MAKE THE YOUNG GIRLS SPY


My name is Dr. Daniel Rumanos. I battle the forces of darkness. I am the Daemon-Star! …

On the 500 block of Charles Street in the city of Baltimore, Maryland, is an upmarket optometrist’s shop that goes by the name of “Hot Spex”, which somebody probably thinks is an exceedingly clever appellation. Trendy, pricey, and gaudy, it is nevertheless harmless enough. The third and fourth storeys of this same building are made up of residential apartments, usually inhabited, during the semester seasons, by students from the near-by Peabody Conservatory.

However, it is the second floor of this edifice that here concerns us. Some years ago, it had been the headquarters of a rather shady real estate management company known as the East Coast Assets Group. This business was eventually raided and shut down by the police after being exposed as a front for a particularly-vile lesbian prostitution ring. Since then, however, it had come under the control of yet another perverse and decidedly-ungodly criminal type.

Indeed, on the day in which our narrative occurs a quite interesting scene is being played out there.

Seated in an office-space that is decorated with astrological charts and other occult gewgaws (along with an incongruous old midway poster advertising the late stuntman Evel Knievel) a young and perfectly-beautiful girl, tall and slender, with gorgeous blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, dressed tastefully in a white blouse, violet skirt, and pumps, is seated across a table from a bizarrely-attired figure.

“My name’s Lizzy,” said the girl. “Lizzy Martinez.”

“Ah, my child,” said the other figure, that of an elderly woman with a very long nose and dark, piercing eyes, “I know. I know. Madame Teitelbaum sees and knows all.”

The old woman, dressed as she was in colourful pseudo-gypsy attire and a plethora of garish costume jewellery, reached one of her gnarled hands under the table to touch the girl’s leg. Lizzy moved away from the attempt at contact, but her face showed no trace of the disgust she felt at the thought of it.

Madame Teitelbaum then moved her hands to the top of the table and began fingering the deck of greasy tarot cards upon it.

“You come here today because you wish to know the future,” said the old woman, “and also secrets of your past and of others you know.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Lizzy, then adding, without a trace of sarcasm: “Wow, how did you know that?”

“The spirits tell me all, child,” answered Madame Teitelbaum. “They dwell within me and all about this chamber. They told me of your coming, and of that which you seek.”

“Madame Teitelbaum, these spirits you speak of. What are they, really?”

“My, you are an inquisitive young thing, aren’t you?” said the old fortune-teller. “The spirits are from far away. They chose me to be their voice in this world, and have revealed to me many great things. Yes, child, many great things of power and of mystery, and the power is exceeded only by the mystery.”

“Whoa, that is impressive. I was wondering, did they tell you that…”

“Yes, child?”

“Did they tell you that I know you’re really a man?”

And with this, Lizzy Martinez lifted her hand and ripped off the grey wig of “Madame” Teitelbaum, revealing, despite his heavy makeup, the countenance of a man of about forty, with short, dark hair and those same piercing eyes -- which now, not surprisingly, grew narrow with anger.

“Why, you little bitch!” he shouted, his voice now an octave lower and decidedly masculine. “How dare you, you Goddamn little bitch!”

Mr. Mitchell Teitelbaum (that being the fake medium’s real name) stood up and, with a sweep of his hand, threw the table out of the way between the young lady and himself.

“We know the facts of your false claims at being a psychic,” said the girl, rising to her feet with no show of fear. “But fake psychics are everywhere. We also know you have contacted something. Not ‘spirits’ or ‘ghosts’ or anything like that, but instead something that really exists and is very dangerous. Something we have to stop.”

“You bitch!” reiterated Teitelbaum. “Who… ? Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“I told you. My name is Lizzy Martinez… and I am of the League of the Daemon-Star!”

“Goddamn it! Goddamn it straight to Hell! You belong to… him! He would! He would make the young girls spy for him!”

Mitchell Teitelbaum could not repress a look of trepidation at this revelation. It was short-lived, however, and soon replaced by a smug smile, a smile filled with evil and diabolical malice.

“But even he does not know what he has gotten you into, kid!” continued the villain. “Those that I have made my pact with will conquer you both, and will bring me to mastery of the world as their representative! They have promised me this, and you will not stop me!”

With this pronouncement, Teitelbaum lifted his hands and cast a wave of scarlet-hued otherworldly energy at the girl. Nevertheless, to his extreme surprise, she not only deftly dodged this attack but quickly sent back a bolt of energy from herself -- a bolt of bright orange power that hit Mitchell Teitelbaum squarely in the chest, sending him reeling across the room to crash against the far wall. He then slipped down into unconsciousness upon the floor.

“Effing cool!” exclaimed Lizzy with a gorgeous smile, as if amazed at her own abilities. “That was easier than I thought it would be.”

The young lady’s feeling of easy victory was soon cut short, nonetheless, when a deep sound began to enter her consciousness. It seemed to emanate from the prostrate form of Mr. Teitelbaum, but it was not a human sound. In fact, it was not the sound of anything properly found upon this world. It was a noise better imagined than described, at once like a buzzing and a howling and a maddening clicking. It quickly grew in volume from barely perceptible to a veritable cacophony.

Then all hell broke loose.

At that moment, Mitchell Teitelbaum suddenly stood up, but he was not awake in any true way. His eyes were open, but he was not aware in the mortal human sense -- for they were now glowing with the same infernal shade of red and then, from his form that was now being used as a conduit, issued forth a myriad of horrors.

They were small creatures of the same hellishly-reddish hue, horned and hideous, an eldritch amalgamation of wickedness. This mass of unspeakable and apparently-demoniacal abominations flew across the chamber and totally engulfed the form of young Lizzy Martinez.

“These are the Imps of Impian-8,” announced Mitchell Teitelbaum on behalf of the infernal creatures. “You, bitch, are now ours!”

It was then that I charged into the room, clad in my usual silk suit, leathern greatcoat, jungle boots, sunspecs, and panama hat. I cast a wave of my own bright orange and blue Algolitish energy at the Impish creatures, scattering them away from the young lass.

“Sorry to be so late, Liz” I told her. “I only just finished taking care of that thing in New Orleans.”

“Oh, that voodoo guy?” said Lizzy, as we automatically took our back-to-back fighting stance against the surrounding hoard of Imps.

“Indeed, that Gilman Ross screwball, alias ‘Papa Gilly’, alias ‘Conjure Botanica‘, alias ‘RossMac Gilbert‘, et cetera,” I answered, these being the various names of the repugnant black magician, horrendously-dangerous madman, and revolting redneck paedophile that I had travelled to Louisiana to face.

“What happened, Doctor?” inquired the girl, as she deftly cast another bolt of her powers at the Imps.

“I left his blasted corpse -- along with that of his hideous hellhound, Juju -- in the bayou as food for the alligators.”

“That is so effing hot!” she exclaimed.

Seventeen-year-old Miss Lizzy Martinez, I should explain, was at this time my latest protégé. She had become so after a rather odd and indeed surprising series of events that I can only summarise here.

Originally from the town of Bradenton in Manatee County, Florida, Lizzy Martinez is of mixed northern Spanish Basque and Dutch ancestry, her mother’s maiden name being Knop. Hence her beautiful blonde hair and exquisitely-lovely blue eyes. Whilst a student there in Florida at Braden River High School, she had been the victim of an attempted rape by a certain Mr. Brad Scarbrough, the principal or head-teacher of that particular educational institution.

