” Radu shouted, whereupon now Louise regarded him with suspicion.

“So, I see there is a little bit of my worthless grandson yet within you,” she observed. “A form of that decadent attachment he supposed was love yet anchored somewhere stubbornly refusing to go away. This could be worse than any virus to you.”

“Nonsense, neither love nor physical desire has anything to do with it,” he said defensively. “I intended to use her in a very important and vital way. Once that is accomplished, you can do with her what you will.”

She regarded him with a hint of suspicion. Yet this was a creature more ancient than she, even at her advanced age, could hope to conceive.

“Very well, I’ll take your word,” she replied at length. “All the same, I have taken steps to protect you from her while you recuperate. She should not be able to return here. I must now take my leave. Martin waits for me. After all, it is Christmas you know.”

As she made ready to leave, he finished the bottle of blood, and made ready to return to his crypt, as the light of day now approached. She walked slowly up the steps, in a hurry to leave before the workmen returned. She only hoped that they held to her and Martin’s specific instructions not to be on the property before nine am, and to be completely gone by six pm. She feared the consequences if they saw Marlowe, or what was worse, if he saw them. Now, she had the further concerns about the hideous creature that Radu had so stubbornly insisted on restoring to life, and who now might prove detrimental to their long-term goals.

She walked up the steps, where Mercury Morris waited to take her on the long journey back to New Jersey.

“I do so appreciate you agreeing to drive me,” she told him as she entered the limousine. “It is hard to find someone this time of the year.”

‘No big whip,” he replied. “My old lady is in prison, and so are my folks. Well, my father is. My mom just wants to go back, and she is pretty determined to make it there. Me, I got nothing better to do.”

“So, when is the release date for your friends new video,” she asked. “I am so delighted he elected to follow my advice and do an entire CD of Frank Sinatra songs. What is the name of it again?”

“He calls it ‘Rappin’ With The Chairman’,” Morris answered. “Hey, that was your idea?”

“Mine and my husbands,” she replied.

“Well, it’s da bomb,” he said. “Wait till you hear the first single off the set. ‘That’s Life’ is the name of it.”

“Ah, one of my all-time favorites,” she said. “Though Martin prefers Strangers In The Night, of course-that’s just Martin for you. Sometimes I think he believes that song was written especially for him. Sometimes I think it might have been, to tell you the truth. He met ol’ Blue Eyes right before that song was released.”

Morris smiled. It was not the first time he had met an old rich woman, or man, who bragged about their position in society and their influence with the rich and the famous with whom they hobnobbed, to hear them tell it, on a regular basis. Yet, something about this old woman made her seem more believable than most, even if what she said was obvious bullshit.

For the most part, it was a quiet drive through Pennsylvania, the old woman seeming not to care, or for that matter even to notice, when Mercury drove considerably over the speed limit. Of course, she did make it clear she wanted to arrive at their destination within a set amount of time.

By the time they finally arrived at the Khoska mansion, Louise seemed almost giddy with anticipation.

“You are a very good driver, young man,” she said. “I want you to have this.”

Mercury turned to see what looked to be, of all things, a medicinal dispenser and a syringe. What in the hell kind of Christmas present is this, he wondered, as she explained concisely the proper manner in which to inject the syringe through the top of the bottle and extract what she called “the vaccine.”

“What’s it for?” he asked.

“It will protect you from a variety of illnesses. I would go so far as to say it would protect you from all known diseases, and a few others no one even knows about, as of now. There is enough here for two injections. Take them a week apart, beginning tonight when you arrive home. There are more in this box. Be sure you pass them out to your family and friends, especially that delightful Toby. The world is in need of artistic people. That will soon be truer than ever.”

Mercury thanked for, and then accompanied her to the house, carrying with him a variety of packages. She rang the doorbell, whereupon Martin answered the door.

“My dear sister, you have finally arrived,” he said. “You are an hour earlier than I expected. Do come in.”

Mercury deposited the gifts inside the door to the spacious family room as the ex-wife, sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren of Phillip Khoska gathered around to meet for the first time the woman whom Martin now introduced to them as his beloved older sister Louise.

“Here you go, young man,” Martin said to Mercury as he proffered two one hundred dollar bills. A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mercury said as he then turned to leave. “Nice meeting you, ma’am,” he said to Louise.

Suddenly, the unexpected occurred as one of the grandchildren walked up to where the recent arrivals congregated, with his eyes peeled exclusively on the Seventeenth Pulse member known as Mercury Morris.

“Wow, you got gang tats,” the seven-year-old boy exclaimed, to his father’s obvious dismay.

“Ricky, that will be enough,” he said. “Sorry about that, mister.”

“No problem,” Mercury replied calmly, though obviously taken aback. “These ain’t gang tats. I got these in the Marines, over in Iraq. The seventeen stands for seventeen kills. That’s what the dagger dripping blood means. I got it right before I was discharged, after I got shot up real bad.”

The young boy looked at him wide-eyed, and then smiled broadly.

“Yeaaahhhhh, right!” he said.

Mercury ignored the obviously disbelieving expression on the boy’s part and, saying goodbye, he informed Louise he would return to pick her up at the scheduled time, at which she thanked him and said goodbye.

“It is so nice to meet you-Louise is it?” Louise turned to face the woman who was married to the man who was, unbeknownst to all of them, not her brother, but her husband.

“And it is nice to finally meet you,” she replied. “Donald has told me so much about you.”

“Are all these presents for us?” the boy asked to his parent’s consternation.

“Indeed they are, young man,” she replied. “They are not to be opened however until midnight tonight, especially this large one. That one is something I have brought as a gift for the entire family.”

She indicated the large box that was almost the height of the boy, who was engrossed in the process of finding his own gift. Louise smiled widely as he looked in greedy expectation, though no one but Martin could read the unadulterated disdain and disgust she had become so expert at concealing over fifty years of marriage. She was more than adept at concealing her true feelings. She had become an expert at hiding her true accent and the Romany heritage from which it sprung. It was something she insisted on even during those long periods when she and Martin were alone.

After the introductions were complete, Martin-known by the family as Donald Krump-joined the brothers in the basement den, as Louise joined Elaine and the two daughters-in-law in the kitchen, where the final preparations of the dinner were in place.

“You say Donald prepared some of the food?” Louise asked.

“Just the turkey and the dressing, and of course, the eggnog,” Elaine replied. “He claims that is an old family recipe. Is that true? Oh yes, and he also prepared the cranberry salad.”

Louise looked warily toward the giant bowl filled with the frothy mix of eggnog.

“Yes, and unfortunately, my constitution is such these days I can’t drink so much as a sip of it without breaking out in hives,” Louise replied. “I’m sure you will enjoy it however. I do hope he thought to prepare a non-alcoholic portion for the young ones.”

“Not only that, but he prepared a special formula for little Jack here,” one of the wives said as she indicated the now sleeping infant she cradled in her arms. “I think I’d better put him down while I’m ahead.”

“Donald is such a stickler for tradition,” Elaine stated. “He insists no one should touch a drop until midnight, and that the children should remain up to join us as well. Just between you and I, though, I think I’m going to sneak a little sip.”

“NO-DON’T!” Louise shouted, and then quickly recovered her composure, as the other three women looked at her in bemused shock.

“What I mean is, Donald is such a stickler for tradition,” she said. “If he found out, he would lecture us all for an hour. Believe me, you do not want to go through that any more than I do.”

Elaine relented, saying it would likely spoil her dinner, all to the relief of Louise, who joined in the female chitchat. She listened with politely disguised disdain as the older of the two daughters-in-law went into a monologue about how few people understood the true meaning of Christmas these days, and how the politically correct elements of society encouraged this to as great an extent as possible.

“They want us to spend money,” she complained, “but it just isn’t polite to mention Christ. You can buy a ‘holiday tree’ but not a Christmas tree. If you go to a mall, you will hear and see ‘Happy Holidays’ but not ‘Merry Christmas’. They know they are asking for a lawsuit if they do that. Well, I say people should take their shopping elsewhere.

“My kid’s school won’t even allow Christmas pageants, or Christmas displays, or even Christmas carols, because they’re afraid they’ll offend a few Jews or Muslims, or the handful of atheist’s kids. It’s just gotten ridiculous. The school calendar doesn’t list Christmas-it’s listed as ‘Winter Holiday’ or some such crap as that.”

Louise felt as though she were dying, and made up her mind Martin was definitely going to hear about this after she returned this bitch’s favor. It was actually unnecessary for her to be here at any rate, but Martin was, as always, nothing if not sentimental. He insisted she be here.

Luckily, Elaine and the other daughter-in-law soon changed the subject to a discussion about sales, and then diets, evidently becoming as quickly bored as she had been. Well, we all have our good sides, after all, she considered. The subject soon turned to a discussion of the husbands. The younger girl had a bit of a sense of humor, actually, especially when it came to her husband Willie’s manhood.

“He gets upset when I call him ‘Wee Willie Winkie’” she explained to Elaine’s obvious displeasure. The damn girl must be drunk, Louise said. The Christian fanatic got somewhat red in the face, but then quickly recovered, and shared her belief in God, yet again.

“The good Lord blessed me with everything that I could possibly want,” she said with a smile and a wink.

“Maybe I should try praying before instead of during sex,” the younger girl said.

Yes, she is definitely drunk, Louise thought, as Elaine now, to her amusement, began talking about her own marital bliss, and of how happy ‘Donald’ had made her over the past few months of their marriage.

“Of course, he is much older than I am,” she said, and Louise thought to herself, honey, if you only knew.

“I assure you, though,” she continued, “he is every bit the match for Philip, and then some, when it comes to the lovemaking department. I really should not be talking like this in front of Louise, though. I’m sure she has no desire to hear about her brother’s bedroom exploits.”

“Actually, Donald and I keep few secrets from each other,” Louise replied.

“Have you ever been married, Miss Krovelescu?” the older daughter-in-law asked.

“Yes, to a man named Martin,” she answered with a demure smile. “We are actually still married, though separated now for about eight months. We stay in touch however. I am pretty sure we will be getting back together again, very soon now.”

They put the finishing touches on the meal, and then called the men and children upstairs to dinner. As they filed into the dining room, the oldest son remarked he had not been aware Donald was such an avowed football fan, particularly of the old Baltimore Colts, many years since moved to Indianapolis.

“Oh, I actually met Johnny Unitas during his rookie year,” ‘Donald’ now bragged. “I knew the minute I met him he was going to be one of the all-time greats.”

It was momentarily difficult for Louise to conceal her concern at this revelation. Martin could never resist engaging in this type of self-revelatory monologue, which he explained as a method for releasing internal pressure during the build-up to the final moments of an important project.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t as great as old ‘Broadway Joe’”, opined the young grandson, showing off his knowledge of pigskin statistics.

“Well, you have to realize, Unitas was very ill during that season,” the old man explained. “That is actually the reason Namath was so extraordinarily confidant as to make his boastful guarantee. Had Johnny not been so indisposed, I promise you that Namath would never have felt so inclined to make what would have been a very foolhardy prediction.”

“Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses,” the upstart little bastard replied as he looked now toward Louise, who regarded the spoiled young brat with barely disguised loathing.

“You must really rate to have the Seventeenth Pulse driving you around,” he said with precocious admiration, as the boy’s mother, the Christian whiner, looked at her suspiciously.

“Young man, I really have no idea what you are referring to,” Louise replied, finding the effort at joviality becoming increasingly tiresome, as Martin some days before warned her it would.

“You can’t begin to know what I have to put up with,” he had told her. Now, he made his way over toward his “sister”.

“See what I mean?” he said.

They soon sat to eat, whereupon Louise found herself soon even further outraged by Martin’s request that she “lead us in a bit of a prayer, if you please, dear sister.”

“You are joking, are you not?” she asked as she noted the malicious twinkle in his eye.

“But of course not,” he responded. The bastard will pay for this, she decided. Nevertheless, she obliged his request.

“Dear Lord God, we thank thee for the blessings you have bestowed on us this evening, in the company of family and new and good friends, to partake of the abundance of thy generous bounty. We pray that you grant us wisdom and good health, and that you watch over us each day and night, as we acknowledge this holy day of thy sons blessed birth among men. In the name of Jesus our Lord we pray, Amen.”

