“Men want girls. Most men want little girls… They want to look at them. They want to f*** them, and that’s all they want.”
(Rosanna Arquette) …
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Kellner?” asked the girl, quickly chewing up the piece of candy she had just put in her mouth when she had heard the announcement that she was wanted in the boss’s office.
“Yes,” said the old man simply. “Close the door.”
The girl, smoothing out her tight red and white uniform over her young figure in an unconscious gesture to take attention away from her swallowing the candy, did as told. The door was unusually large and insulated for an office, more of the fire-door type, and the sounds of the music from the shop were silenced immediately.
The young lass started to brush back a lock of her raven hair that had fallen down over her forehead. She then noticed that she still had the candy-wrapper in her hand. The girl clenched that hand, crumbling up the wrapper. She thought that Mr. Kellner would not like her taking from the loose candle samples that were intended for the customers.
“Your work here has been good,” said Mr. Kellner. He was short and bald-headed, with a pale complexion and skin that seemed loose and saggy. He wore a simple business suit. “You have shown yourself to be intelligent.”
The strangest thing the girl had noticed about Mr. Kellner were his eyes. They seemed unusually dark, indeed jet-black.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I’m so thankful for the opportunity you give us here, me and the other girls. Life would be so hard without it. I‘m glad the charity sent me here instead of to some orphanage tech training-school.”
The girl appeared to be in her early teens, a slender, cute lass with enchanting green eyes and luscious pink lips.
“Now, since you have proven to be such a special employee here at the store, I will reveal to you a secret,” returned the old man. “In fact, have something very important to show you.”
It was then that the girl’s eyes grew wide with terror. Absolute abject terror at what she beheld. It was then that she screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. …
My name is RUMANOS -- DOCTOR DANIEL RUMANOS, Intergalactic Man of Mystery. Even though I have the appearance of an human being, I am actually far more than this. For I do carry within my blood the vastly-superior genes of the legendary Aeternusians -- The Watchers of the Daemon-Star ALGOL. This extraterrestrial heritage grants me numerous capabilities that appear as “magic” to lesser beings.
It is a fact that most Algolites are intent to live their incredibly-long lives in elitist seclusion, never being involved in the affairs of the rest of the Universe. However, I am an Operative for an highly-secret organisation known as the KOSMIKOS or Cosmic Intervention Department, thus tasked with maintaining peace and order throughout the known galaxies.
Currently assigned to Earth, it is my ongoing mission to protect the human race from alien invasions, mad scientists, and indeed all manner of threats. I am the living icon of the Watchers of Algol upon this planet. I am the DAEMON-STAR! …
I had received a call from Professor Clarence Quiltey at Johns Hopkins University. A researcher into forensics, Prof. Quiltey had recently encountered something that he thought might interest my particular area of expertise.
I was wearing my usual silk suit, leathern greatcoat, panama hat, and jungle boots as I arrived at his laboratory that fateful morning.
“Nice to see you again, Dr. Rumanos,” said the Professor. He was a tall, thin, elderly gentleman, dressed in a lab-coat and wearing thick spectacles.
“And you, Professor,” I answered as we shook hands. “It has been a while since I worked with you to uncover the culprit of those campus cult-murders.”
“Yes, indeed,” recalled the Professor. “An ancient alien monster disguised as a Hindu deity! I’ll never forget the way you blasted it into oblivion with those unusual powers of yours.”
“No resurgence of that kind of thing here, I hope?”
“No, thank goodness. This is something rather different. As you now, I now sometimes work as a consultant for the Baltimore Police Department Forensics Division. A couple of nights ago, they found the body of a young girl in an alley down by the Inner Harbour.”
“Yes, I did hear some report of that,” I said. “The BPD classified it as a rape/murder, I believe?”
“So it appears. My, you should have seen her face, Dr. Rumanos. The poor thing. A quite pretty girl, but even in death, her eyes were open wide in fear. Her mouth was also open, her jaw rigidly clenched as if she had died screaming in absolute terror. She was completely naked, and had bled profusely. Her hymen had been intact before the violation, it appears. There also was this…”
The Professor handed me a crumpled candy wrapper.