The perverse Mr. Scarbrough, after luring Lizzy Martinez to his office by claims that her clothing (in this case, a white t-shirt with no brassiere) was a “distraction” to the other students, had not succeed in his attempt to ravish the beauteous damsel due to her having suddenly displayed a newfound ability to generate and control bursts of otherworldly bright orange energy -- an ability with which she had landed her attacker in hospital.

Seeing as this power appeared to be of Proto-Algolitish origin, most likely the result of one of her ancestors having come into contact with some relic of one of my own extraterrestrial people’s long-ago visits to planet Earth, I had been assigned the task of looking after Lizzy and making certain she learned to use her newfound powers properly.

Now as my apprentice (and as such a member of the League of the Daemon-Star and a trainee-level Probationer-Operative of the KOSMIKOS, that incredibly-famous and amazingly-legendary Secret Service organisation of the Watchers of Algol), the beautiful Miss Martinez had gone on a mission to investigate this “Madame Teitelbaum“, fake Baltimore-area psychic-medium and occult racketeer. In such Lizzy had uncovered the presence of the Imps of Impian-8.

(By the way, it should be made clear that only I am permitted to call her “Liz”. to everyone else she is “Lizzy” or “Miss Martinez”. In addendum, she prefers to pronounce her surname so that it sounds like “Martinis”.)

“I must admit that this is actually quite surprising,” said I as I again held off the Imp attacks with my own sparkling alien powers. “The Imps of the Impian system, despite their devilish appearance, are usually quite peaceful.”

“Well these ones aren’t,” retorted Lizzy. “What could have happened, Doctor?”

“I cannot yet fathom it, Liz,” I wondered. “Perhaps it is the unfortunate result of some accident during their long voyage to Earth. Maybe they…”

However, before I could continue my speculations as to the reasons of the Imps’ sudden turn to maliciousness, Mitchell Teitelbaum, still possessed by the increasing Impish power, sudden lurched forward and grabbed Lizzy around her slender waist, tearing the girl away from me to-wards the far side of the chamber before I could even begin any effort to prevent him.

“Liz!” I shouted in shock. I was quite concerned about her ability to continue defending herself. The young girl’s powers were not yet fully developed, and our battle against the attacking Imps had no doubt weakened them. I worried about what might happen to her in the evil clutches of the sickening and perverse Mr. Mitchell Teitelbaum -- empowered as he was by some apparent pact with the alien creatures.

Nevertheless, I now found myself completely surrounded by the diabolically-appearing Imps. They suddenly rushed upon me en masse, and I found myself propelled through a strange porthole-like orifice that had suddenly opened in midair directly above my head.

When the aperture closed behind me, I found that I was inside a large room filled with bizarre alien technology, all aglow with a grotesque scarlet and purple effulgence. To my horror, I realised that I had been thrown into the other-dimensional reality of an Impian spaceship!

I stood up and looked around. The strange, alien technology of the Imps covered the walls of the chamber completely up to its lofty ceiling.

Around me hovered several of the Imps themselves. They were not openly hostile, but seemed to be expecting something -- something from me.

“Ah, now I think I am beginning to understand,” I said. “Your ship is indeed damaged; crippled in some way, perhaps by collision with a small radioactive asteroid or something. Forsooth, that is it, eh? You want me to repair it!”

It had suddenly all become clear to me. The Imps of Impian-8, upon arriving on Earth after their long journey through interstellar Space, had found their spaceship disabled and had sought out someone possessed of the knowledge necessary to help them fix the problem. They had encountered the execrable Mr. Mitchell Teitelbaum. His boasts to be gifted with “psychic” powers had made him appear a logical candidate (like most space-faring races, the Imps themselves have a form of mentalist ability), and the Imps had made a deal with him, giving him some of their own extraterrestrial powers in exchange for his services.

Teitelbaum, of course, had seen all of this as a classic Faustian bargain, mistaking the Imps for the legendary demons of the infernal regions. He thus saw the deal that he had entered upon as something to exploit for his own benefit, something he could manipulate for the satiating of his own sick, lustful desires.

(Do you recognise the horror, the obscene abject terror of this situation, my dear readers? I actually do most sincerely hope and pray that you do not, as recognition of the full import of this interstellar insanity could make you spiral into complete and utter madness beyond any possible cure.)

Nevertheless, I still was at a loss to comprehend what had made the Imps become hostile to humanity. Their dealings with Teitelbaum would have given them a bad impression of Earth-folk, no doubt, but this alone could not account for it.

“Could the damage to your ship have something to do with it?” I pondered. “Ah, of course! I think I have it!”

I walked over to one of the consoles. I recognised it as the one controlling the artificial atmosphere of the spaceship’s interior and removed the sonar multi-tool, my highly-advanced mechanical device, from the pocket of my coat.

“The atmosphere of your planet, Impian-8, is similar to that of Earth, but not at all identical. You can survive in the environment here, but if certain elements of your air supply were suppressed when your ship was damaged, it could have induced a temporary effect on your intelligence and psychological wellness…”

I activated the sonar multi-tool to scan the console. “Yes, that is it!” I exclaimed, and began the necessary repairs. …

At that same time, outside the other-dimensional confines if the Impian spaceship, a scene of further outrage was being played out in the office of he now-exposed “psychic medium”. When Mitchell Teitelbaum had propelled Lizzy Martinez across the room, empowered as he was by the abilities that he had acquired from the Imps, she had hit her head against the far wall and had then lapsed into partial unconsciousness.

“No, no…” she moaned nearly sub-vocally. Her own developing Proto-Algolitish powers had been depleted for the time by over-exertion. “Leave me alone…”

For even in her near-swoon the girl understood Teitelbaum’s evil intentions as he stood over her, his debauched face and dark eyes filled with lustful glee along with the energies of the alien Imps.

“I’m going to have you, bitch,” he leered at the helpless lass as he began to undo his trousers, “I’m going to have you right now, whether you like it or not!”

Just then, as the wickedly-lustful Mitchell Teitelbaum stood over the helpless girl, the porthole-like aperture of the other-dimensional Impian spaceship suddenly reopened above and behind him. From it I zoomed forth, immediately grasping the perverse import of the situation and casting a bolt of my powers at Teitelbaum. He reeled and fell to the floor, the powers with which the Imps had gifted him now streaming out of his body to-wards the aperture.

I reached down my hand and helped the lovely Miss Lizzy Martinez to her feet. Aided by her burgeoning powers, along with the remarkably rapid self-healing ability of the very young, she recovered quickly from her faint.

The porthole had now closed, and the high-pitched whining sound of the invisible ship’s engines was increasing in volume.

“Hold on!” said I as I took the girl in my arms. I propelled us both through the near-by window, shattering the glass. Then utilising my powers of levitation, I managed to slow our descent and we landed softly on the city pavement below just as a sound like (yet unlike) a sonic boom occurred, signally that the spaceship had now left Earth.

“Are you all right, Liz?” I enquired. “I had to get you out of there before the ship fully engaged its engines. The feedback of it entering inter-Temporal Space-warp will have destroyed all organic matter in that room!”

“Including that old Teitelbaum creep?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I assured her, “All that was mortal of Mr. Mitchell Teitelbaum is now annihilated.”