“Amen,” they all repeated, as Martin looked toward Louise, obviously impressed at her degree of preparedness.

As they ate, they engaged in small talk, and Louise decided this would be the perfect time to give Martin the latest news.

“You should be aware that our good friend Radu was in a bit of a fix,” she said. “He is very good now, but that creature he insisted on making amends with almost did him in.”

“I suppose it would not be an exaggeration to suppose she ‘tore him a new asshole’, as they say,” Martin observed as he sipped his iced tea.

“She actually tore him more like seven,” she replied, to which he grimaced. “As I said, though, he is thankfully on the road to a speedy recovery.”

As she said this, she reached over toward the cranberry salad, which Elaine just sat near her, whereupon Martin cleared his throat.

“Really, Louise, I should not have to remind you how cranberries tend to make you break out,” he said.

“Of course, you are right,” she replied, making no effort to hide her displeasure. “Thank you for reminding me, Donald. Of course, you know I will be unable as well to imbibe your world-class eggnog.”

“He made some that is non-alcoholic,” the Christian reminded her.

“Oh, but of course he would do that,” Louise said, growing increasingly annoyed. “Donald is thoughtful in that way. Unfortunately, it is not just the alcohol to which my system would rebel, I am also lactose intolerant. If that were not enough, I am allergic to nutmeg.”

Suddenly, the little brat shot up in his chair.

“I just remembered where I heard that name,” he said. “Radu is supposed to be some sort of monster. Mom it’s in your paper you got yesterday.”

Before anybody could react, the little fuckhead went bounding down the steps to the basement.

“Well, this is certainly an unexpected development,” Martin said with what he hoped was a convincing chuckle. “I think perhaps I had best go and explain to the youngster that the Radu in question is an old friend from Romania, and hardly a ‘monster’. I certainly would not want the lad to get the wrong idea. Besides, I am most curious as to just what little Ricky is referring to.”

“Oh, there’s some crazy story about some deformed looking guy that’s been going around Baltimore, killing people and supposedly drinking every drop of their blood,” the boy’s mother explained. “I never really read the story, but he was quite engrossed by it. You know how kids are.”

“Well, it’s a lot of crap,” her husband replied. “Baltimore has always been a high crime area. These papers would do anything to ratchet up crime statistics to sell copies. It’s probably just some junkie. There has been another series of murders, evidently by a different perpetrator, who mutilates the victims. You would have to be an idiot to live in that city, as Lynette found out the hard way. I ain’t buying anything about a monster, though. Just some sick psychopath. They’ll catch him eventually, then something else will happen. That place will never change.”

The mention of Lynette did not set well with the late girl’s mother, who now became despondent. It was an unwritten rule in the household that the topic of Lynette’s murder was off-limits during family gatherings especially at which the children were present, and even this older brother of Lynette should have known better than to even remotely bend that unwritten rule. The two children who remained upstairs looked uncomfortable, as did everyone else. Louise was not sure how to react. Such a statement would generally require a follow-up question, followed by a statement of sympathy. She was more inclined to change the subject, but was not quite sure how.

Martin excused himself, on the pretext that the young man was probably yet distraught over the unseemly demise of his aunt Lynette, and he feared it would not be wise for him to dwell on such things, especially if he had any ideas as to the involvement of his and Louise’s long time family friend.

“I think it is incumbent on me that I reassure the lad,” he said, seeming to Louise to be remarkably at ease.

Martin, however, was anything but at ease, as he strolled down the steps, hastening his pace as he got out of sight of the assembled family members. He was an old hand at dealing with unexpected contingencies, but this one was quite extraordinary. As he entered the basement den, there was yet another unexpected worry. The young lad sat there on the sofa, just staring out into space. The paper set by his side.

“Ricky is everything all right?” he asked. “You seem troubled over something. Surely you do not suppose that I am a friend of so-called ‘monsters’, do you?”

“No,” the young boy replied, but looked down at the ground, not meeting his expression.

Martin now gazed over toward the paper, and saw the artist’s rendition of the bizarrely deformed man seen by four different eyewitnesses during the night and time of the murder of April Sandusky, having been spotted hurriedly leaving the vicinity of the crime. There was one single headline above the photo of the police artist’s sketch.
The Killer Has A Name
RADU

Now how in the hell did they find that out, he wondered, as he noted the by-line of the story-

“Well, I certainly hope you would not think such a thing,” he continued. “Really, I think your grandmother is quite upset.”

The young boy looked up with a frantic look of concern on his face, whereupon Martin hurriedly hastened to reassure him.

“No, I don’t mean to imply that she is upset with you,” he said. “She is merely concerned as to your state of mind. You know how grandmothers are. They tend to take everything so much to heart. They worry far more than is wise. All this talk about monsters, I am afraid, has her quite distraught. Your father is even now reassuring her that you meant no harm, or disrespect, and I shall certainly do likewise.”

Something was wrong, he realized. The boy now looked at him curiously, intensely, as he spoke. He finally merely muttered “okay”, but Martin knew something was drastically wrong. As he said this, he inadvertently glanced once more toward the paper, and then quickly turned away.

“I think I’m going to lie down for a while,” the boy finally said. “I really don’t feel too good. Would you please tell Miss Krovelescu that I am sorry for what I said about that driver? I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Oh, of course,” he said, wondering hopefully whether he might soon be incapable of saying much, if anything, about whatever his current concerns may be. “By the way, do you mind if I take this upstairs and show the others. This is quite an interesting story.”

The boy looked stunned, and unsure of how to answer.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “Tell mom I said she ought to read the whole paper. It’s really a good one.”

“I will certainly do that,” Martin said. “Why don’t you go lie down for a while? I’ll come get you when it’s time to open the presents.”

“Sure,” the boy said, and disappeared into an adjoining basement guest bedroom.

That does it, Martin said to himself. Something in the paper had him disturbed for reasons other than what he was saying. He quickly thumbed through a few pages, working his way back from the so-called ‘monster’ story, until he saw something that almost made his heart stop. It was a picture of him and Louise, with their true names listed under their respective photos. That was just the beginning. The title of the story was “Baltimore Sun Assistant Editor Murdered”.

How could such a thing happen? The police should not have released the photographs this quickly in their investigation. Yet, there they were, along with Grace, thankfully in disguise and so as yet unidentified, along with the other individuals surreptitiously brought in to camouflage the time and manner of death. Yet, how had the identities of he and Louise been so quickly determined? No one in Baltimore knew them well. Even during the brief period more than thirty years before when Martin ran the Krovell Funeral Home, before Richard became old enough to run it, he and Louise associated with few people in the area. Someone who knew them well was responsible for this. That meant, obviously, that someone in the club had betrayed them. He hurriedly scanned the article to try to glean some sense out of it, but closed it quickly when he heard footsteps approach from behind him.

He turned quickly to see Lisa, the younger of the two daughters-in-law. She was obviously drunk to the gills.

“I was hoping you were down here,” she said. “I get so bored at these family things. Where’s Ricky?”

“He was not feeling well so he went to lie down in the guest room,” Martin replied.

“Good. Will you fuck me?”

“Well now, that is certainly an odd request,” Martin replied uncomfortably. “You haven’t been nipping a bit at the old eggnog have you?”

She smiled and replied no, then produced from her purse a half pint of vodka.

“I was afraid I’d get caught if I tried to mix it, so I just had an Altoids cocktail,” she explained and then breathed her sharp mint breath in Martin’s face.

“Oh well, I see you have come more than prepared,” he replied. “Well, I think it would be best if we returned upstairs, before the others come looking-like your husband, for example.”

“You’re a fag, ain’t you?” she asked. “You have to be to turn me down. I can get any real man I want. I married down-way down. Oh, the money part of it is good, but I never realized how much I would miss-certain things.”

As she said this she put her hand firmly on Martin’s crotch, his cock responding immediately by hardening considerably.

“We should really wait until we can make it worth our time,” he told her. “After all, we have no time for more than a ‘quickie’, as I believe it is called. From what I understand, you have had more than your share of them.”

She looked at him with impatient skepticism, and wagged her finger as she smiled tauntingly.

“Little Ricky showed me that picture earlier,” she said. “If you don’t fuck me I’m going to show everybody. I already told him not to say anything, that you probably had nothing to do with it, and it was just somebody that looked a little like you. You know, the more I think about it though, the more I think-wait a minute, that woman up there, Louise.”

“All right, all right,” he said. “I admit that man in the picture is me. You can’t say anything though, because what we are doing involves potentially tens of billions of dollars.”

“So Louise is really your wife?”

“She is my ex-wife, yes,” he replied. “Mr. Desmond, the deceased newspaper editor, was in the process of tracking down some offshore accounts through use of his Cayman Island contacts. My ex-wife stands to inherit billions, and she promised me a cut if I would assist her. I went through Mr. Desmond.”

The woman’s eyes glazed over listening to this bullshit, which Martin was spitting out at dizzying speed from the top of his head to the point he was by now nauseous.

“So did he do it, or when he was killed did that end it?”

“No,” Martin assured her. “He succeeded, and soon Louise’s rightful money will be safely tucked away in her own accounts. It’s all a matter of legal maneuvering, and will take a few weeks yet. It is all for reasons of taxes. Otherwise, there is no problem, aside from this wait. Mr. Desmond’s murder was an incidental matter that had nothing to do with us, I assure you.”

“Fine,” she said. “Now, fuck me.”

She bent down and hiked up her skirt. What else could he do? He dropped his pants and, gripping the woman around the waist from behind, he quickly and violently pounded it to her. To his dismay, she screamed loudly, and he realized this could go on for some time. She got louder, it seemed, with each passing thrust, and he began to fear this little whore was going to ruin all his plans. He was not even sure she had sense enough to close the basement door when she came down the steps or even for that matter whether she even wanted to do so.

Fearing the worse, he suddenly grabbed her around the throat and, as he continued fucking her from behind, he began choking her, his grip growing tighter and stronger with each passing second. By the time that she realized what was happening, she was already too weak to fight him off from behind her. By the time he ejaculated up inside her, she was unconscious. She slumped to the ground. He lowered her gently to where she lay flat out on the ground, at which point he resumed strangling her until she was dead.

Quickly, he checked the bedroom, only to see young Ricky lying also dead, his eyes staring out into space.

“Two down-eight to go,” he said. He then pulled the woman into the bedroom and dragged her into the closet, into which he then placed Billy, right on top of her.

“Naughty-naughty,” he said, then shut the closet door. He then retrieved the paper, and quickly scanned it. Within less than two minutes, he realized who the culprit was.

“Morrison-that son-of-a-bitch!” he said.

He looked up at the clock and, seeing now the time, realized he would have to move the timetable up by more than three hours. There was no other way.

Regrettably, he made his way up the stairs to the upstairs family room.

“I’ve made a decision,” he announced. “It has generally been an old tradition to wait until the midnight hour to drink the eggnog. Well, the hell with tradition-I need a drink.”

“You are quite late, Martin,” Louise told him, as he just now noticed the cups in the hands of the assembled family members, while the infant brother of Ricky hungrily gobbled up his own special formula.

“Well, I see that I am,” he said.

“I’m sorry, old man,” the oldest stepson said. “I just figured it couldn’t hurt. We can still have the traditional midnight toast.”

“I see,” Martin replied. “So, it is just as well you seem to have read my mind. But, where is Elaine?”

When the others told him she was in the bedroom, he warily made his way down the hallway to the staircase. Everything was going to hell, he realized. The whole purpose of waiting until midnight was to insure that all partook of the special concoction. The fact that Elaine had refused to engage in this break with tradition did not bode well. He had to think of something, and fast. He entered the room to see his wife sitting upright on the edge of the bed, gazing morosely at a picture of her late daughter, Lynette.

“Is all well, darling?” he asked.

“I miss her so much, Donald,” she replied. “I feel like I failed when it counted most. I just could not bring myself to try to control her life, and now it’s too late. Now, here it is, the first Christmas since she’s gone, and I’m starting to realize how little it means. I don’t know if I can go through with any more tonight.”