“She had it in her hand,” he continued, “clenched tightly shut. The police didn’t think it was important.”
“’Jammy Kids’” I said, recognising the brand name, “An import from the United Kingdom. Only a few places in Baltimore carry them. Hmmm…”
“But the most interesting thing is the substance that was found in her vagina. It isn’t semen. At least not that of any man or known animal.”
“Do you have a sample here?” I enquired.
“Yes, and please take a look at it,” he said.
Professor Quiltey then held up a test-tube, which I saw contained a small portion of some greenish-white substance, and then he switched off the light. The stuff in the test-tube glowed slightly in the darkness.
“Fascinating,” said I. “Is it some type of energy-emission?”
“Yes. It appears the poor girl may have actually died from a form of radiation-poisoning. But the substance seems to be quite harmless unless introduced into the bloodstream.”
Prof. Quiltey switched back on the light and directed me to a near-by microscope.
“I have a sample there as well, on the slide. I stared at it all day yesterday. It’s the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen, Dr. Rumanos. It doesn’t match the sexual secretions of any earthly creature. Please, have a look.”
Taking a chair, I looked into the microscope. The substance upon magnification showed it contained a number of twisted, grotesque, now-inert organisms, each with three tails and numerous round, black eyes.
“Good heavens,” I exclaimed, as the knowledge of something terrifying dawned upon me. “Professor, this is indeed semen, and those are sperm -- but you are correct in saying that they are not of this world!”
As I was looking through the microscope, Prof. Quiltey, behind me, had quietly picked up a sharp surgical-scalpel from a near-by table and then turned back to-wards me.
“This substance;” I said, still distracted, “this ejaculate. It is… Slozenirian!”
Then Prof. Clarence Quiltey lunged forward in an attempt to plunge the scalpel directly into my throat!!
Now, it is doubtful that the surgical knife could have done any serious damage to my Algolitish physique. However, it could have nonetheless been quite dangerous for numerous reasons. Fortunately, I had glanced towards the highly-polished surface of the coffeepot upon the table before me and had seen Prof. Quiltey’s reflection as he approached.
I slid sidewise, avoiding his thrust of the scalpel by mere inches. I turned quickly and grasped his wrist, twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor.
“Professor!” I shouted. “Professor Quiltey! Snap out of it, old chap! Concentrate and snap out of it!”
“What… ?” muttered the scientist, his body relaxing as I helped him to a near-by chair. “What happened, Dr. Rumanos? I seem to have blacked out for a few moments. You had just sat down to look at the slide and… I don’t remember what happened.”
“It should be all right now, Professor,” I assured him. “You were briefly under control of an alien force emanating from that substance. It is Slozenirian semen. The Slozenirians are an alien race from a distant star system. All of the females of their kind were wiped out by a plague, and the remaining males are known to wander the Galaxy searching for compatible females of other species with which to mate. This one must have been exposed to radiation whilst in Space. Perhaps his ship ventured too close to a crimson star or something.”
“But how did it affect me?” queried Quiltey.
“The Slozenirians have a certain level of ‘psychic’ or mentalist ability encoded in their D.N.A. It automatically recognised me and the research we are doing here as a threat. Not to worry, though. Now that the psyche-link has been broken, it should not be able to control you again. You should put a stopper in that test-tube, though, and keep it and the slide in a lead-lined strongbox. That way there is no chance of it affecting anyone else.”
“Yes, I will do that right away. But, Dr. Rumanos, do you know where you may find this alien?”
“I think I have some idea, Professor,” said I, looking at the crumpled candy-wrapper, “and there is no time to lose if I am to save other innocent girls from this grotesque fate!”
I accordingly left the old Professor to his laboratory work and headed for the Inner Harbour area. Doing some quick research via the internet, I had found out that the only shop selling imported Jammy Kids candy in the neighbourhood was an establishment called Kellner’s Candies at the Harbour-Place Pratt Street Pavilion.
As I arrived, I looked out at Baltimore’s famous Inner Harbour. I briefly wondered why the alien rapist had left the girl’s corpse in an alleyway instead of just dumping it in the water. However, I remembered that Slozeniria is a dry world, and that the harbours of Earth are something with which the creature would perhaps not have been comfortable.