“Well in that case I’m doing great, Doctor!” she announced with a smile. “But what was the problem with those Imp things?”

“As I said, they are usually quite nice. Their ship had become damaged and they were stranded on Earth with an atmosphere somewhat detrimental to their mental health. They just needed someone to help repair their craft so they could return home.”

“So you did that easily, of course.”

“Of course,” I replied. “Such elementary interstellar engine design would have been considered antiquated by my people when the Cosmos was smaller than half its current size.”

I noticed that a small crowd was beginning to gather and I took Lizzy’s hand in order to quietly leave the area.

“So, how far away is the planet of the Imps, anyway?” Lizzy queried as we began to walk away from the location of our latest adventure.

“Precisely 4,106,850,700 Impioods.”

“’Imipoods’?”

“Their equivalent of light-years, more or less,” I informed her. “To express the same distance in Earth calculations would take several days, and I would rather go have lunch.”

“Sounds great, Doctor!” she exclaimed happily.

“Come along then, Liz. I know an excellent delicatessen near here, and I shall treat you to a ‘cloak and dagger’ sandwich.”

Daniel Rumanos returns in “Beyond This Illusion”.

ROCK 'N ROLL FANTASY


Deep inside the archival files of my long career battling the forces of darkness is a document entitled “The Merryman Project, or Fear of a Satanic Planet”, which shall never be made available to the public due to its containing certain dangerous formulae and descriptions of arcane rites. It concerns a particularly loathsome and abhorrent individual by the name of Ron “Savage Mode” Seidl, who had attempted a conjuration of the ancient alien deity of evil known as Iogsh’tahuty.

Ron Seidl was a 55-year-old unemployed conman (he various claimed, depending upon whom he was attempting to grift, to be everything from a longshoreman to a mobster to a radio chat-show producer) who lived with his aged mother, Karolyn, in a squalid and filthy one-bedroom apartment over a Joppa Road takeaway restaurant in the Parkville area of Baltimore County.

Seidl’s Satanic activities began when he found some antique occult texts in the collection of his late “goth” girlfriend, Jen French, whom he had driven to suicide with his physical and emotional abuse. Among these texts was a conjuration of the eldritch abomination Iogsh’tahuty -- actually an ancient extraterrestrial being of extreme evil from Dark Galaxy 3007E who had been imprisoned in an alternate dimension by my people, the Watchers of Algol.

In his insane plans to evoke this horror, the Satanist Ron Seidl had abducted an innocent thirteen-year-old girl named Kitty Summers, intending to have her raped by the demonic alien god in order to produce a new race of horrible half-alien hybrids under Seidl’s control. His ultimate goal was to utilise these hideous beings in his own bid for total world domination.

(What is it with blokes named “Ron” that they tend to be bloody devil-worshipping lunatics bent on ruling the world? However, I digress.)

You see, just off Pot Springs Road, near the Loch Raven Reservoir north of Baltimore are the remains of the home of the Merryman Family, who flourished in the area during the latter part of the Nineteenth Century. Their long-abandoned cemetery and underground springhouse had been of particular interest to Ron Seidl, and it was the latter to which he had taken the helpless girl in order to perform the unspeakable occult ritual.

And so there, in the subterranean chamber that the madman Ron Seidl called “The Secret Place”, he had chanted the hoary old conjurations to call forth the horrendous evil of Iogsh’tahuty. The alien horror had responded, appearing in its otherworldly form of uncountable iridescent globules, hovering closer and closer to the innocent young maiden who had been drugged and tied to the stone altar as Seidl stood by punctuating the scene with his sickeningly-insane laughter and grotesque blasphemies against all that is good and pure.

Nevertheless, before the wicked monstrosity could violate the lass, I had arrived (having been informed of these doings by my contacts in the occult underworld) and spoken the appropriate words to banish the creature back to its proper Hell -- in which its mad devotee Ron Seidl would now join it in eternal and indeed well-deserved damnation.

Following this, the young girl, Kitty Summers, had come under my guardianship. Her parents had been killed in an automobile accident (an occurrence engineered as the result of Ron Seidl’s “black magic” spells) and it had been found inadvisable to entrust her to anyone else’s care due to one very interesting reason.

After her experience with Seidl and his conjuring of Iogsh’tahuty, an incident of which she blessedly had little memory due to the narcotic tranquillisers he had given her, Kitty Summers had begun to display certain mysterious powers of her own. This was obviously the result of her being present during the rare mystical calling, and a reaction to the presence of the dark deity. It was my responsibility to teach her properly and to assure that her newfound abilities would only be used for good and moral purposes.

It is for this reason that the lass did accompany me that day, scarcely a fortnight later, when I was suddenly summoned to a location in midtown Baltimore, in order to investigate a disturbance that the police had so far been unable to deal with.

“Lieutenant Borman,” said I, addressing the robust Baltimore City Police Detective who had been put in charge of the cordoned-off area. “This is my friend, Miss Summers. What seems to be the problem?”

“Dr. Daniel Rumanos,” said Borman as he shook my hand (only slightly smiling this time at my British pronunciation of “lef-tenant“). “Thanks for coming on such short notice. We have a situation here that seems to come under your particular expertise. An individual has been rampaging though the streets, yelling incoherent sounds and assaulting numerous bystanders. A kind of weird ‘glow’ seems to be around him. So far, we have been unable to apprehend him. Bullets seem to have no affect on him, and several officers who have attempted to overpower him will now have to be hospitalised!”

“Good heavens,” said I, wondering. “Could I have a look at the culprit?”

“Open a way for Dr. Rumanos!” shouted Lt. Borman to the group of policemen who had been surrounding the cordoned area.

I walked to-wards the area with Kitty Summers following close behind me. I was clad in my usual silk suit, jungle boots, leathern greatcoat, sunspecs, and panama hat. Kitty, a breathtakingly-beautiful girl, tall for her age and very slender, with auburn hair and eyes of emerald green, wore a sun-coloured dress with a matching sweater and small riding boots.

We soon beheld the perpetrator. It was an hideous, morbidly-obese white man dressed in jeans and a sleeveless shirt. He had a filthy black bandanna on his head and a large bushy beard. His arms were covered with tattooing and his eyes showed soulless, unnameable evil and wickedness beyond all sane imagining. Indeed, an odd cerulean glow appeared to encircle his hideous form.

“What!” I exclaimed. “Impossible! That is Jim Forrester!”

“Do you know this person, Doctor?” enquired Kitty.

“Indeed, though only by reputation. A decidedly bad reputation, I should add. He was a local rock musician, a dope pusher, and a dabbler in Satanism.”

“Did you say ‘was’? Do you mean he gave it up?” asked the little girl hopefully.

“No, my dear, that is not what I mean at all,” I replied, pulling the damsel close to me protectively. “I mean he was killed a couple of months back.”

“So you mean he’s… ?” she stammered with her eyes growing wide in wonder. “He’s somehow walking and running amok through the city when he’s really… ?”

“Yes, Miss Summers, I am afraid so. Jim Forrester is dead!”

Yes, the criminal scum known as Jim Forrester, age 43, was indeed dead. Deceased. Kaput. Of this, there can be no doubt. Dead and buried in a pauper’s grave in an O’Donnell Heights cemetery. The local news media had carried his story with their usual vulturine alacrity.