Oh, don’t worry, you foolish, self-absorbed cunt, he thought. This will be the last Christmas you will have to concern yourself with your worthless, spoiled, and unappreciative daughter’s absence.

“I certainly understand how you feel, my dear,” he told her. “Would you like me to stay here with you, or would you prefer to be alone?”

“Just give me a few minutes,” she replied. “I’ll be down before long.”

“You know, I have a very good idea,” he said. “Come down as quickly as you can, and have a drink with us, for the sake of the others. Then, if you feel like coming back up here, I will accompany you on some pretext, at which point I will return downstairs and make some excuse on your behalf. The reason I suggest this is for no other reason, mind you, that you share this special occasion with those of your loved ones that are yet here with you.”

If only for a very few minutes, you stupid slut, he thought to himself, as she pondered his suggestion.

“Give me just a moment,” she replied, “and I’ll be down, I promise.”

He considered the possibility of killing her on the spot but decided he had pressed his luck enough as it is. The rushed murder of the unfaithful stepdaughter might be explainable. Yet another suspicious demise might well raise more suspicions. He decided to accede to his second wife’s request, and made his way back downstairs, wondering what ever could happen next, as Louise made her way to him frantically.

“You have to do something with those brats,” she complained.

He hurried down to where the boy and girl, who were cousins, seemed intent on opening the larger box.

“And what do you two think you are doing?” he asked.

To his dismay, they looked at him with suspicion. The girl looked to be in a near state of shock.

“What in the hell is that thing?” the boy asked. “Is that thing for real?”

“Oh, of course not,” he replied. “It’s a joke. Not one word out of you now, it must be our secret joke.”

“Cool,” the boy replied.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” the girl replied, whereupon Martin realized he might well end up having to murder the entire family one at a time.

“Trust me,” Martin told her. “Once you see what it’s about, you’ll see it’s a good thing. It will bring us all good luck.”

“That thing-will bring good luck?” she asked in disbelief.

“Just go along with it, Mary, why spoil the fun?”

“Oh, because it’s gross, maybe?” she said.

Suddenly, Louise reappeared.

“Donald, are you sure you used the right amount of ingredients in your eggnog? Please tell me you didn’t skimp, as you are habitually wont to do.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Louise,” he replied, genuinely hurt at the accusation. “Not today, of all days. Louise-it’s Christmas.”

Lisa’s husband then entered and addressed the two kids, his daughter and nephew, telling them the family was getting ready to sing Christmas carols.

“Then we’re going to take some pictures, and then-time to open the presents.”

“Let’s open the presents first,” the boy suggested, eager to dig open the giant box. The girl Mary however was suddenly in no hurry to open gifts. She was obviously upset over what she saw, and Martin was growing more anxious by the minute. Louise was by now determined that if they made it out of this house intact, her husband of now fifty years would hear a lecture he would not soon forget. Now, as the two children filed into the family room, where the oldest stepson sat at the piano playing, of all things, “Silent Night”, the second oldest of the family brothers approached Martin.

“Have you seen any sign of Lisa?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I have been meaning to speak to you about that very subject,” he answered. “I think her and little Ricky went for a walk out in the garden. As it happens, I do hate to say this, but your wife seemed quite drunk. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, you understand.”

“Why would she go off with little Ricky?” the distraught and frequently cuckolded husband asked with growing dread evident in his tone of voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Martin asked. “They seem quite fond of each other, and I suppose your wife, being somewhat hot and nauseous from drink, wanted company as she walked outside to refresh herself in the cool night air. They were laughing and joking the whole time I was there. In fact, little Ricky unfortunately seemed to have spilled his soft drink on his lap while I was in the bathroom. When I left there, she was bending down, apparently drying him off. They seemed to think it was quite funny. At some point, Lisa suggested they go outside for a walk, a prospect that little Ricky seemed more than eager to oblige. That has all been just a few minutes ago. I would imagine if you were to go down there, the chances are good they would have returned by now, or will shortly.”

“Yeah, I think maybe I’d better do that,” he replied, then wasted no time heading towards the stairs to the basement den.

“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Louise asked him.

“I just hope he doesn’t think to look in the closet of the guest bedroom,” Martin replied. “With my luck, I have almost no doubt that he will.”

The family was now singing in unison, joining in “Deck The Halls”.

“Something is wrong, Martin,” Louise told him.

“Oh, you are a worry wart,” he replied. “Everything will work out for the best not in spite of these unexpected developments so much actually as because of them. We shall accomplish our task with almost three hours to spare, in fact. Really, Louise, you must stop being so negative. The situation is well under control. Come now and let us join them. Perhaps we can impress upon them to join us in a rousing chorus of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

As they entered the family den, Martin noticed the youngest of his stepsons was now on the phone, doubtless engaged in yet another long-winded conversation with his girlfriend, who unfortunately could not be present this night, to Martin’s consternation. He could not help but feel some sympathy for the young man, and wished he could offer him consolation. What must it be like for a young man to be apart from his sweetheart on what would undoubtedly be the most important night of his life-on Christmas, no less?

He tarried close to the phone until the young man noticed him, whereupon Martin whispered that when he got finished he would like to speak to him. As he hoped, David obliged by saying goodnight, though this seemed to take him forever to do as well.

“I was wondering if you would be so kind as to take your mother up some eggnog. She is feeling quite depressed, and I think it would make her feel much better. Have you had some, by the way?”

“Are you kidding?” the stepson replied. “I’ve had four cups of it. That stuff is fantastic. It sure made me feel great. Yeah, I’ll take her up some. I guess she’s upset over Lynette, huh?”

“Yes, which of course is understandable,” Martin replied. “It was really unfortunate that your brother mentioned that unpleasantness, but on the other hand, Elaine must come to terms with it at one point or another. Perhaps if you remained up there with her for a few minutes, let her get it out of her system. Perhaps it would do you well, for that matter. I know you and your sister were very close.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” David replied. “Damn, you know Donald, I didn’t think mom was thinking straight when she married you, the two of you being so many years apart. Man, was I ever wrong. You are the coolest stepfather a guy could ask for.”

David gave his stepfather a hug, and then made his way to the kitchen. As Martin joined the rest of the family in the singing of Joy To The World, he watched as David made his way up the steps carrying two cups of the eggnog. He only hoped the little glutton saved his mother at least one of them.

Ten minutes went by, and every time Martin looked over toward Louise, she would cast a sharp glance toward the clock. It was nine-thirty when she did this the last time, not quite five minutes before Missy, the Christian bitch, doubled over in agony. Her husband Richey jumped from the piano stool in horror.

“Missy, what the hell’s wrong?” he asked, whereupon their daughter Mary told him she did not feel so good either.

By the time that the other kid echoed these sentiments, Richey himself doubled over and began vomiting.

“Well, you see Louise, what happens when you are overly aggressive with your ingredients? Of course, a good lot of that might well be detrimental to the overall effect. It should stay in their systems as long as possible, you understand. What you call stinginess one might better describe as prudence. Sometimes, my dear, I really wonder who is the full blooded gypsy of the two of us, you or me.”

“Well, then, Mr. Know-It-All, I have a question. Just what happens when your wife sees how sick her son becomes in her presence, and comes running down here and sees the entire family now in the process of dying, while she herself will be feeling no effects for at least another hour-assuming she even drinks any of the stuff at all?”

“Contingencies, my dear, contingencies,” he answered. “Louise-it is Christmas, and look what it is you are standing under.”

She looked up to see the mistletoe, whereupon Martin grabbed her up in his arms and started kissing her lasciviously in front of the family, still conscious, though severely ill and only now starting to comprehend that things were not all peace and good cheer. Then, Elaine came almost stumbling down the stairs, holding to the banister as she cried out for ‘Donald’.

“David is sick, and now I’m getting sick,” she said. Martin looked over to Louise and winked.

“She just loves cranberries,” he said, as Elaine just now caught site of her older son and his wife, and two of the grandchildren, all of them on the floor on their hands and knees, groaning in agony, her son now throwing up what appeared to be bloody mucus.

“You’re just in time, Elaine, to hear the Christmas story,” Martin informed her. “Should you tell her, Louise, or should I?”

“You tell it, Martin,” Louise replied. “You tell it with such dramatic flair. I am hardly in your league when it comes to dramatics. Perhaps this is due to overcompensation on the part of your merely partial gypsy genetic heritage.”

“Why is she calling you Martin?” Louise asked, now confused and growing noticeably terrified at the sight of her family, deathly ill, while her husband stood calmly by, smiling and embracing his purported sister as though they were far more intimate than mere siblings ordinarily were.

“Oh, really, Elaine,” Martin replied. “Did you not think it a little suspicious when I told you my name was Donald Krump? Did that not seem odd? It did not strike you that I might have been engaged in a bit of a humorous parody of sorts? Suppose I told you my name were John F. Zennedy, or George W. Push? Would you still not have gotten the joke? Of course, I realized I was taking somewhat of a chance. I suppose that is just the gambler in me. Nevertheless, I was happy to discern from my little prank that you, fortunately, have no imagination whatsoever.”

Elaine now collapsed to her knees as the room spun around in a dizzying fashion, as Martin now stood over her.

“Oh my God,” she cried. “Why are you doing this? I loved you, and trusted you. I took you into my home, I married you.”

“Oh now really Elaine, before you go on any further, have I really been that bad a husband to you? Would you not say that, up until this point, I have treated you with more kindness and consideration than Phillip ever did, in all the time you were married to him? Be honest now, my dear.”

“Oh for God’s sake Martin, there you go again,” Louise said. “Pay him no mind, my dear Elaine. Martin has always had this maddening urge to seek the appreciation and approval of others, even at the most inappropriate times.”

“Mom?” came the sudden pained cry of David as he came slowly down the stairs, not quite making it down all the way before he too crumpled over in pain, as almost simultaneously the cuckold son Willie pulled himself up from the basement steps in obvious agony.

“Oh, good, now they are all here, just in time to hear the Christmas story,” Louise said with glee.

Willie, however, now looked with utter hatred toward Martin.

“You son-of-a-bitch, what have you done?” he demanded.

“Oh, dear, I guess you found Lisa and Ricky, did you not?” Martin inquired. “I really did want to spare you that-well, for the time being, any way.”

“Oh, never mind all that unpleasantness,” Louise said in a scolding tone. “You all really must hear Martin tell The Christmas Story. Nothing could possibly impart more meaning to the holiday.”

As the two sons collapsed on the floor, David groaning as Willie begun vomiting, Elaine herself sunk to the floor on her knees in despair, and began sobbing hysterically, while the Christian woman, Missy, gathered her children in her arms, praying loudly, yet somewhat incoherently. Her husband just sat and stared outward, his eyes glazed over in shock, as Louise made her way toward the infant, whom she noticed gasping for breath.

“Here, Martin, I’ll hold the child,” she said. “He could never understand the words of course, but perhaps as I hold him my feelings will be transferred to him, and in that way he as well will come to understand what few others are blessed to know-the true, real meaning of Christmas.”

“Before I begin, I think perhaps it is time to open the presents,” Martin replied. “Well, not all of them, of course, but certainly the one of greater value. What do you think, Louise? Would you not say that it would set the stage quite well? In fact, allow me to hold that precious infant whilst you undo the package. This stiffness in my joints is acting up again.”

“Oh, very well,” she replied. “But you must assist me in removing what I suppose I should just refer to for now as the item.”

Louise handed the child to Martin, who rocked it tenderly, noting how quiet and peaceful he seemed, as Louise began to open the huge package.

“As you all I sure am aware,” Martin began, “when out blessed Lord was born, his mother and step-father, Joseph and Mary, were obliged to flee the place of his birth in order to prevent his murder by Herod. Prior to this, however, the Wise Men, who in fact unfortunately announced the birth of the Holy Child to the despotic king, sought him out in order to give him all due honors. Imagine if you will, for just the moment, that you are a Jewish peasant of the town of Bethlehem, and suddenly you hear a loud voice announce”-

“LO, I BRING YOU GREAT TIDINGS OF JOY, FOR UNTO YOU THIS DAY IN THE CITY OF DAVID, A CHILD IS BORN, WHO IS CHRIST THE LORD!”