I entered Kellner’s Candies shortly before noon. It was a large, colourfully-decorated shop with flashing disco-style lighting and piped-in dance music. It obviously carried a varied assortment of sweets from around the world, which could be purchased either individually or in bulk.
However, by far the most interesting thing about the candy store were its employees. There were four of them and they were all gorgeous girls who looked to be between the ages of eleven and fourteen. Prime breeding age, no matter what current human mores and ever-shifting legalities have to say about it. That is the age, as scientific tests have indisputably proven, at which human females are the most fertile, physically-supple, and oft-irresistibly sexually attractive. It indeed is the age of the most successful high-fashion models of swimsuits and lingerie; those who become the obsessive and ever-tempting masturbatory fantasies of many men who do not even know exactly why. It is the age of female Olympic gymnasts, due to the extreme flexibility of human girls at that age, as provided by the wisdom of nature itself for the purpose of facilitating sexual intercourse and child-bearing. Those who find these facts offensive should seek the underlying motives of their hypocrisy, and should realise the turmoil and pain, indeed the utter social and societal chaos that so-called “age of consent” laws have brought upon human civilisation (parents treating girls like property, banning them from proper relationships with respectable older gentlemen but then allowing them to become pregnant by drugged up, worthless teenage ghetto-boys) -- in sooth should perhaps contemplate exactly what sickeningly obscene and ungodly unnameable eldritch satanic abominations such laws actually serve!!
(As an interesting aside, it is a quite factually statement that the social class level of any human male can easily be determined by finding out what age group of human females he finds to be the most physically attractive -- or, more properly expressed, to whom he admits to being attracted. The chart breaks down thusly, with the age of the females in Earth years followed by the corresponding socioeconomic echelon of the attracted male:
0-2 - Autistic
3-10 - High-tier
11-14 - PATRICIAN
15-17 - Acceptable
18-39 - Plebeian
40-59 - Repressed homosexual
60+ - Necrophiliac)
There were two blondes, a redhead, and an Asian girl, the latter either Japanese or the higher kind of Chinese, all wearing matching red-and-white uniforms with very short skirts. They were all beautiful and obviously of the best human types. There were none of the lower, inferior sort that most often work blue-collar jobs in Baltimore.
One of the blondes came over to me. She had eyes like pale sapphires and a wide sensuous mouth with luscious lips painted bright red. Her skin was as the finest white of alabaster. She was petite and perfect and her clothing was tight in those delightful places where the clothing of growing girls becomes tight.
“Welcome to Kellner’s Candies, sir,” she said. “My name is Angela. May I help you find some sweet things today?”
“Oh, it looks like I have already found one,” I said with a smile. “Call me Daniel.”
“OK, Daniel,” said the girl, returning my smile. “Oh my, it’s almost my lunch-break.”
“I say, Angela, perhaps you could join me for lunch then?”
“I’d love it!” she beamed. “Just give me a minute to punch-out and it’s a date!”
She then hurried across the sales-floor as I waited, eying her lithesome figure and wondering how a bloody Slozenirian ever chanced upon such a perfect front for his breeding experiments. …
As I waited for the girl to join me for our lunch-date, little did I realise that I was already being watched closely via a security camera. In the office of the proprietor, Mr. Kellner sat behind his desk and looked intently at a video screen showing the shop interior. He pressed a button and zoomed in on me.
“Analyse and report,” he ordered into a small near-by device -- forsooth a metallic sphere that was in actuality an highly-advanced computer which was the product of no earthly technology.
“Origin of individual identified,” came an electronic voice from the device. “Not of this planet.”
“What is he then?”
“Daemonian!” returned Kellner, his already black eyes seeming to grow even darker with otherworldly rage. “One of the Watchers of Algol! Long-time enemies of the Slozenirian race! He has come to interfere with my plans of engendering a new genus of our people here on Earth! His meddling must not continue! His very existence must be terminated!”
With this, the being known as Mr. Kellner turned back to the computer and stood up whilst issuing further commands.