Jim Forrester, whilst known to some as the bass player in a couple of small-time local heavy-metal bands, had actually made his living by the smuggling of illegally-obtained prescription medications into Baltimore from a supplier in the horridly debased town of Ranson, West Virginia (that same hideous state being, as ever, the cause of so many of the Mid-Atlantic Region’s woes and horrors), then selling the drugs at a profit to local street dealers.

It is during one of these felonious transactions, taking place outside of a trashy body-piercing parlour on Eastern Avenue, that the dope-dealing filth named Jim Forrester had been fatally shot. Good riddance indeed.

Lauded by his friends in the local rock music scene, the deceased Jim Forrester was given a small funeral and then soon enough forgotten after a neighbourhood black “thug” was arrested for his murder. Forrester’s own criminal activities were glossed over, as was another bizarre peccadillo of his life: an interest in Satanism. Those who knew of it mostly dismissed it as a theatrical part of his music endeavours.

And yet here we were, several weeks after his death, facing a walking dead Jim Forrester who had already assaulted several innocent citizens and had so-far successfully resisted the efforts of the Baltimore Police Department to apprehend him.

Do you recognise the unnameable horror, the unspeakable darksome terror of this situation, my dear friends? I truly hope and pray that you do not, as any realisation of this could send one into complete and total madness with no hope of recovery.

“His Satanic dabbling, as you said, could this explain how he is back from the grave?” enquired Kitty with a shudder. “You taught me that what people call Satanism (like what that creepy old man Ron Seidl did) is actually the illicit worship of certain ancient dark entities from Outer Space. Couldn’t something like that have brought back this guy’s dead body? Could that explain all this, Doctor?”

“Not in itself, I do not think,” I told her. “If he had, through his demonic worship, made contact with some alien force, well, there are things that could indeed so reanimate his corpse. However, anything of that sort would probably have some kind of coherent plan, some reason and rationale, however evil, for being here. It would not be likely to just rampage through the city streets like this, randomly attacking people for no apparent purpose.”

As if on cue, the hideous Jim Forrester suddenly lurched forward, his monstrous form starting directly to-wards Kitty Summers and myself. In response, I then advanced in front of the little girl and cast a bolt of my bright orange and blue Algolitish energies directly at Forrester’s midsection. It hit him squarely and he stumbled back several paces but quickly recovered, growling loudly in inarticulate anger and again heading forward in our direction.

“That strange glow seems to have some protective effect upon him,” I said to the girl. “Be careful to stay clear of him and…”

Nevertheless, Kitty Summers had already stepped out from behind me and sent a wave of the powers that she had only so recently manifested at Forrester. Her energy sparkled with an otherworldly purplish effulgence as it streamed from her lithesome young body.

Again, as the hulking horror Jim Forrester was protected by whatever untold extraterrestrial power was lurking within him, Kitty’s energies only struck him a glancing blow and he continued forward -- now as I soon noticed, with his evil eyes focused on the attractive teenager!

Before I could intervene, Jim Forrester suddenly sent a blast of power sidewise at me, the bizarrely glimmering energies that played about him now apparently being wielded by his own efforts. It hit me unexpectedly and I proceeded to stumble backwards in shock at this unexpected display.

Then, sooner than my recovery was even possible, the sickening Satanic criminal filth known to eternal infamy as Jim Forrester proceeded to seize the innocent maiden Kitty Summers in his huge arms, then started to drag the girl off in preparation for his own perverse, obscenely lustful intentions!

I stood up, and, shaking off the effects of Forrester’s attack, prepared to send a blast of my power at him. I then realised, however, that I could do so without risking hitting the girl. I heard her screams as she struggled in vain to extricate herself from his wicked grasp.

I decided a physical attack was the best strategy, and so charged directly at Forrester, intending to pummel him with all the strength and speed that I could manage.

It was one of those times, my dear readers, at which you think that things cannot get any worse -- and then they just bloody well do anyway. It is as if they just insist upon it. For then, just as I was about to hit Jim Forrester with a great side-tackle, the criminal suddenly showed that he had even greater control of the unknown alien powers within him than I had even realised. Because it was then that my debauched and immoral (not to mention deceased) foe suddenly flew upwards, propelled by the strange bluish radiance, carrying the helpless little damsel aloft.

His goal, I soon enough comprehended, was the roof of the nearby Transamerica Tower, and he rapidly alit atop that 40-storey skyscraper along with the poor wee lass, the lovely Kitty Summers, my friend and protégé.

“Oh no you shall not, you bloody blue-collar bastard!” I exclaimed. “By the Spires of Daemonia I do swear that you shall not!”

Again utilising my own Algolitish abilities, I quickly levitated towards them and arrived at the top of the building just in time to see Jim Forrester preparing to rip the unconscious little girl’s clothing from her body (as she had indeed by now mercifully fainted). His face was horrid to see, as his eyes rolled and his thick-lipped mouth hung open in lustful anticipation of his intentions to brutally rape the beautiful teen.

“I will now end you, you damned hillbilly scum!” I cried.

I hit him hard with my fist directly to that same repulsive face, and sent him reeling across the roof of the building. He managed to recover with an ungodly yowl of anger and turned back to me with a look of extreme hatred.

It was then that the battle was truly joined, my fight with Jim Forrester, deceased would-be rock musician and dope dealer who had been reanimated by some as-yet-unknown alien force. We sent bolts of power at each other and hovered and reeled and spun aloft over the Baltimore skyline. In all, it only lasted a very few minutes, but in that time was a seeming eternity of power and force and conflict as I clashed with this execrable individual.

A police helicopter briefly attempted to assist in the melee, but was soon blasted by a bolt of Forrester’s energy. It spiralled into the near-by harbour, the officers on board barely managing to bail out in time.

Finally, I began to get the upper hand upon Forrester, and I beheld that he was weakening. Had the mysterious alien powers within him finally proven to be too much for his otherwise-lifeless body, or had my superior Algolite consistence just prevailed? I knew not but, as Jim Forrester fell down back onto the roof of the Transamerica Tower, I quickly hurtled again towards him, my extraterrestrial powers at the ready to hopefully finish the conflict.

Nevertheless, at that very moment something entirely unforeseen occurred. For it was then that I suddenly found myself enveloped by a deep blue haze of energy -- energy that had streamed forth from the prostrate form of the late varlet known as Jim Forrester. The unknown alien force that had somehow brought this obscene, godless criminal back from the dead had now completely surrounded me, and I saw nothing but its glowing ethereal effulgence!

The questions remained, the questions behind all that had happened that exceedingly-strange day: What was this power, what was its origin, and what was its purpose in the bizarre gambit of reanimating the evil Satanist Jim Forrester?

In any event, I knew that I was soon to find out!

I found myself drifting within a sky-blue mist, glowing softly all around me. I recognised it as being a kind of inter-dimensional field, a transmit conduct into the consciousness of an alien mind. I then heard a voice -- a calm voice without gender or passion. 

“I am here for peaceful purposes,“ it said. “I am of the Phantasteans.”

“The Phantasteans?” I replied. “Of course. Pacifist beings of pure mind energy from the planet Phantaste.”

“You know of our race?”

“Indeed. I am Rumanos of the Watchers of Algol, and your species is classified in the research records of my people as one of the most peaceful and enlightened in the Galaxy.”

“I came to this world only to gather scientific information,” explained the Phantastean. “I entered the body of this being. It was not in use. I soon found myself overwhelmed by the hatred and lustful impulses remaining within it. I have attempted to regain control, but was only able to do so when you weakened the physical form of this creature.”