He waited some seconds, as the assembled family members, although groaning in pain and overwhelming illness, lurched in reaction to the booming voice of the man they now knew had lived among them as a fraud. He then continued.

“Imagine now if you will the shepherds watching their flock, staring at wonder at this messenger angel, this herald, if you will, then hastening to that most beloved scene so immortalized through the ages. A child, wrapped in swaddling clothes-in grave clothes, in other words-his mother and Joseph reduced to seeking out a barn for shelter, over which the most glorious star shone down from on high.

“Before long, those illustrious mages of whom I earlier spoke arrived, all bearing gifts. There was gold, symbolizing of course that this was a child of royal lineage to whom great treasure was due. Frankincense, also a royal gift, symbolized his remarkable spiritual heritage. Finally, there was myrrh, which symbolized the suffering that this child was due to undergo, and yet in the end, would overcome.

“What better time then to present you with perhaps the most important of all the gifts which I now bestow this night?”

Saying this, Martin joined Louise beside the large box, actually a wooden crate, from which the two of them removed what looked to be a mummy, which they cautiously, almost tenderly, lay beside Elaine on the floor. Elaine looked in horror upon the cadaver.

“I know you must be thinking, ‘now what sort of present is this?’” he continued. “As such, allow me to introduce my brother Raymond, dead now some fifty odd years or so. See, my dear, when the authorities investigate, they shall discover this body, whom they will likely assume to be myself. Being as he is my full brother, even a DNA analysis, under the circumstances, is unlikely to reveal any dissimilarity to speak of. Nor are they likely to perform any sort of tests that might reveal the age of my brother at his death, which was a mere twenty-four years, nor the amount of time he has truly been deceased. My grandson’s mortuary skills certainly are of the utmost artistic quality, to be sure. It is almost a pity such painstaking craftsmanship should be destroyed.

“At any rate, my dear, as I am sure you are aware, you need not worry about society judging you the fool for trusting and marrying a man who in truth brought about the deaths of you and your entire family. You see, I was ever so thoughtful enough as to save you that humiliation of spirit I am sure such worries would bring. Now, no one ever need know. As for the remainder of the gifts, yet unwrapped, they are of such inordinately expensive quality, the world at large will surely assume that I loved and honored our brief relationship, and had the utmost affection and respect for your children and grandchildren as well. Which, in a very real sense, you should know is actually true.

“Furthermore, here is another important piece of information that I would hope might fill your heart with some degree of solace, perhaps even a bit of satisfaction. Phillip will receive the blame for the foul deed that shall occur this night. Therefore, in a very real way, he will pay for his earlier betrayals of you and your children.”

Elaine was transfixed by the horrid sight of the now dried cadaver, its formerly crushed skull repaired with a steel plate, and noted how it seemed cut open, as its hollow, vacant eye sockets seemed to search out her features.

“It will certainly appear as though I died defending you, after which the soon to come inferno which this house shall become they will assume unfortunately immolated my exposed internal organs by way of the excessive heat and flames.

“You’re insane,” she said in a hoarse whisper, which felt to her like a shout. “You’ll never get away with this.”

“Get away with it?” he asked. “Oh, dear, is that what you think this is about, that I am trying to get away with something? My dear, you surely do not think I would engage in such crass underhandedness. It is not that I am trying to get away with something. No, my dear, I am trying to get to something.

“By the way, dear Louise, if you would be so kind, while I conclude the Christmas Story, would you kindly spread the gasoline and accelerants. The other two bodies you will find in a closet downstairs, as I am somewhat positive my dear stepson Willie knows by now. Make certain you douse them sufficiently with the gasoline, which you should be sure to spread about a few other strategic places. The accelerant you need spread generously throughout the house. After the fire has concluded its run, it will have sufficiently faded so as to leave no trace, not that such a thing matters, I suppose, under these particular circumstances.”

“Excellent idea, Martin,” Louise said as she gazed now toward the stepson in question. “There is always a possibility though that the police might think Wee Willie Winkie here, as I am informed his wife Missy called him, to be the perpetrator of the crime.”

“True enough,” he replied. “Nevertheless, the situation has been arranged to the effect that our dear Mr. Phillip Khoska shall remain the major suspect, possibly thinking to set up Wee Willie Winkie to take the blame. After all, Elaine, although I have this strange idea you have forgotten by now, it just so happens that you recently received confirmation of a private investigation into your husband’s background of the last few years, which I am certain you also have forgotten. At any rate, you learned that he was involved in the horrendous international sex-slave industry, and even worse, the abomination known as internet child pornography. In fact, he has been the ringleader of these nefarious enterprises for some time now. It would only make sense that Phillip, criminal mastermind and profound evildoer that he is, would seek to destroy you in desperation, even to the extent of murdering his entire family to cover up such a sordid crime.

“So you see, my dear, you may now go to your eternal reward also secure in the knowledge that your death will help to bring to an end this unholy wickedness which, truthfully, my dear, I regret to inform you that your entire family has been the beneficiary of, at the expense of thousands of innocent young lives at that.

“Therefore, you shall die not and leave behind a legacy of shame. No, the world shall see you as a heroine, one who sought to rectify her late-husbands evil deeds, and died because of his unspeakable wickedness, for which he will nevertheless face justice.

“People will even look at you as a kind of saintly figure, much like Christ himself, whose blessed birth we observe this very night of your demise. For you see, Christ saw the truth. He realized that all men are mixtures of goodness and evil. When he faced down Satan, in the wilderness, when he underwent the temptation, he was fighting not with a separate entity. Nay, indeed, the Satan he sought to resist was the Satan that was in his own heart-his own selfish ego. He knew the time would come when the universe would be his, but he knew there had to be a struggle. He was one of the few men, perhaps the only man, who understood the balance between the darkness and the light.

“Because he preached that men should acquire that spiritual balance, he was called a wine-bibber and a glutton, and a man who dined with sinners and with whores. Finally, they killed him, crucified him, not because his killers hated and feared the truth. No, it was because they did not wish for that great truth to become widespread among all men, whom the elites wished to keep as their ignorant servants.

“And the greatest truth of all was that one which he shared with his honored guests, his disciples, on that magnificent evening known as the Last Supper. It goes without saying of course that he spoke not symbolically, but literally, when he told them, “eat of this bread, for it is my body, broken for the sins of mankind. Drink of this wine, for it is the cup of my blood, shed for the remission of sins. Do all this in remembrance of me.”

“That, you see, is the true meaning of Christmas after all. That is the true gift of God, that promised-nay that prophesied, sacrifice. The original disciples of course knew this well. In time, unfortunately, most would forget this important great truth. Well, after all, the earlier Christians were a very beleaguered lot. The Roman authorities accused them of all manner of what they supposed were vices and perversions, not the least of which were cannibalism. Therefore, as all religions are wont to do, they adjusted to the times. They set aside their principles, and adapted to the current realities of the political climate of the day. In other words, they turned their back on Christ, while outwardly pretending to embrace him.

“Naturally, there were those who refused to go along with the crowd, to use a current expression. There were those who remained faithful, and for their faith, not only the pagans of Rome and the politicians persecuted them, but also the very Christians who in fact it would not be at all incorrect to say had actually usurped the very name. Finally, they who were the ancestors of those us who are true disciples of Jesus the Christ were obliged to leave Rome. In doing so, they ended up in a place known in those earlier days as Dacia. That of course was an obscure Roman province known to us now as Romania, though it also included parts of what we know as Moldava.

“While there, they intermarried and mingled with the more crude pagan stock of the countryside, whose people had not been seduced by the crass wealth and idle lifestyle enjoyed by the corrupt population of the ‘civilized’ city of Rome and its environs. In fact, they discovered there a culture in which they were welcome, worshippers of the ancient goddess Hecate, with whom they traded and established a friendship of long standing. Of course, the outside world considered them witches, and dangerous. The more modern, secularly seduced, so-called Christians considered their goddess, like all goddesses, a manifestation of that entity they called “The Great Whore of Babylon” which in reality, in their ignorance they were not aware was symbolic of the city of Rome itself.

“At any rate, the true Christians who are my ancestors were not merely accepted and tolerated by the Hecate worshippers-they were honored as prophets. In time, they worshipped together and they intermarried. Before long, they came to be as one.

“Of course, it would not be long before the curse of corrupt civilization and so-called progress made its way as well to Dacia, and our forefathers, those proud and brave pioneers who waited patiently for our Lords return, were once again forced underground.

“Yet, it was not without benefits. The Lord God heard their sufferings, and rewarded their faith with ever-greater knowledge and wisdom. That great wisdom, that divine knowledge, has now passed on intact to our own time-which naturally brings us to our present situation.”

Soon, Louise returned from upstairs, only to see that all were alive, and though they yet were conscious, they groaned in pain and terror, their eyes wide with a horrible frenzy, all of them foaming at the mouth. All save the infant, who now rested on a blanket on the floor.

“Louise my dear, before we proceed, would you be so kind as to prepare the sacrifice?” Martin now asked his true wife, as his illicit one groaned and tried to rise in desperation, and Missy tried desperately to beg for all their lives, but especially for the lives of her children, though her words came out garbled and unintelligible.

To her horror, Louise now reappeared, cradling the infant in her arms. While Martin and Louise surveyed the scene of their desperately helpless audience, the phone rang.

“Oh, now I wonder who that could be calling at this time of the night, on Christmas of all times?” Louise asked.

“Might it be our dear Mr. Morris?” Martin inquired as he made his way toward the phone. “Perhaps he wishes to confirm the time he is to drive us from here.”

“He would call my cell phone,” Louise replied. “No, I rather believe it is someone else.”

Martin answered the phone as Louise set about undressing the infant, who due to the jostling action now seemed to stir from his drug induced slumbers.

“Caitlyn, my dear, of course David is still here,” he said. “Unfortunately, he is presently engaged in a game of spades, I believe it is called, with his brothers. Might I suggest you call back later? Better yet, why do I not have him call you back?”

Louise noted how both Missy and David tried desperately to shout in an attempt to attract the attention of the girl who was evidently David’s girlfriend, yet was helpless to do much more than groan feebly.

“What is that? Why, that is a splendid idea. Certainly, you may come over for as long as you wish. We would be delighted to have you join us. So, we will see you then in an hour? Splendid! By the way, do tell your mother and father that my family and I wish them a very Merry Christmas, and a splendid New Year. Will you be sure and do that for me? Excellent!”

“So, Martin, I take it we have the opportunity to save yet one more soul,” an obviously delighted Louise observed. “Our Lord and Savior will certainly be most pleased!”

“Well, of course, my dear,” he explained. “As I always tell you, that is what the true spirit of Christmas is all about-deliverance of blessed souls to the heavenly realm of the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. After all, the Lord expects us to share our faith to all those to whom we are led by the Holy Spirit. Speaking of which, I think it is incumbent on us now to partake of the feast of The Sacred Blood and Body-would you not agree?”

“By all means, Martin, let is proceed,” she answered and then, to the horror of the distraught oldest daughter-in-law, once more picked up the child. Missy begged for the life of her son.

“Now, Missy, you should be aware, we did not poison little Danny,” Louise reassured him. “Martin merely gave him a sedative, one that would allow him to sleep well and awaken refreshed. He is about to have the singular honor bestowed upon him of receiving the spirit of Christ. What you are about to witness, my dear, is an ancient ritual conducted for centuries by the underground true Church of Christ. On Christmas Day, the day on which we celebrate the birth of our blessed Lord and Savior, we choose by lot a newborn child. Fortunately, there is no need for that, since he is the only child of appropriate age. It is almost as though the good Lord insured a child of the proper age would be present.”

As she explained in this limited detail the nature of this singular honor, which they would bestow upon this child, Martin set about lighting candles, simultaneously extinguishing the electrical lights. He ended by lighting a fire in the fireplace. He then joined Louise, who held the child firmly as it now began to cry. Martin began an ancient prayer in a language none of the family understood, as the child’s father now rose on an elbow and, surveying the scene, attempted to lunge toward the old couple, only to fall flat on his face as he cried loudly. The two children also cried, as Missy watched the scene with now virulent hatred, and Elaine just held her head in her hands, choosing not to look any longer, while praying desperately for intervention from some source, whether divine or otherwise.