“Prepare to send the death probe!” he ordered. “Follow and destroy the Daemonian!!” …
Angela and I had lunch at an eatery next to the Renaissance Hotel called “Shake It Up!”, one of those “gourmet” burgers, fries, and milkshakes places. I asked the girl how she ever had gotten to be working at Kellner’s Candies and she filled me in on the information I was seeking.
It seems that the candy store’s proprietor, Mr. Kellner, was known to be quite the philanthropist. His pet project involved taking in little girls from orphanages and foster care centres, though being quite meticulous as to which ones he accepted. He then gave the poor waifs a chance at social respectability (so called) through work at his shop.
Of course, that all this was allowed, and did not even attract the notice of those obsessed with “child-labour” laws, “human trafficking”, the “underage” sex trade, creeping “paedophilia” rah-rah-rah, and all that bloody great malarkey, I could easily attribute to Slozenirian mentalist abilities.
Angela also had only a vague memory of the girl who had recently disappeared from the shop. She could not even remember the name of the doomed lass. This could also be explained by Slozenirian “psychic” influence.
“Mr. Kellner is a nice old guy, I guess,” said young Angela between sips of her strawberry shake. “He doesn’t say much, though, and his eyes are, well, kind of weird.”
“How do you mean?” I enquired.
“They just look so dark. Like, all black or something. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t say that. I don’t want to sound like a racist or anything.”
I was about to continue pumping the girl when I suddenly noticed something rather odd through the plate glass front of the restaurant.
“Umm, Angela,” I said, standing up hastily. “If you will please excuse me for a moment…”
“Of course,” she smiled, thinking I had to use the restroom. “Hurry back!”
I rushed outside to face what I had seen. It was a metre-long metallic device that can only be euphemistically referred to as “cigar-shaped”. It was hovering aloft over the sidewalk and I had immediately recognised it as a Slozenirian death-probe.
I dodged quickly as the probe sent its searing-white ray at me. I knew that it would have had certain materials detrimental to Algolites included in its composition. The ray knocked a large crack in the sidewalk only slightly different from the countless other stress-fractures that mark the pavements of the city of Baltimore.
Before the probe could re-arm, I cast a bolt of my bright orange and blue Algolitish energy at it. It is likely only because the device was a bit antiquated, as is all Slozenirian technology by now, that I was able to quash it so easily. My energy engulfed the death probe in flames and sent it spiralling through the air. I heard a splash as it hit the near-by harbour.
I re-entered the restaurant and sat down again at the table with Angela. Fortunately, the little lass still had her back to the entrance and had been engrossed in her burger and shake whilst I had faced the alien device.
“What was that noise I heard?” she queried a bit sleepily. “Something going on outside?”
“Just someone smoking in a non-designated area,” I assured her. “The cops got him.”
“Oh, that’s good then,” she giggled.
I paid the bill for our food and left the restaurant with my arm around the gorgeous little lass. The top of her head barely came up to my chest. We strolled past the hotel concierge and the entrance to the gift shop and stopped in front of the large electric sign advertising the rooms and suites for rent.
Angela put up no resistance when I pulled her close to me. Having to lift the girl up somewhat in my arms, I kissed her on her hot little mouth. Her lips still tasted like strawberries and cream…
Back in the office of Kellner’s Candies, the old man was absolutely raging as he looked at a report readout on his computer.
“Damn the Daemonian!” he exclaimed. “Damn him and all of his accursed kind! Accursed Stalkers of Algol, they should be called! He is no doubt an agent of their meddling Kosmikos! His interference is intolerable! I will have to deal with him personally!”
With this, the being known as Mr. Kellner began to claw at his face, tearing away what was in actuality a cunningly well-made mask of human skin. His true face was revealed -- green skinned with two huge, ebony-black eyes, no visible nose, and a slit for a mouth, all upon a large, bulbous, and hairless head.
This was the true face of a Slozenirian. …
Beautiful Angela and I were walking back towards the candy shop. She had just stopped to smooth back her hair and straighten the skirt of her uniform when I beheld something out of the corner of my eye.
Directly above us, and descending quickly, was a Slozenirian, all emaciated green body and large bulbous head, riding on a flying transport chair.