“Sorry to hear of your experience, Phantastean. It will be understood that you and your race are not responsible for what has occurred here today. His occult activities may have made his corpse inadvertently available to you.”

“Watcher of Algol, I ask you: Are all the people of this planet Earth as hateful, as vile as this one?”

“No, not quite. Oh, they have their problems, but this Jim Forrester was of a particularly repellent, odious type. More civilised Earthlings refer to them as ‘Chavs‘.”

“I will now leave this planet, Watcher of Algol. I thank you for your assistance.”

“Glad to help, Friend Phantastean. Happy cosmic trails to you!”

With this, I again found myself upon the roof of the Transamerica Tower building. The body of Jim Forrester was lying before me. Without the alien influence, he now looked as dead and partially-decayed as he actually was.

The placidly blue form of the Phantastean briefly hovered over me, and I then saw it shoot upwards, soon disappearing into the distance of the afternoon sky, away from Earth into the depths of Space.

I turned and helped Kitty Summers to her feet. She had recovered from her swoon, aided by her own powers, just in time to behold the Phantastean leaving this world.

“Doctor, was that… ?” the sweet little girl said in wonder. “Was that what was in him?”

“Yes, my dear Miss Summers,” said I, putting a comforting arm around her “That was a peaceful being from the distant planet Phantaste, temporarily overcome by the godless passions of this human varlet. I shall explain more later.”

Lt. Borman and his group of uniformed Baltimore City Police then arrived on the scene via the fire-stairs.

“Dr. Rumanos,” said the detective, “is the situation defused?”

“Indeed it is, Lieutenant,” I assured him. “You will find that the suspect is named Jim Forrester, and that he has actually been dead for several weeks.”

“Weeks!” exclaimed Borman in astonishment. “But numerous witnesses saw him rampaging through the city streets just today, and he assaulted both innocent bystanders and police officers. How the hell am I supposed to explain that in the report?”

“Well, old chap,” I said, whilst I began to make my exit with the girl, “you could just say it was an illusion. A trick of the light, perhaps?”

“I know what to say!” added Kitty Summers with a smile. “Just call it a ‘Rock ‘n Roll Fantasy’!”

Daniel Rumanos shall return in “Make the Young Girls Spy (The Lizzy Martinez Story)”.

TWO TICKETS TO PARADISE


Of the several cases that I find in my files from the early part of that particular summer, there are three major ones. The first, entitled “The Damnation of Bryan & Baxter” (concerning my infiltration of the headquarters of a Satanic paedophilia network in the area of Denver, Colorado, which was guarded by gigantic, mutated lizards), contains no features of unique interest; whilst the second, “Don Wingo Must Diet”, includes revelations that wouldst compromise the security of a certain high Executive office. For these reasons, I shall present here an account of the experience found in the third of these case files, which is indeed of a particularly bizarre importance and far-reaching impact. It is entitled “Two Tickets to Paradise”, for reasons that will quickly become obvious…

“Holy Morning Delights, Eleven!” exclaimed the girl, addressing me by my official operative number. “That must be the biggest one ever!”

“Ah, yes!” I exclaimed. “I suppose it is rather impressive. Nevertheless, I assure you that I have seen some even larger breakfast buffets in some of the better New York hotels.”

The young lady, Robina by name, was at the time training to become an agent of the KOSMIKOS, that secret service agency of our people, the Watchers of Algol. My assignment was her training, whilst she was visiting the planet Earth during a break from her usual studies at Daemonia Academy, and she had thus far proved quite adept. However, she was still a very young Algolite (indeed, she had only been cleared to begin training because members of her family had so well served as Kosmikos agents in the past), and her powers had not as yet fully developed.

“Try the Danish pastries, young Mistress Robina,” I suggested. “I am sure you will find them delicious.”

“Yes, Master Rumanos,” she replied obediently, her sapphire eyes flashing. She was of above average height and slender, with ginger hair and skin the purest white of alabaster. Even by Algolite standards, the girl was gorgeous. She was clad in a red and yellow dress with a matching short cape and riding boots.

Despite appearances, we were not actually taking time off from our stealth work to enjoy the continental breakfast at the Enchanted Forest Inn here on Route 40 West, just outside of Baltimore City. Our instrumentation had detected some odd emanations from the area, evidence of technology not of Earthly origin.

I poured myself a large cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice, then preparing a plate of several buttered croissants and a couple of jelly doughnuts before sitting down with Robina at one of the tables. I was wearing my usual silk suit and jungle boots, with my leathern greatcoat and panama hat slung over a nearby chair. Several other guests, out-of-town tourists, were minding their own business at the buffet and other tables.

I was glad to see Robina enjoying her pastry and a glass of milk. She certainly deserved some rest and recreation after the harrowing experiences we had already had that summer. I hoped that the technology we had detected would turn out to be something easily dealt with. Most often, such concerns turn out to be just the random emanations from the ejected spare fuel tank of a passing spaceship, or some such thing.

Little did we yet know, however, that our presence was perceived -- perceived by someone who was watching us intently upon a view-screen in a dark chamber filled with strange, otherworldly scientific instruments. 

“Predictable as ever, Rumanos,” he stated in a low, sepulchral voice. “Still a swaggering sybaritic nympholept after all these years.”

He was shrouded in black, a cowl completely covering his features even as he sat alone in his metallic chair. A sense of decay, of mouldering putrefaction born of absolute madness, seemed to permeate his very being; but with it a feeling of power, of intellectual superiority so far advanced as to view most other sentient beings as, at best, mere playthings.

Back at the restaurant, the young girl and I were enjoying our breakfast. I was just going to step back over to the sideboard for some fruit when the gentle neo-classical music that had been playing over the room’s speakers suddenly changed to a raucous old circus theme.

“Ladies and Gentleman, and children of all ages visiting us here today at the amazing and incredible Enchanted Forest Inn!” declared a vociferous announcement over the loudspeaker. “We have the winners in our fantastic giveaway! Yes, the delightful couple at table number four will enjoy an all-expenses-paid vacation holiday at our all-new Paradise Park amusement centre! You will enjoy wonder and enchantment beyond imagining in our land of pleasure and excitement where all your dreams will come true! Fantasies and fairy tales and magic and miracles and romance extraordinaire await you just outside these doors at the most astounding, marvellous, mind-boggling, and greatest amusement attraction of all time: the thrillingly-unforgettable Paradise Park!”

I noticed that a stream of colourful confetti was showering down upon Robina and me.

“What does this mean, Eleven?” enquired the girl.

“It appears, my young apprentice,” I told her amusedly, “that we have won two tickets to paradise!”

And even then, in that bizarre chamber from which we were being watched, that seated figure chuckled wickedly.

“Now, Daniel Rumanos of Daemonia,” he hissed with hatred tingeing his deep, darksome tones, “now I shall at last take my revenge upon you; my aeons-awaited vengeance for the unforgivably-offensive outrage that you committed upon me so unspeakably long ago. Your time is soon ending, Rumanos. I, Mordauntus, have declared your doom!”