They all groaned in terrified excitement when, while Martin began singing a monotone chant in the same obscure tongue, Louise produced a long knife, with which she cut the jugular vein of the child’s throat. The blood poured into a silver goblet, from which each of the older couple sipped. They then forced fed the steaming hot blood, though a mere drop, to each of the unwilling congregants, who moaned in horror but were helpless to resist.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he said, “I present the Blood of Christ.”

Then Louise, with a hideous cry, produced a large hammer with which she pounded the helpless infant she had previously blessed. The two then circled the corpse of the mangled infant as they chanted and then, suddenly stopping, they tore into the body, biting into the freshly slain flesh, until nothing remained but the internal organs and skeleton. Martin took a small portion of flesh and, his mouth drenched with blood, he bent down with a smile and deposited a small portion inside each family member’s mouth.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and The Holy Spirit, I present the body of Christ,” he said.

“It is done,” he then said to Louise with a satisfied smile. “Their souls have been ransomed, and soon will be with the Lord our God, in the presence of Christ our Lord. What a magnificent night this has been!”

“Indeed it has been,” she replied. “Now, what will we do about this young girl due to arrive?”

“I will let you deal with her, my beloved wife,” he replied. “In the meantime, I will drag all of them down to the basement. It simply would not do for her to see them. While I am doing this, would you be so kind as to increase the potency of the eggnog? Make sure she drinks at least one cup, preferably two, before she joins us.

“Oh, and here! Let us preserve a bit of the Eucharist for her as well. I do not mind in the least bit repeating the ritual on her behalf, especially on a holy night such as this one.”

Louise now became misty eyes as she gazed into the loving eyes of her husband as she licked the blood that gathered around her lips.

“Your magnanimity on behalf of our precious Lord is most inspiring, my dear, dear Martin,” she observed.

“Now, now, Louise,” he replied. “Don’t be trying to inflate my ego. You know that is one of my most sinful weaknesses, and you know how the Lord feels about human pride and vanity. I am a mere servant, my salvation dependent solely upon his divine grace, not on any good works-lest any man should boast, as the Apostle reminds us.”

They embraced each other then under the glow of the candlelight and the fireplace, to which they now proceeded with the remains of the infant. They deposited the entrails and other internal organs within the flames, into which Martin then quickly yet cautiously added some of the accelerant, as he prayed.

“I suppose we should wait until Caitlyn’s arrival before we proceed with the spreading of the gas and accelerant through the remainder of the house. After all, the dear girl has an extremely hypersensitive olfactory system, and I rather fear it would distress her if she encountered the noxious fumes of an inordinate amount of petroleum products. It might well even sicken the poor dear girl.”

As he said this, he looked upon the family. With the exception of Missy, who yet struggled to hold onto life, they were all otherwise dead, including Elaine. He looked with sadness upon the corpse of his second and illicit wife.

“You know, she was really quite a good woman after her own fashion,” he observed. “I think I shall somewhat miss certain aspects of our relationship-such as it was.”

“Martin, you are much too tender-hearted for your own good,” Louise replied as Martin, with a strength and skill that belied his advanced age, began the process of removing the corpses to the confines of the downstairs den. As he did so, she looked upon the form of the sole present remaining survivor.

“You see, my dear, you are perhaps the luckiest one of all,” she told the woman. “Unlike the others here, you seemed genuinely to believe in the apostasy of present day heretical Christianity. Well, now you know the truth. You shall soon see the heaven you have longed for I suspect for most of your life. I know you do not believe this now, but, as they say-one of these days we will laugh about this.”

She went on to prepare the eggnog, hopeful she would convince the coming guest to imbibe the sacred substance that would grant her life eternal. She then placed a call to Mercury Morris, to inform him they should be ready to leave within the hour, two at the most, and to stand ready to receive her next call, which would be to summons him.

By the time that she returned to the living room, Missy was dead, while Martin just now began to drag the second body downstairs.

“You are getting slow, Martin,” she chided him.

“Well, they should be positioned just right,” he replied. “Luckily, my encouragement of David’s girlfriend to hurry over should be even more of an inducement towards assumption of my innocence in this matter. Of course, the presence of George here should also see to that. For once in my brother’s worthless existence, he was actually useful. Come, if you will help me, perhaps we can hurry this matter along more expeditiously.”

She joined her husband then in moving and positioning the bodies in the basement. Then, they waited.

When Mercury Morris received the phone call, it was 1:30 in the morning. He arrived twenty minutes later, to the sight of an ecstatic and satisfied Martin and Louise Krovell waiting outside the front door of what was for now the Khoska mansion. They drove for some twenty minutes, until they finally found a bluff overlooking the scene of the upscale subdivision in which Martin Krovell had lived for more than eight months.

Martin requested that Mercury put on a CD of Christmas songs by Bing Crosby, as he handed their driver a present. With a look reminiscent more of confusion than surprise, the former Seventeenth Pulse member opened the package.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “A Rolex? Man, I’ve always wanted one of these. Damn, I never got you guys nuthin’”

“Oh, I will hear none of that young man,” Martin replied. “You have done far more than enough to insure that this was in fact one of the best Christmases ever.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Morris,” Louise said. “And a very Happy New Year, to you and yours.

Mercury thanked them in sincere gratitude and profound humility as he put the watch on his wrist. He then stepped toward the back of the limousine as Martin took his wife in his arms. While they embraced by the side of the road, they looked out upon the scene of the distant flames, as the smoke ascended up into heaven.

A Midnight Mass For Mother Earth

It had to be one of the most politically charged Midnight Masses in decades, especially from an American perspective. Pope Benedict bemoaned, in this years Midnight Mass, the selfishness of todays' world and the pursuit of wealth at the expense of the poor and dispossessed, and reminded his listeners of the lack of room at the inn for the Holy Family. Yet, he did so from a creche dedicated not, as is typically the case, to the nativity, but to the workshop of Saint Joseph. This creche contained ten figurines from northeast Italy, and other works from an artist from Mexico. The mass then at some point diverged into what seemed to be a lamentation on the effects of global warming, as he criticized the lack of care for the environment.

I fully expect the next few days of the political primary season leading up to the Iowa caucuses and New Hampshire primary to focus on this issue, to in fact take it's cue from the Popes words at this latest Midnight Mass.

The Democrats in particular are eager to regain the votes they lost among Catholic voters in the 2004 elections, where according to some accounts George W. Bush actually won a majority of the votes of American Catholics.

I have to wonder if this was not intentional on his part. In the 2004 election,some Catholic officials were criticized for threatening members who supported Democrat John Kerry with removal from the Church, due to Kerry's support of abortion. Has abortion become such a minor issue this quickly, at least compared to global warming, that the Pope would highlight an issue that is widely seen as a positive for Democrats, and a negative for Republicans? It is after all the Republicans who are seen as strong on Pro-Life issues, a position where the Democrats are viewed as Pro-Choice.

Is it some kind of a signal for the Church, and especially for American Catholics? If it was not so intended, will it be construed in such a way regardless?

Another aspect of the Pope's address, by the way, was a call for world peace. Could this issue be another factor that led the Pope to make this address, and in this fashion?

I know that some people will say I'm reading too much into this, but I don't think so. Regardless of the rightness or wrongness of it, America is viewed as the preeminent leader on the world stage, in all areas of international importance. The importance of the up-and-coming primary elections leading into the next Presidential race can not have escaped him, nor would he be likely to be uninterested in the effect and influence of the next American President and Congress on these and other issues of importance.

I'm not saying the Pope was praying to America so much as praying at America. Or, more specifically, in at least one corner of his mind, to the American politicians running for the highest office in the land. He seems to be giving a special nod to the Democrats. I would look, however, for Republican Mike Huckabee to be the GOP contender most likely to attempt to capitalize on this.

If he does get the Republican nomination, he would probably be the Pope's dream candidate, as he would be the one Republican that, in addition to being staunchly Pro-Life, would be the most likely Republican candidate to be the answer to the Pope's prayers.

He would more than likely be in favor of serious steps toward combating global warming. He would be more willing to quickly end the Iraq War. And he would certainly, of all the Republican candidates, be willing to work on behalf of the poor at the expense of the "Wall Street crowd".

Remember that, after all, Santa Clause was originally a Catholic Saint.

Ron Paul-Supported by Neo-Nazis?

(Above picture taken from White Nationalist website Stormfront)
The rap about Ron Paul is that a great deal of his support comes from white supremacists, so he must himself be one. Well, to my way of seeing things, this is pretty much like saying that since my favorite band of all time is The Beatles, I must be a British rock musician, or they must have all been pagans. Sure, Harrison was one in a sense, and Lennon in his last years might have been Wiccan, but the point is, that is all in fact irrelevant. The important thing about my attachment to them is the music. You can make a similar correlation with Ron Paul and his apparently large degree of support amongst White Nationalists folk such as Stormfront and Vanguard.

Undoubtedly, Paul has a great deal of support amongst these people, but it is due mainly to his stands on certain issues, mainly his beliefs pertaining to adherence to the principles of the Constitution, as well as agreement with his stated positions regarding belief in small government, and his policies in regards to taxes, foreign policy, trade, etc. Some of his stands, incidentally, I wholeheartedly agree with, while some of his other views are more open for debate. Still others are dubious at best. To the Stormfront people, however, his stated views on these and other matters seem to jibe with theirs to a very great extent.

They even have this forum topic up on the white power site Stormfront, which at last count numbered more than 850 replies over a half year period beginning around May, and still going to this day. The picture at the top of this post, by the way, was taken from that forum topic. It is very important, however, to note that some of the respondents are dissatisfied with Paul’s stands, because, in fact, he does not come right out and promote racialist or White Nationalist views.

Nevertheless, Paul did pose for a picture with Stormfront founder Don Black during the recent Values Voters Debate in Florida. In one picture, Paul signs an autograph for Black.

Then, there is this post, which insists that Paul met with members of a White Nationalist group at, of all places, a Thai restaurant in Virginia. Evidently, the person responsible for the rumor is a man named Bill White, a founder of both Vanguard and the National Socialists Workers Party, and who claims to have personally met Paul at an event there.

At the same time, he is a notorious troublemaker within the White Nationalist community. He is supposedly responsible for a violent confrontation that occurred at a recent Nordicfest event in Kentucky, in 2006, for example. He is openly promoting the rumor that Paul is a White Nationalist supporter, and some have suggested that he might be doing so in an attempt to gain publicity for himself. Promoting this story, as well as exaggerating his influence over Paul, or Ron Paul’s support for White Nationalist principles in general, might well be his way of getting it.

Of course, in the internet era, every rumor becomes indisputable fact in the minds of many readers, if not in fact most of them.

Still, there can be no denying that Ron Paul has evidently received some financial contributions from various members of these groups. Moreover, he refuses to send them back on the grounds they would just “spend it on more Stormfront stuff.” Well, it is hard to argue with that logic. Besides, if he pissed off the Stormfront crew, it might well be bad for his campaign. The hefty three percent or so he might win in the average primary might well diminish to a meager two percent or less.

Earth's Obnoxious Little Brother Might Get What's Coming To Him

Has anybody out there ever had a little brother that was just so obnoxious you couldn't resist giving him a good old fashioned smack down from time to time, or at least damn well wanted to do so? Well, Mars is earth's little brother, more or less, and he has that kind of reputation, especially while he's in retrograde as he is now. He's close, very close, and we might soon see him get a good old-fashioned smackdown, according to this article. True, the odds are only one in seventy five, but I wonder what the result would be if it happened. Would he engage in the equivalent of little brother type whining, by way of a chain reaction involving previously latent volcanoes? Might this have some kind of profound effect on the Martian atmosphere?

Hat tip-The Poor Mouth

As For Me, All I Want For Christmas (Or Anytime) Is-

Joy Lauren-naked in a cake or in a big box with a bow, doesn't really matter, just send her special delivery.