“You are finished, Daemonian!” he shouted. “Your people shall no longer interfere with the affairs of the Slozenirian race!”
“No, Slozenirian!” I said. “You must stop these breeding attempts! You have been exposed to radiation and have become a ‘carrier‘! It has no effect on your alien physiology, but it is lethal to these humans!”
“That is a lie, you pathetic Daemonian scum! That is a lie and I will now destroy you as your people once attempted to destroy my entire race!”
“Daniel!” squealed Angela. “What is that?!”
“That, my dear, is your ersatz boss, Mr. Kellner!” I informed the girl as I stepped in front of her in an attempt to shield the innocent damsel from what I knew was coming.
The Slozenirian drew a potentially-lethal ray-gun and fired it fully and directly at me!!
Do you comprehend the complete and total terror, indeed the abject peril of this grotesque situation, my friends? In order to shield the helpless girl, I had to take the full force of the blast from the Slozenirian’s ray-gun upon myself, and, whilst the energy-weapon would not likely prove to be of any permanent harm to my Algolitish physique, it did indeed have the power to incapacitate me for a time -- therefore exposing the poor wee lass to the alien creature’s sickening pleasure anyway!
I fully crumpled to the ground as the light-ray hit me, my entire body wracked with extreme and excruciating pain.
“You are now finished, Daemonian!” taunted the Slozenirian, still aloft in his flying chair. “You are finished! You are finished and this human girl is now mine to continue with my breeding of a new Slozenirian race! You have failed, and the triumph of Slozeniria is now!!”
I heard Angela scream as the alien then activated a tractor-beam from his chair. She was lifted from the ground and began to float helplessly to-wards him, up above the area of Baltimore’s “Harbour-Place” tourist attractions.
I shook my head in a desperate attempted to concentrate. I knew I had to overcome the effects of the ray-gun blast. I thought deeply, deeply, of that beautiful young girl, dear sweet little Angela. I concentrated on the thought of her slender, gorgeously-juvenile figure, her lovely sky-blue eyes, her full red lips…
I concentrated on the necessity of saving her pubescent pulchritude from the embrace of that obscene alien horror, forsooth of even protecting her very life from the radiation poisoning she would accrue if ravished by the infected Slozenirian!
I concentrated deeply on Angela, and it brought the result for which I had so deeply hoped. For from her seemingly-powerless form there suddenly came forth a blast of pure bright orange and blue Algolitish energy, travelling up the tractor-beam like a magic fire -- and fully blasting the Slozenirian with such forth a s to send him and his chair hurling out-of-control through the air to-wards the harbour!!
By now I had recovered enough to safely catch the falling girl in my arms, cradling her close as she still shook with horror at what she had experienced.
“It is all right now, love,” I assured her. “Look!”
The Slozenirian had by now let out one last bellow of rage as he hit the waters of the harbour and, his alien biology unused to such an element, had then immediately been dissolved to tiny pieces by it.
“What… ?” stammered Angela. “What happened?”
“I can explain in more detail later, but you had received some deoxyribonucleic acid from me, and were thus carrying some Algolite genetic information,” I explained. “The effect is only temporary, and difficult to control, but I was able to use this in order to generate some energies through you and hit that Slozenirian -- the so-called ‘Mr. Kellner’.”
“So you mean he’s dead then?”
“Oh, quite dead, I promise. A spoonful of Algolite D.N.A. makes the Slozenirian get drowned, or something like that.”
The denouement of this experience is as one might expect, including the necessary closing of Kellner’s Candies whilst I dismantled what remained of the Slozenirian technology (including the pieces of his crashed spaceship, which itself had been crippled by the gravity of the crimson star from which he had been infected by radiation). Of course, I was able to confirm that the real Mr. Kellner had died some months before all this, murdered by the Slozenirian, who had then turned the old man’s very skin into a quite clever disguise indeed.
The girls who had worked at the shop now having nowhere else to go, I therefore also found myself left with a bevy of delightfully early-adolescent beauties in my care. Needless to say, I did indeed prove to be quite up to the challenge.
I also got a lot of candy.
***** DANIEL RUMANOS SHALL RETURN IN “THE LOLITA COMPLEX”