It was then that the figure raised his head just slightly and the light of the view-screen fell fully across his features. It revealed a face of nightmares. It was little more than a skull, only thinly covered by a film of horridly scarred skin. Moreover, at the centre of this horrendous visage were two dark eyes that bespoke of insanity but also of intellect and indeed, of strength; for in these eyes glistened a spark of ancient power, glowing deeply within with an effulgence of sparkling orange and blue -- that power which is wielded only by the Watchers of Algol! …

The lovely Robina and I walked through the door at the back of the Enchanted Forest Inn. It was surrounded by flashing lights and surmounted by a sign proclaiming it the “Gateway to Paradise”.

We found ourselves in a large clearing of the wooded area behind the inn. It had been filled with rather gaudy décor. There were faux palm trees and large fountains made to look like waterfalls. Canned music, of a stereotypical “calypso” variety, played from an hidden source.

The bright sunlight and warmth of the summer day added to the illusion of tropical splendour. I was, none the less, wearing my big coat. It is permeated with numerous powers due to its many years of use during my adventures, and I can actually utilise it for a rather cooling effect during hot weather. I expect people who see me clad in it during such conditions think I am just a leather fetishist or else afflicted with some rheumatic ailment.

“So, what exactly is this place, Eleven?” enquired Robina.

“Perhaps it is indeed only a new amusement attraction, as advertised,” I answered. “Nevertheless, it could have some connection with those strange emanations we detected. Going along with this at least gives us a chance to investigate further.”

It was then that we first encountered any of they inhabitants, or rather attendants, of this so-called paradise. It was an humanoid but completely androgynous being of medium height, wearing a multicoloured outfit. Its head was disproportionately large and its features frozen in a wide, rather grotesque smile.

“Welcome to Paradise,” it said in a pleasant but rather emotionless voice. “We hope you will enjoy your stay.”

With that, the attendant walked past us as we continued our stroll through the false tropical forest.

“Eleven,” whispered Robina, “was that a…?”

“Yes, I do believe it was,” I replied with some astonishment. “A robot! Some sort of android or automaton.”

“Do the Earth-people have the technology to produce such automatons?”

“Barely. Certainly not of any very advanced type as yet. It also seems highly unlikely that they would employ them here when human workers are available. After all, it could lead to problems with the Amusement Industry Workers Union.”

“What is a ‘union’, Eleven?” queried the Algolite girl. “Some kind of secret terrorist organisation?”

‘Oh, one of the worst,” I somewhat joked.

By now, we had seen several other of the mechanical attendants. They all simply walked past us and repeated the same refrain:

“Welcome to Paradise. We hope you will enjoy your stay.”

“Indeed,” I said to Robina, “these automata do appear to be of non-Earthly origin.”

“But why?” she queried. “What could their purpose be?”

“I wonder…”

My words were then cut short when we suddenly found ourselves surrounded. There were automatons on every side of us. They had hidden behind the trees and now emerged en masse. As they advanced to-wards us, they now held out their arms straight out before them, and their hands began to glow with a sickly glare.

“What is that, Eleven?” asked the lass with some trepidation. “Is it some kind of radiation?”

“I believe so, and it could very well be a kind dangerous -- perhaps even deadly -- to Algolites. We must avoid it if at all possible.”

Now, as I have said, Robina was still very young, and her Algolitish powers were only beginning to manifest. This cut down on her defensive capabilities, but I had attempted to augment them by teaching her some methods of self-defence known upon Earth. Thus, as the robots approached us we stood back-to-back. I prepared a blast of my own Algolitish abilities and cast it at the automatons approaching from my side. My burst shone bright orange and blue as it hit several of them squarely. They retreated a few paces but were not completely halted by it.

“Good heavens,” I said. “It appears that someone or something was expecting us. These robots must be controlled from some central force, and have been empowered specifically to fight Algolites!”

Robina had delivered a king-fu kick to the attacker nearest her, being careful to avoid contact with its glowing hands. We both knew that allowing any of them to touch us could be exceedingly dangerous. The robot halted briefly, then continued to walk to-wards the girl. Several others also advanced in her direction.

She jumped up into the air to avoid them. Her Algolitish levitational abilities had begun to develop, but she had not yet mastered them. She managed to avoid the robots, but could not stay aloft for long. She landed directly in front of me.

“What are we going to do, Master Rumanos?” cried Robin as she huddled close to me for some feeling of safety.

I had by now felt my own powers draining. The nearness of the radiation was having a detrimental effect upon them. Levitation was for now out of the question, and my energies were waning, effectively cutting off all means of defence against the advancing automations.

“Welcome to Paradise,” they continued to repeat, this refrain now having taken to itself a mocking hideousness as they held out their potentially-deadly hands, now mere inches from us. “We hope you will enjoy your stay.”

As the dangerous automatons closed in upon us, I thought of one possible avenue of escape.

“Hold on tight,” I advised as I drew Robina close.

I concentrated deeply on a certain emanation, using my Algolitish abilities to sense the energy emissions from the machinery controlling the robots. Mentally attaching myself to it, I quickly teleported Robina and myself out of the area. There was a brief flash of the image of a swirling, grey mist, pulsating with the energy we were following through the inter-dimensional transition.

We soon re-materialised inside an immense chamber filled with electronic equipment. I looked up to the lofty ceiling, far above us.

“We are beneath the earth; apparently underneath the theme park area,” said I. “This is from whence the robots were being controlled.”

“This machinery,” said Robina in wonder; “it is from many different planets and eras.”

“Indeed. The intelligence necessary to successfully calibrate and integrate them would be immense, not to mention the Time/Space travel necessary to find them all. Only an Algolite…”

I was interrupted by a deep voice, a voice at once arrogant and insane.

“Have you deduced the truth yet, Rumanos?” it said. “I have returned to seek retribution upon you.”

I turned and saw the figure emerging from behind one of the computer consoles. It was the form of what had once been a robust Algolite man, now emaciated by the lingering results of long-ago injuries. His black, hooded robe clung to him like corpse-wrappings, only his gnarled hands and skull-like face showing.

“You!” I exclaimed in shock. “After all this time, you still live.”

“Who is it?” enquired the girl.

“Young Mistress Robina, meet Master Mordauntus, late of Algol and Daemonia Academy.”

“You two are acquainted, then?”

“Indeed we are, young woman, indeed we are,” hissed Mordauntus through his exposed teeth, his only skin an hideous scar-tissue stretched across bare bone. “We were at school together, so long ago.”

“Quite right, Mordauntus,” said I. “Until you were expelled for unlawful mechanical experimentation. After that, you attempted to seek revenge by invading the Academy with your robotic servants, of a different appearance but similar design to those you have here. It was I who found and defeated you. In fact, it was that confrontation that first brought my abilities as a possible operative to the attention of the Kosmikos!”

“Yes, you always were a ridiculous, strutting cockerel,” spat Mordauntus.

“We thought you were obliterated by my more fully developed powers.”

“My body was nearly destroyed, eaten up by the waves you unleashed upon me. Nevertheless, I survived and hid myself in the underworld of Daemonian society, waiting and planning for the day that I could take my revenge upon you. Now, here on this backwater planet known as Earth, that day has arrived!”

“But you were a criminal,” said Robina. “Eleven was only doing his duty as a loyal Watcher in defeating your unauthorised experiments.”

“Ha!” answered Mordauntus. “My hatred for this blustering swashbuckler goes back to before our fight. His constant boasting and telling of tales, his never-ending bragging to impress the little girls…”

“Oh, so that would be it, eh?” I mused. “Jealousy that I was (and am) popular with the ladies? How pathetic.”