Merry Christmas To All My Republican Christian Conservative Friends

Uh huh-You know you like it, yeah, just admit it, now.

Hat Tip-Sonia Belle

Shall We Prey?

I don't know how much of this is overblown, but it could definitely be a growing problem if it isn't addressed. What might be tolerated or even tacitly encouraged on the grounds of military cohesiveness might well turn out being a divisive issue within military ranks.

In fact, a good deal of this might well be considered subversive. For example, take the passage from this web-site, which states in part-

"Fort Jackson "God's Basic Training" -- These Bible studies for basic trainees teach the recruits the "when you join the military, you've really joined the ministry." The rationale is that governments are ordained by God, so all government employees are really God's ministers."

Moreover, in a recent interview, one Air Force official stated the ministry has a right to evangelize amongst those in the military who are "lost" or "unchurched". He states that there is a distinction between evangelism, which he describes as gently sharing God's word, and proselytizing, which he says is far more aggressive.

Well, I don't know about all that, but I do know that if I were a Mormon recruit, for example, I don't know that I would feel complete confidence if my life was in danger were I surrounded by people that had previously made statements to the effect that my religion was "wicked" or "satanic".

Like I said in an earlier post on this subject, people going into the military have a right to practice the religion of their choice, and outlets for the expressions of their faith should be readily available for them, along with whatever other services such faiths might provide-the caveat being the service people should seek them out themselves, not themselves be sought out. This is true as well, however, of adherents of all faiths within the military. There should never be a no man's land within the military where no religion may reside. However, there has to be a line drawn somewhere.

Radu-Chapter XXXI (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)

Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
PartThree
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXX
Radu-Chapter XXXI (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
8 pages approximate
Grace was horrified the next time she saw Marlowe. At no time had she ever seen so wretched excuse of a human being, and though she was not quite sure human was an appropriate term for him, she still felt waves of pity coursing through her for the first time in years. He was obviously in as bad a state as any person could possibly be. She knew what was wrong with him. She had seen it often enough. She had gone through it often enough herself.

“Marlowe, you need to get something quick,” she said. “These withdrawals are going to kill you.”

He laughed a bitter, sarcastic laugh.

“Do you know-how hard-it is to-find a- pure-or a Christian-heroin addict?” He laughed for a brief moment, and then he stopped and slammed his fist on the concrete floor.

“Then let me shoot up and take it from me like you have been doing.” she suggested, by now extremely worried as to how these withdrawals would ultimately affect him.

“You are too far along in your pregnancy,” he said with his teeth gritted. “The damage-could be-irreparable.”

He huddled up almost in a perfectly round ball on the floor, as though trying to hide. She went to the front of him and bent down, taking his matted hair gently in her hands, and then moving down to his chin. She held it firmly, and then lifted. He did not resist. He looked up straight at her, and she backed away in horror.

“Marlowe, these withdrawals are killing you,” she insisted. “I am serious. You are dying.”

“No,” he replied. “I am already dead. I know that is hard for you to comprehend. It was hard for me to comprehend what Marty Evans was going through as well, as I never allowed myself to get that far along. Now I know. Still I have no recourse. I have to do this.”

Sweat covered him like a deluge. He was burning and feverish, yet simultaneously seemed cold, shivering from the chills. The pain in his body was obvious from his expression, from the look in his eyes, which begged outwardly for comfort and pity.

“I’m sorry-you had to-see this,” he said, and suddenly he let out a roar much like a wounded animal. Grace started to fear he would be overheard. For three days now, he had not slept, though during the daytime he entered the crypt once reserved for him. She looked over toward the body, still covered with a sheet.

“Why did you bring her here?” she asked. “What do you intend to do with her?”

“Revive her,” he said simply.

Grace looked away from him. She began to fear she was initially correct all along. He was insane. At the same time, perhaps the nature of his delusion was the opposite of what it seemed.

“You have to stop this, Radu,” she insisted. “You are not Marlowe Krovell.”

“I know that now,” he assured her. “Why do you think I am so willingly going through this heroin withdrawal? How can I rid myself of Marlowe Krovell and yet allow myself to be enslaved by his addictions?”

She had no answer for that. She said nothing.

“Did you bring the CD player, and the recordings? I would like to hear them now. I want to prove something to you. In fact, put on Antichrist Superstar. I want to hear it.”

Warily, she did as he requested, and soon the strains of Marilyn Manson’s vocals and music reverberated through the now nearly completely restored basement of the old Krovell Funeral Home.

“If I had heard something like this in my old life, I would have thought the gates of hell had opened on the earth,” he said. “Now, I see it in an entirely different perspective. This was Marlowe Krovell’s favorite-artist, as unbelievable as it is to honor this creature with such a title.

“Did you know that Marlowe came in time to hate this music? Do you know why?”

“I have no idea,” Grace responded.

“He came to hate it for the same reason he initially loved it,” he explained. “It was her favorite.”

He now rose, made his way stiffly over to the body, and removed the sheet, to reveal the collapsing and now rapidly decomposing form of Raven Randall. She was still recognizable, despite the fact that exposure to the relative warmth of the open air, following its exhumation and brief period of freezing, hastened its further decomposition.

“She was the most vicious of all Joseph’s group,” Marlowe said. “Joseph himself feared her, though he was the only one who could really control her. Did you know she had three illegitimate children?”

He looked over at Grace, whose initial response was to ask him what was so particularly horrible about that, but she never got the words out of her mouth.

“She ate them alive,” he told her. She winced when he said this. “When she ate the last one, she convinced the others in the group to join in with her. It was George Dodd’s son, the one called Rhino. She did not tell him that until he had the child’s penis in his mouth. Then, she laughed at him. When he complained about her deception, do you know what she told him?

“Her exact words were ‘you should have known he was your son, Rhino. After all, your dicks are the same exact size.’”

Suddenly, Marlowe doubled over in agony, the pain of his withdrawals suddenly becoming unbearable. He wretched, and then vomited up a hideous bloody mass that wriggled on the floor. She looked at the glob of blood and mucous, enthralled yet sickened. She looked closely at it, and saw maggots squirming throughout.

“You see now what I have to put up with?” he said. “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed at Johns Hopkins.”

“Marlowe, you can’t bring her back,” she told him. “She is too far gone. Her brain will be too decayed. What would be the point of bringing her back anyway?”

“I have to know what was so special about Marlowe Krovell that she fell in love with him,” he explained. “I have to know what it was about him that she thought was worth saving from Joseph. Nothing that I know makes any sense whatsoever. Once I know everything else and can put it all in perspective, then maybe I will know what it is about him that makes him so persistent, so tenaciously determined to exercise control.”

“Yet, you say Marlowe murdered her because he thought she betrayed him in some way,” Grace recalled. “This might not be a good idea, even assuming it’s possible.”

“It’s the only way,” he answered firmly. “It’s the only way I’ll ever free myself from him and rid myself of this addiction.”

Suddenly, he jerked, as though he heard something from a distance.

“Did you hear that?” he demanded. “Turn that damn thing off.”

He indicated the CD player, whereupon she hurriedly turned it off.

“That laughter,” he said. “It was her. I know it. The same laughter when she told Marlowe she was breaking up with him, that he was a fool to think she could ever love him or anybody. The same laughter Marlowe heard after he killed her with an overdose some two weeks later, when-

“I remember now. Marlowe convinced Marshall Crenshaw not to sell to her, or to any of them. She came to him in desperation, and then-he killed her. She laughed that night, the same laugh. It was like she knew all the time.”

Grace watched, as he suddenly seemed calmer than he had since she first returned.

“Marlowe, I don’t hear a damn thing,” she said.

He did not answer her. He just looked at the dead form on the table, the body he had stolen from the city morgue.

“Out of all the dead bodies Brad Marlowe engaged in sex with, Raven Randall was the only one who would have appreciated the sentiment. She was also willfully arrogant in that way. She probably considered Marlowe Krovell’s murder of her out of jealousy the ultimate compliment.

“You are wrong, Grace. I will revive her, in every way. Once I have restored her, she will be a big help to me-a very big help indeed. She will be able to do things that, due to the peculiarities of the curse my brother Vlad put on me, I can never accomplish, at least as it stands now. That will change as well. In the meantime, I will need her help.

“Unfortunately, it might not be safe here for you. I am not quite sure as to the extent of the control I can initially exercise over her. You must leave as soon as you can. Go to your friends’ home and wait for my arrival. By that time, all will be well, I promise you.”

He looked over toward her, and it soon became obvious to him what she felt. She did not want to leave him alone in his current condition, and in his present state of mind.

“I will be fine, I swear,” he insisted. “Remember, I have Cynthia to look out for me. As soon as I have gotten over these withdrawals, she will feed me. She will sustain me. As for Raven-well, the world is going to change in a good many ways by the time you and I next see each other.”

“I have to go through it as well, don’t I?” she asked. “I mean, the same thing you are going through-the withdrawals.”

He looked at her, as though amazed at her seeming prescience.

“You are coming to full term soon,” he said. “The withdrawals will coincide with the birthing. All will be well. You will see. You are not afraid, are you?”

She tried to restrain her dread, but knew she could not hide it. The withdrawals were the only thing in life she truly did fear. It was not the pain she dreaded but the realization this was the one thing in her life she could not control.

“I would be a liar if I said I was not afraid,” she said. “I guess it’s just one of those things that have to be done.”

“You should leave now,” he said. “I really should get started to work as quickly as possible. I want her to be revived sooner rather than later. It is going to take a very painstaking and determined effort on my part. Nevertheless, Marlowe Krovell’s skills as an undertaker will serve me well. So will his addiction. The energy that I feel coursing through me, ripping me apart-how could he have lived with that for so long? How could he possibly have functioned? It was so much a part of him, that as it leaves, it hopefully will take all of him with it.”

“Very well, I’ll go,” Grace said. “You are sure you will be all right? I promised your grandparents I would look out for you. If something happens to you”-

He looked at her sadly at first, and then he smiled.

“They are not my grandparents, Grace,” he said. “They were Marlowe’s grandparents.”

“Of course,” she said. “I will go then. Take care of yourself. I will see you soon. Remember, we have much to do yet together.”

She turned to leave, but slowly.

“Grace-don’t worry,” he said. “Raven is not a threat to you, whether dead or alive. Your place in the world is secure, if not yet manifest. When the time comes, nothing will change that. As for that meddlesome priest-well, that is a different story. He will soon find that Raven will not be so amenable and eager for salvation as was Joseph Karinsky, nor as easily controllable as Sierra Lawson. What he went through with Spiral Lamont, in fact, will seem like, as they say these days, a day at the beach-whatever the hell that is supposed to mean.”

Grace looked at him in almost a sense of wonder. There were few people in the world she truly liked. She could in fact, after twenty-eight years of life, count them all on the fingers of one hand. Marlowe-or Radu-might in fact well make number six. The idea that the two of them might soon be amongst a very small cadre of elites with access to unlimited wealth and relative security, in the face of a world soon to be thrown into destruction and turmoil, made liking him much easier. At the same time, actually liking him made the prospect of the future much less grim.

She counted herself lucky that she fit into the overall scheme of things. There had to be a reason for that. She was privy to the promise, almost like a prophecy, that soon the world’s population would number not in the billions but in the hundreds of millions, at most seven hundred million-a mere tenth of the current world’s population. They explained the rationale behind their reasoning in unemotional, logical terms. There was in every epoch a point in time when the population was cleared-cleansed, in a sense-through some process of natural selection that served in the long run to strengthen mankind’s genetic structure, for the good of the species, and most importantly, for the overall good of the earth.

With each successive cleansing, mankind became more adaptable towards the next period of adjustment. At this particularly important period, due to mankind’s hitherto unknown scientific and technological advances, an elite corps arose, one that could not only guide the process along, and ride the tide of nature’s wrath, but also hasten it, even focus and direct it in a partnership with the forces of nature.

She had known of this for years, yet disregarded it as an insane fantasy. She went on with her life, her struggles with addiction, her life as a prostitute, even as she struggled to mold her life into one with some meaning, as a reporter. Yet, even at best, her life seemed meaningless.