“You were, and are, an insufferable braggart and an unbearable meddler! Nothing was ever enough for you. Why, even the night of the Perseids Prom, you could not get by with just one date, could you? You had to bring two girls!”

“Those were the Sinclara Twins,” I reminisced. “They did everything together. In fact, later that same evening, we…”

“Enough!” Mordauntus shouted angrily. “It ends now, Rumanos! It ends now!”

With this, Mordauntus suddenly unleashed a wave of his own Algolitish powers. His emaciated physical condition had not lessened them. The blast sent me reeling against the far wall of the chamber, and the edge of his burst struck Robina as well. I saw the girl fall unconscious upon the metallic floor as the result of the impact.

I charged forward with a burst of my own energies at Mordauntus. It met his in mid-air and filled the chamber with orange and blue sparking and flashes. The battle was now on between the villainous, utterly-mad Mordauntus and me -- a confrontation that I knew only one of us would survive!

My energies had been somewhat weakened by the earlier clash with the automatons, so I was not at full strength for my battle with the unspeakably evil and totally mad Algolite scientist known as Mordauntus.

“I will destroy you, Dr. Daniel Rumanos!” he taunted. “At long last I will have my revenge! At long last I will rid this Cosmos of your meddlesome existence!”

Whilst our bursts of force sparkled and exploded around the chamber, I noticed that Mordauntus was edging his way towards a certain machine. It was machine which I recognised as a type of energy storage device; a sort of battery, and I knew that the force it contained was the radiation that he had harnessed -- the radiation hideously harmful to Algolites. His objective was obvious: he intended to turn the full toxic force of the radiation upon me in his vindictively insane plot to bring about my destruction!

“Now, Rumanos, now…” he sneered as his nearly-skeletal arm reached for a control lever on the machine, a lever that wouldst release a potentially-lethal ray of the radioactive element directly at me. “Now I bring your doom!”

Nearby, young Robina opened her eyes. She was just recovering from the unconscious state in which our foe’s attack had left her. She looked up and beheld the situation, as the villain readied to possibly kill me.

“No!” she cried. “Oh, no!”

With this, Robina raised her little white hand and released a bolt of her own, newly-developed Algolitish power. It sizzled across the air. She had intended to hit Mordauntus squarely in his chest, but her aim was slightly off due to her inexperience. The bolt instead hit the machine containing the deadly radiation, which immediately fell upon Mordauntus and split open -- completely bathing his body in the deadly power!

I heard Mordauntus bellow in shock, agony, and unnameable pain before his life was extinguished. His body was completely consumed and obliterated, his alien consciousness scattered irretrievably to the farthest corners of the Universe.

Robina had run over and thrown her arms around me, sobbing softly:

“Oh, Eleven, are you all right?”

“Yes, I am well, my dear Robina;” I assured her, “and Mordauntus is gone forever.”

The rest of the machinery in the lofty chamber was crumbling around us, and I looked upwards to behold a fissure that was opening in the ceiling, revealing the blue sky above.

“The entire structure is imploding,” I said. “Without the mind of Mordauntus to hold it together, this chamber, the theme park, the robots, and all the rest of it will quickly cease to exist!”

I pulled Robina closer to me and began to levitate directly upwards.

“Hold on tight?” she asked with a smile.

“Always!” I replied.

I flew up and away, with the beautiful girl in my arms, away from the crumbling remains of the villain’s lair into the light of day and new adventures to come.

Daniel Rumanos shall return.

ABRACADABRA!


She remembered that her name was Megan. Little else was clear to the girl. Her surroundings were dark, save for a thin blade of light that seemed to be coming from a closed doorway. Her mind would not function properly; her memories were obscured as if by a mental fog. She had vague ideas of a life, parents, school, friends; but the details were shrouded.

She became only dimly aware that she was lying on a bed, her hands bound by ropes to the headboard.

Suddenly, the shaft of light grew larger, just for a moment. Then it was obscured by a silhouette, a tall figure standing before her.

“Ah, so you are awake, my cutie,” said the voice of a man, a deep and mocking voice, a voice of one depraved by unnameable and lustful evils. “It won’t be long now. Soon, you will assist me in the calling of the One. The very Essence. The Lord of the Formless Void. The Lord -- Abraxas!! …

My name is Dr. Daniel Rumanos. I use my unusual capabilities to defend the human race from alien invasions and mad scientists. I am Daemon-Star! …

I was seated at Caesar’s Den restaurant in Baltimore’s Little Italy, wearing my usual silk suit and jungle boots, with my leathern greatcoat and panama hat on a nearby rack. I was quite enjoying an excellent luncheon of linguini with mushroom sauce when an elderly gentleman suddenly appeared sitting across the table from me. I recognised him immediately as Chief of Staff of the KOSMIKOS, that secret service organisation of my people, the Watchers of Algol.

“Greetings, Master Rumanos,” said the Chief. He was wearing the silver coverall garment of his office, his piercing eyes firmly focused upon me.

“Salutations, Master Chief,” I replied. “What brings you these ninety-three light years? All is well on the home-world, I pray? I must say I was expecting more ‘chef’ than Chief in these surroundings.”

“Indeed all is as it ever was on Daemonia,” answered the rather dour Algolite, ignoring my attempt at humour. “How proceeds your usual assignments here on Earth?”

“Nothing of any importance for a fortnight or so. I was thinking of using the lull to take Katrina for our long-delayed vacation at Galactic Centre.”

“Excellent to hear. How is Lady Rumanos these days?” enquired the Chief. “I notice she rarely takes part in your assignments of late.”

“Aye. While Kat is immortal and eternally youthful, she can experience pain. Knowing this is something our enemies can exploit and have used against me, I have found it best for her to live in retirement at one of our seaside resort homes. When I am working, she amuses herself with caring for her pet felines and reading classical poetry. Not a bad life at all, really.”

“It is good to hear that she is safe and well.”

“Thank you.”

I took a sip of coffee as the Chief sat in absolute silence.

“Look, Chief,” said I at last, “as much as I appreciate the show of concern, I know you did not travel here just to ask about the health of my family. There is some other matter, eh?”

“Indeed there is, Eleven,” replied the Chief, now addressing me by my official operative number. “A concern as great as any you have faced before. It has come to our attention that a certain Earthman by the name of Jay DuBrueler is attempting to call forth the being known as Abraxas.”

“Abraxas?” said I in astonishment. “That demoniacal evil has not been heard of in nearly twenty centuries, since the fall of the Basilidean Gnostic heresy that last threatened to bring forth his chaos upon this planet. They blasphemously referred to him as ‘The Father of God‘. Medieval Christian cosmologists later called him ‘the oldest demon known to man’. Magicians still mischievously use his other name: ‘Abracadabra!’”

“Indeed so,” replied the Chief. “He was originally Abraxas the Great, Emperor of Galaxy 424. Finding himself bereft of new worlds to conquer, he used the combined mentalist force of the myriad races under his command in order to teleport himself across the Cosmos to the Milky Way.

“He hoped to expand his empire here, but the resulting backlash of the psychic forces necessary to achieve such a leap drove him into complete madness. The earliest ancestors of humankind not even in existence then, and the Gargouellios of Mu -- with some help from the Watchers, I might add -- succeeded in binding him in one of the inter-dimensional prisons. It is from there that Abraxas attempted to the return from the darkness by the worship of the Second-Century heretics.”