When she learned the truth regarding Aleksandre Khoska, she had not been surprised. Khoska was not one of those people she liked, though he was not one of the masses of multitudes that she disliked or despised. He was one of those few, rare individuals for whom she had mixed feelings. She understood in time that she merely reacted to the man and his own nature. Khoska himself walked in both worlds. He was a mixture of good and bad, of spirituality and opportunism. He was also one of the strongest men she ever knew, and in his own way, admirable.

Yet, what made Khoska strong would also be his undoing. She looked down now upon the agonized body of Marlowe Krovell, inhabited now by the ancient spirit of an ancestor dead now for centuries. What she saw transpiring she realized was much like the molding of tempered steel. She was obliged to follow that path, the same one on which she had up until this point guided him. Though she dreaded it, she oddly looked forward to it, embraced the potential it promised.

Radu was strong, as was she, and she knew now they would both grow only stronger, and together would be an insurmountable force. Most importantly, the child she carried within her womb would combine both their qualities. The child she would soon give birth to would own the world. She would in fact be the mother of a brand new epoch.

As Grace Rodescu considered these things, she slowly came to realize she had nothing to fear by leaving him here on his own. In fact, it was vital that she do so, that she leave him to carry on this important, pivotal struggle. She said goodbye to him one final time, and then ascended the steps to the outside world.

He watched her leave, and he restrained himself from any further spasms, holding back the pain as he shivered. The conflicting heat and cold tore him with much greater ferocity than it would an average person with even the worse of fevers. After so long, he could stand it no longer. He cried, openly and fiercely, until finally, he wailed. Finally, once more time, he roared, the pain now so unbearable he almost wished he could destroy himself and put an end to it.

As he thought these things, however, he saw his brother Mircea, but only for an instant. Mircea he saw replaced by yet another brother, Vlad, imprisoned and vowing revenge on him and his former Turkish allies, as he set about the apparently insane game of impaling captured birds and mice on makeshift stakes. It was far more than a game, however. It was a magical ritual, one in which Vlad Dracula, his accursed foe and brother, surrounded himself with not the accoutrements of some hidden cult of satanic magic, but with sacred objects of the church. He burned the Koran, the same one Radu himself had been presented as a gift by the Turksih sultan, and which Vlad acquired through subterfuge, through one of the many spies he had installed in Radu’s court. He watched as Vlad infused sacred wine with the blood and the rotted entrails of the sacrificed creatures, as he uttered vile curses in the name of the Christian God Radu had tacitly denounced in favor of Allah and His prophet Muhammed, and the sacred Koran, being obliged to do so for political reasons.

He watched as Vlad instructed his minions as to how the wine was to find its way to Radu, where he would eventually drink of it. As a result, Radu became afflicted with numerous diseases. Any one would have killed him and spread throughout the countryside. The worse of all however, was his insane thirst for the blood of the innocents, of those baptized and sanctified, who in those days were the only ones with the power to resist him.

Radu returned the favor to his brother, though this was impossible for him to accomplish to the same degree, not being that well versed in the ways of magic and witchcraft. Now, however, Vlad was gone-Radu was still here, after five centuries of a death that knew no peace. He would be the final victor after all, in this age when the powers of the church instilled not wonder and faith to the extent that it once did, but instead provided Radu with what was more akin to fresh livestock.

Soon, he would live and rage within a world that would turn back to God in desperation, and yet be all the more helpless before him as a result. When he died, finally, as all men must-even one such as he-it would be, finally, in peace. As he thought on these things, he could see in an instant, throughout the following five centuries, how every child in successive generations born to the daughter of Radu Dracula, ritually exposed to the natural bodily gasses that his remains constantly produced, formed a bridge between him and his descendants.

He saw at last the ancestors of the Krovell family, in America, continue the ritual tradition with their own children. Yet, it was different. Perhaps because of the peasant bloodstock Irenea had been compelled to marry into, these immigrant children did not take well to the exposure. The oldest girl suffered from the plaque. The oldest boy became unhinged. The third child seemed not affected at all, but he expressed an insurmountable urge to return to Romania, though he in fact was born in America. This child watched as his older brother became madder by the day, and the two younger children, while both wise beyond their years, became wicked to an extent none would suspect children capable, engaging in sexual perversions with each other they had not the guile to conceal.

He watched helplessly as the older boy tied them to chairs, and set fire to the room in which he bound them, in the attic of the old tenement slum apartment in which the family lived at the time. He watched as the rest of the family took what belongings they could, Magda impressing on Lawrence to rescue the old trunk, risking his life in the process, while the two children waited up in the attic, tied, gagged, and helpless.

When the cleanup crew found them, nothing remained but their skeletons and everyone assumed they ran up to the attic in panic, until further investigation revealed this was in fact the origin of the fire. The assumption from that point was the two children might well have inadvertently started the fire themselves-the same fire that spread from its point of origin and soon engulfed most of Baltimore.

He watched as the same mayor that outwardly refused outside help for the city of Baltimore, ended killing himself in despair, when money, sent in private from charitable organizations, vanished. He watched all this, because he knew to where the money went-into the private coffers of the Krovell family. This was due to the wiles of the gypsy Magda, and her yet young daughter Irenea. They both managed through subterfuge to steal the money. He watched, knowing the truth about the faked suicide, knowing they murdered the mayor of Baltimore. Then Lawrence Krovell, with new wealth at his disposal, purchased a former Romanian mission once used by representatives of the Phenariot regime-the same mission that would soon become the Krovell Funeral Home.

He watched as the crazed older son, consumed with grief and with guilt over his actions, hung himself in the attic of the new home.

He watched as the new son was born, and as the lone surviving of the previous children years later pursued his dream, and returned to Romania. He watched as this descendant of his visited his own official gravesite, occupied in reality by an unknown peasant. He watched as this descendant found the others, the gypsies who were his cousins. He watched as they initiated him into their tribe, and fed him the sacred blood. He watched as he at first reluctantly and then eagerly pursued the rites of his initiation, by abducting a live child, baptized and sanctified. He watched as he fed on the child in the presence of his tribe, and then he knew at last, the true reason why Marlowe Krovell so loved the person whose rotting cadaver now rested on a metal examining table in the restored basement of the Krovell Funeral Home.

It now became clear to him, even as he watched the American soldier later abducted by relatives of the baptized infant, with officials of the church that had proven more dogged in their determination to avenge the child’s murder than he imagined. They found him, took him out to a remote area, and executed him, fearing his standing as an American volunteer during the war in which he was a noted hero would not engender the authorities to try him fairly, even as they also themselves shared the fear that such an event would endanger their chances for American aid.

He watched as the men gathered around him and passed sentence, as he sat there defiantly and looked into the faces of Corneliu Codreanu, then a young man, and his confederates. They included the Khoska family-that same family that would take his young wife into their home, the same family who would see to the upbringing of her and her child, until that child married Ion Ionescu. He saw it all unfold, and realized all this as well was a mere part of the tapestry that was his destiny.

It took five hundred years for it all to unfold. Now, he went through a new kind of birth, as the ravages of years of heroin abuse by his current host descendant tore at his every limb. He pounded the ground as he cursed, but eventually he became calmer. He became steadier. Though yet sick and feverish, he perceived an end to the struggle. For one thing, his desire for the heroin was no longer a craving, unrelenting in its ferocity. Now he just wanted it to be well. At the same time, he understood this was perhaps the most deceptive, therefore the most dangerous, aspect of the addiction. Yet, a part of him begged for relief.

No, he realized. It was not he who begged for the heroin-it was Marlowe Krovell. He rose, and painfully, sickeningly, walked over to the rotting corpse of Raven Randall. He had work he had to perform.

“Cynthia!” he called out. He then looked over toward his supplies. Yes indeed, he had work to perform. Within under a minute the vulture appeared at the head of the doorway that led upstairs to where the first floor of the old funeral home was just now halfway through the process of renovation.

Radu dropped down to his knees and craned his head upwards. Cynthia let out a squawk, flew down to his open mouth, and disgorged her predigested blood and meat.

“Cynthia, wherever do you find these people-a Girl Scout, eh? I can tell by the taste she was obviously a good Christian girl. So what was her story? Oh, I see now. The others constantly teased her, and so she ran away from her troop. How then did she die, from exposure? Did you kill her directly?”

He looked into the seemingly mirthful eyes of the female vulture that was in effect his surrogate mother, and saw the events unfold. A group of men, all of them sick, all of them hungry, but mostly, all of them insane-violently insane. He recognized these men. He knew them. He remembered them from the hospital. They had survived the blast, and to his amusement, realized that, in what was a wholly unexpected development, the hospital released them as per Tariq’s apparent orders. Then, they were taken somewhere by-Detective Berry, who took an interest, it seemed, in their spiritual well-being. For the first time in days, he laughed out loud, an effort that caused him not a small amount of pain.

Now, left alone in the woods, their only refuge an old abandoned cabin where Berry checked on them sporadically, they stumbled upon the lost girl. They then had their way with her-not all of them, however. One of them strangled the girl in an impotent rage, and killed her before the others could stop him. Then, in a fury, they killed the man who had deprived them of their chance for sexual pleasure. Afterwards, they left to hunt more victims. Cynthia fed off the carcasses of both of them.

“Very good, Cynthia,” he said. “A little girl, a virgin, raped and killed by a madman deprived of that medical formula to which he himself was dependent, just as I am dependent on this accursed heroin. You have restored my faith, old girl. You have served me well. Now, I must work. Go outside then, go and stand watch that you may warn me of the approach of any who might intrude on this most important and sacred work I must perform.”

He watched Cynthia fly out as he walked to the CD player. He turned it on. He walked then, still shaking, feverish, sweating, and racked with pain, back to the corpse of Raven Randall. He craned her head backward with his right hand cupped under the back of her neck, and he opened her mouth. He disgorged the digested matter into her mouth, and then gently set it back.

Gently, almost tenderly, he combed her hair. He then reached for the makeup kit, the one Marlowe Krovell always used. He extracted the different colored tones and shades and lined them up, along with the scissors, the tweezers, and the sutures. He extracted the rubberized putty compound that he hoped he would have to use no more than sparingly.

He allowed the talents of Marlowe Krovell to come to the fore of his consciousness as he began to work, as Marlowe’s love for the dead and vastly evil and vicious woman also came to the fore, having previously been denied the opportunity before to work on the only woman he ever truly loved-the woman he in fact had murdered.

He felt his own energy draining into the cadaver, as the dead, cold flesh took on new warmth, tingled under the application of his own energy flow, and seemed to vibrate with a new kind of vibrancy as he reached for the drill. Gently, carefully, he took a mallet and, at the temple, delivered a firm and steady, yet gentle blow. All around her skull, he went in a circle, until he made small holes at roughly four inches apart, a total of five of them. He then took the small hand held circular saw, and he began cutting. Finally, he removed the skullcap.

Her brains exposed, he cradled them gently into his hands, and closed his eyes, and hummed. It was working. He could feel the vibrations within the mass of decaying brain matter, as it came to life. After twenty minutes of this, he removed his hands and set about the arduous task of replacing the top of her head. He was much calmer now as he inserted the needle and thread, and sewed. Soon, this part was complete. He moved down to her chest cavity, her stomach, and her abdomen. He noted that the further along he got, the more vibrant and filed with life energy the cadaver seemed.

He continued with renewed vigor, as he made incision after incision with scalpel in hand, quickly yet concisely filling each incision with extractions of his own spittle, which mixed with what remained of the decaying oils that had once been fatty tissue and flesh. He added as well drops of his blood, though this served to weaken him considerably. He went down the length of her torso, her buttocks, her back, her hips, her arms, her legs, her hands and her feet.

He stood back and surveyed his handiwork. As he saw his bodily fluids seeming to react favorably, he sewed up the incisions, one at a time, and then applied the make-up putty, which would in time dissipate as the incisions healed-or so he hoped.

When he moved to her vagina, he felt Marlowe’s passion welling up inside him, searching for a release. The vagina was moist, tingling with sensation. It pulsated-but Radu stepped backward and surveyed one final time the extent of his as of now more than two hours worth of handiwork. He saw everything now. He saw the truth at last. He saw the true intent of Raven Randall in those last weeks of her life. She had intended to kill Marlowe Krovell all along. She intended the entire time to bend him to her will, and lure him out to where he would become what she always determined he would become-just another one of her victims.

Radu saw all this, and finally, at long, long last, Marlowe Krovell, somewhere deep inside his subconscious, saw it as well. Radu cried, allowing the truth to manifest in a deluge of emotions, as he crawled in agony toward the mirror. He looked inside it, and inside the now truly fading and defeated mind of Marlowe Krovell.

“Now you know, Marlowe,” he said. “Now you know.”

He felt a brief flash of pain as he closed his eyes, and fell to the floor on his knees. The sickness of the withdrawals was gone, and with them, the spirit of Marlowe Krovell. He had succeeded. Yet, he was exhausted, so much to the point he wanted not to wait for the sunrise to return to his crypt.

It had been more of a struggle, these last few months of life during which he tried to make his will predominant, than the entirety of the previous five hundred years which he spent locked in the confines of that old iron trunk, fortified with tar and sealing wax. During that long period of confinement, at least his spirit was his alone. These last few months were a constant battle for dominance, and for his very survival. He was now exhausted, more so than he ever was. Never did he need to rest more than now.

It was, however, a rest he would take with the assurance that he and he alone would awake in the morning, in a body that he shared now with no one else. He was exhausted, but at the same time, he felt a sense of exhilaration unknown to him for years, since the time he was a teenager and he played about the palaces of Istanbul and roamed the streets of the bazaars, amazed at the fine goods readily available to even many commoners. How amazed he was at the time, in that though he was a prince from a royal bloodline, he never knew anything but privation in his little backwater principality.

There was constant struggle and strife, famine and disease, death and fear. It was a struggle to acclimate to his new surroundings, when his father handed he and his brother Vlad over to the Turkish sultan as hostages. Vlad never did, but he, Radu, eventually came to love the opportunity to live his life free of despair and destitution, of the fear of the fate which came eventually to his father, and to his brother Mircea-his skin scalped from his face while he lived, red-hot irons driven into his eyes.

When the sultan, his friend, appointed him the Voivode of Wallachia, he wanted to bring true civilization and prosperity to the region. More importantly, however, he wanted to bring hope in place of the despair that had been the lot of the people for centuries. He wanted them to have the same peace and hope for life, for they and their children, as he enjoyed. The boyars, however, had other ideas. They betrayed him, and plotted his downfall and destruction, while Vlad, who foolishly resisted the Ottomans, waited in the wings to return to power. He would do so, eventually, and the end result of his brief return to power was yet more centuries of repression, poverty and despair for the people who betrayed him.

He would never make that mistake again. Now, he wanted to live only for himself. The world of the ignorant and superstitious could never appreciate the opportunity for the gift of true peace and prosperity. Give the masses any opportunity and they in time would squander it, and betray even their greatest benefactors. All it took was the direction of a few high placed, deceitful, and manipulative upper class nobles and priests.

No longer would Radu fall prey to the whims of humanity. He now had a new opportunity, and he would not squander it on the likes of them. They now existed for his benefit, and he would pursue his life to the fullest, and at their expense. He would begin soon. For now, he must rest. He was exhausted, yes. Nevertheless, he was finally at peace, and would sleep well this day, and awake in the morning fully refreshed, and hungry for blood. He would eat well the next day, he decided. He closed his eyes and for once, in his mind's eye, he could see his own true image, the form of Radu Dracula. He smiled in a sense of profound satisfaction and contentment.

Then, he felt a cold hand clamp his right shoulder with a grip of iron. In shock, he looked up into the mirror, into the cold, piercing light blue eyes of Raven Randall.

She looked at him and laughed with obscene hatred, and everything once more went dark.

Green Bay Mayor Blasphemes The Flying Spaghetti Monster

Calling a Christmas holiday display for The Flying Spaghetti Monster (pictured above) silly, Mayor Jim Schmitt of Green Bay Wisconsin has declared a moratorium on all religious displays. This is a reversal of an earlier ruling of the Green Bay City Council which invited all religions to include religious displays alongside the Nativity Scene put up by City Council President Chad Fradette.

Problems arose after a Wiccan symbol was stolen and damaged. The mayor then declared the whole idea was causing controversy and hard feelings, which was the opposite of what was intended.

Yeah, just wait until the Green Bay Packers lose the Super Bowl, if they even make it that far. If Bret Favre throws a lot of interceptions and fumbles a lot, though, don't blame him. You won't see him, of course, but it could well be The Flying Spaghetti Monster reaching out with his noodly appendage.

Hat Tip to Religion Clause

RAmen

Yule Aspects

This coming Yule, in which the birth of the God is celebrated, has, like all Yules, its own unique qualities. One way in which we can observe and celebrate this is by observing its astrological aspects, much as you would the natal chart for a child born this day, at the precise time of the Winter Solstice.

It is, in effect, the astrological birth chart of the God himself. Just as an ordinary birth chart can give us valuable insight into the latent potentials inherent within a human being, this is true as well of the God, and the way in which he will manifest throughout nature in this year.

Pluto is now at a degree of close conjunction with the Sun, while Mercury is at a similar closeness. The Sun in fact will be almost exactly between the two, separated from both by a mere two degrees. At the same time, the Sun is at a near complete opposition with the planet Mars, which is retrograde, and will be at a complete opposition to the Sun by midnight Christmas Eve and throughout Christmas Day. During the Solstice, however, Mars is more in opposition to Mercury. That Mercury is the planet of messengers, and on the opposite side of the sun from Pluto, the planet of destruction, while faced with this opposition to Mars, the planet of war and strife, need not necessarily amount to an omen of destruction. However, it might well herald an adversarial aspect, one that might well be described as a hindrance to growth and advancement, if only temporarily.

Fortunately, we also have Jupiter in perfect conjunction with the Sun, which gives us reason for optimism in the face of gloom and doubt. Nevertheless, look for a series of serious weather conditions, with possibly brutal cold in some regions, with near blizzard conditions under harsh winds. Earthquakes are also by no means out of the question, nor should volcanic activity be surprising. Here is the reason for this-

Jupiter Sun Mercury Earth Mars

These four planets line up in exactly this order, with our planet being situated between the Sun and Mars, while Jupiter is on the far side of the Sun from earth and Mars. The gravitational pull from such an alignment, at this time of the year, might well have considerably serious consequences.

The reason Venus is not in this graph is due to the fact that it is not lined up in such a way with the Sun as to be in direct or close alignment with us from our perspective. She is, in fact, at an angle which is of minor effect in any way, though her trine aspect to Uranus in Pisces, and her square one to Neptune in Aquarius, could bestow an illusory feeling of calm and peace, even beauty, in some areas.

The moon is waxing full, though not completely so, nor will it until that midnight of Christmas Eve and the night after, when it will then be in conjunction with the planet Mars and thus become a part of that mass opposition to the Sun, Jupiter, Pluto, and Mercury. On the day of Yule, however, it moves into a square aspect with the planet Saturn in Virgo, foretelling an impatient quality, moving toward emotional turbulence and release on the night of Christmas Eve.

All things considered, a damn good night for an old-fashioned fertility ritual, due to the conjunction of the Sun with Jupiter, in celebration of the birth of the god.

YULE
22nd December
Sun enters Capricorn-in conjunction with Mercury, Jupiter, Pluto, opposition to Mars
Moon enters Gemini-square Saturn, moving into conjunction with Mars
Mercury 2nd degree Capricorn-superior solar conjunction
Venus 19th degree Scorpio-squared Neptune, trine Uranus
Mars retrograde 3rd degree Cancer-solar opposition, opposition Jupiter, Mercury, Pluto
Jupiter enters Capricorn-solar conjunction
Saturn 8th degree Virgo
Uranus 15th degree Pisces-trine Venus
Neptune 19th degree Aquarius-squared Venus
Pluto 28th degree Sagittarius-solar conjunction

Mike Huckabee Appeals To Canadians-Save Your National Igloo

It was awful nice of Mike Huckabee to agree to make a public appeal to save the "Canadian National Igloo". You know, that's the great big giant igloo where the Canadian parliament meets, and which is endangered.

What, you didn't know that? Yeah, it actually sounds pretty fucking stupid, don't it? Nevertheless, Canadian television interviewer/comedian Rick Mercer convinced Huckabee it was true, and persuaded him to make this "public service announcement."


Mike Huckabee Makes Appeal To Save Canadian National Igloo
Anytime I link to YouTube, you know it's got to be something special. I got this one from Rufus at Grad Student Madness and just had to go that extra mile.

It explains why so many people in the media are interested in the Huckabee campaign. You have to admit it is somehow heartening to know that a major political figure and candidate for the highest office in the land is capable of being as big a fucking idiot as the rest of us.

Of course it could be a problem if he is actually elected. I can see it now-

Mike Huckabee agrees to take Vladimir Putin on a a snipe hunt.

Mike Huckabee grants tax breaks to business towards purchases of brick stretchers and buckets of steam.

Mike Huckabee is persuaded by his cabinet, on the grounds that it is a secret cabinet tradition, to engage in a circle jerk.

Mike Huckabee might be a nice guy and well-meaning and all, but if he is this dumb-well, you make the call.

The Chemical Conspiracy

A major player in the baseball steroid scandal was left out of The Mitchell Report, says Bruce Reed

It's that damn George W. Bush's fault. When it became obvious his dad was going to lose the 1992 election, he became desperate for the Texas Rangers, whom he owned at the time, to get into the playoffs, so he made a trade for Jose Canseco.

He also has supporters among the many names listed in the Mitchell Report, as well as other names that weren't listed but, by gum, should have been.

See what happens when you play in the Bush Leagues? You get corrupted every time.

As for you, A-Rod, we'll catch you yet, damn you-it's just a matter of time.

Gordon Brown's Cordial Invitation To The Taliban

I don't know why British Prime Minister Gordon Brown wants to talk to the Taliban, or what he thinks he can accomplish by engaging in any kind of dialogue with them. Evidently he was in a coma during the time they destroyed ancient Buddhist statues despite widespread and consistent international appeals. Or maybe it never occurred to him to wonder why, out of all the world's nations, only three of them-Saudi Arabia, The United Arab Emirates, and Pakistan-recognized their regime during their time in power.

I think more than likely he's too naive to understand that asking for a dialogue would probably be seen by them as asking for terms. Those terms would probably amount to them telling Brown, over a cordial cup of tea, to "get the hell out of our country and we won't kill your people".

Of course, according to this article, the Brown government insists the Taliban are not really that powerful, that many of their fighters are farmers that are forced to join their militias at "the point of a gun".

Even if that's true, their assessment of that aspect seems pretty contradictory to me.

Then, they go on to say that we should separate the Taliban from the Pakistani radicals and Al-Queda that have infiltrated the country. Yeah, good idea, let's just forget the fact that Al-Queda went there to begin with at the invitation and with the support of the Taliban, who refused point blank to turn Bin Laden over to the US after 9/11.

With all the evidence pointing to Bin Laden, they refused to even talk about it. So what does Brown have that makes him think they will come to the negotiating table in good faith?

In the meantime, Canada seems to be poised to withdraw from the conflict. Little wonder, as they are one of the few nations there that actually have a combat operations role, the others being the US, Britain, and the Netherlands. While there, their casualties have been the proportionate equal of those suffered by the US, while no progress is to be seen.

All the other nations there, such as France and Germany, are limited to non-combat functions. No wonder the Taliban is resurgent. Somebody somewhere is making a hell of a lot of money off Afghan opium production, and if Brown does talk to the Taliban, somebody somewhere should throw that in there.

Nobody seems to want to cut that source of Taliban money off, for some strange reason. With that kind of weakness on display for all the world to see, why should the Taliban talk to Brown, or to anyone else?

What started out as a war is turning into a blood sport, and the Taliban are the ones that seem to be on the winning side. Much more and it might be legitmately described as their national pasttime.



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