“So now he is trying again, through this DuBrueler character?”

“Quite so. Jay DuBrueler, late of the area of ‘Harpers Ferry, West Virginia’,” informed the Chief, pronouncing the name of the Earth location with the unusual intonation it indeed was to him.

“Harpers Ferry, you say?” I said in disgust. “That degenerate cesspit has been an hotbed of Satanic cults and occult corruption for years now. It should burn.”

“DuBrueler has moved to Baltimore.”

“Bloody Hell!” I exclaimed. “This city has enough problems without having to deal with hillbilly devil-worshippers.”

“Your mission, of course, is to destroy Jay DuBrueler and to assure that Abraxas remains forever imprisoned.”

“Understood. I will get on it immediately, Chief.”

“There is one complication: DuBrueler has kidnapped a young human female for use in his calling forth of Abraxas.”

“The sexual sacrifice?” I shuddered. “That is indeed the most dangerous and wickedly powerful of the so-called ‘paranormal’ technologies. What is the poor girl’s name?”

“It is Megan McCrable.”

“Megan McCrable! Why, her disappearance is known. There are ‘missing person’ posters of her up all over the city. Hot little blonde, age sixteen.”

“It is most imperative that you stop DuBrueler from performing the rite with her. It would free Abraxas and bring chaos and mayhem upon this planet, the resulting havoc perhaps wiping out the entire human race. This you must prevent.”

With this, the Chief of Staff vanished. He had communicated my assignment to me and returned to our headquarters in the Algolite systems. I would receive no further assistance, in accord with the official “non-interference” policies of our kind. It was now all up to me as a covert agent.

I turned from the table to call the waiter for my bill and then stopped abruptly. There was a strange black mist, a fog of eldritch darkness, enveloping my table. You see, a certain side effect of the information having been given me is the opening of possible communication between myself and the insane forces of evil that I would be fighting. They had indeed taken no time to begin their assault.

It was then that I beheld an huge ebon shape beginning to coalesce before me. It was a shape as of no being known outside of complete and utter madness, a shape of ungodly obscenity, a shape of the absolute and unmentionable horrors.

And accompanying this apparition I heard a low chant, a chant proclaiming the name of that ancient and insane evil, that grotesquely-archaic otherworldly conqueror that threatened to bring eternal disorder and unending pandemonium upon an unsuspecting world:

“Abraxas… Abraxas… Abraxas… “

I cast a wave of my bright orange and blue Algolitish energies at the vision, for that is what it was. An illusion sent by the mentalist force of Abraxas as a warning to me from afar.

The spectre vanished as my power hit it, disappearing back into the void. Nevertheless, I knew that this ancient evil was still of extreme potency if it had the ability to produce such a phantasm before my campaign against it could even get underway.

Then I realised something, something horrifying. It was the 30th day of April, that which is known as Beltane or Walpurgis Night -- the most important celebration of those who follow the ungodly rites of Satanism. I knew that this Jay DuBrueler lunatic would not waste the opportunity to utilise this coming night in which to call forth his infernal lord, the oldest of the demons -- Abraxas!

I quickly paid my bill and left the restaurant. There was no time to lose in finding DuBrueler and halting this outrage, including his intention of using an innocent teenage girl as the so-called “sexual sacrifice”.

It was in truth no surprise that this DuBrueler filth would do such a thing, as a look at his antecedents will reveal.

Jay DuBrueler was born to a working-class family in Frederick County, Maryland. His father died of lung-cancer when Jay was a small lad, and the boy dropped out of school soon afterwards, moving into his mother’s basement in his teens, and remaining there for the next two decades.

Despite his lack of a formal education, Jay DuBrueler did show a modicum of intellect, reading old horror novels and a few books on electronics and so forth. Along the way, he discovered some occult texts at a local bookstall. These included that hideous volume known as _The Satanic Bible_, written by the late Anton Szandor LaVey, whose own status as a conman and fraud did not prevent him from unleashing truly unholy terror through his attempts at literary works.

DuBrueler liked LaVey, and did some delving into his background. He especially enjoyed the rumours that LaVey had fathered a child by his own barely-teenaged daughter. DuBrueler, although by now a tall, well-built young man, with dark hair and not unhandsome features, had failed in any attempts towards romance. Women were generally disgusted by his poverty and his seemingly-shiftless existence. If he could use Satanism as a method of procuring sexual liaisons, mused DuBrueler, then so much the better.

However, along the way it seems that Jay DuBrueler had acquired a rather extensive criminal record. Drugs charges (he was hopelessly addicted to that revolting weed known as marijuana), driving while intoxicated, assault charges due to various drunken brawls at local taverns, and so on. After some time, DuBrueler decided he needed new stomping grounds in order to continue his Satanic pursuits. A possible location eventually presented itself to him.

West Virginia is the most debased and disgustingly-abject State in the Union. DuBrueler decided that its horribly low levels of sophistication found there would make it perfect as a place for him to establish his base of infernal operations. Therefore, now in his thirties, he finally moved out of his mother’s home and headed to hillbilly land.

Once in West Virginia, Jay DuBrueler first stayed at Nahkeeta Campsite near Martinsburg. It is from here that he abducted a three-year-old girl, brutally raping her in the near by woods before leaving her there, bound and gagged, to bleed to death. The child’s disappearance was never reported, her family being transients who felt they had no recourse to the police or other authorities.

After leaving the campground, DuBrueler settled in Harpers Ferry, that town being, as always, seemingly a gathering-place for the area’s worst elements. Its status as a tourist-trap makes it a prime location for petty crime and con games of all types, including the numerous fake “haunted houses” charging a fee for the purpose of bilking credulous thrill-seekers. To the occult-obsessed criminal known as Jay DuBrueler, the area sounded like a paradise, and he soon enough found a way to thrive there.

What DuBrueler did was indeed an old ploy of his type: pretending to be attracted to a lonely old woman and using her home as a place to flop. The chosen victim of this swindle was a certain Mary Addams, a widow in her late fifties who owned a local jewellery shop, which was rather optimistically known as High Street Accessories.

One day, whilst lazing around the shop, Jay DuBrueler discovered an item in the display case that fast caught his attention, an item that Addams had acquired from the estate sale of a deceased local collector of the bizarre. It was a disk of very old-looking pewter, about three inches in diameter. On it was an engraving of a creature rather like a grotesque gamecock, accompanied by a name of ancient and most nigrescent evil: Abraxas.

DuBrueler immediately appropriated the horrid talisman and began to use it in his Satanic conjurations, marvelling at the phantasmagorical manifestations he could now accomplish. Indeed, it is then that the hoary horror of Abraxas the Great, conqueror of a distant galaxy, reached out to Jay DuBrueler, the now utterly-mad alien intending to use him as a tool in its plans to break free from its inter-dimensional prison and to spread chaos across the world.

To begin his perverse worship of Abraxas the Great, the wicked DuBrueler had taken “Victoria Harper”, a stray cat that had become the unofficial mascot of Harpers Ferry, and had slaughtered the poor little kitty (“Just for fun!“ he exclaimed as the cat’s blood gushed from its throat that he had cut with a steak-knife) upon the old deal table he utilised as a Satanic altar.

It was then that DuBrueler encountered a snag. Mary Addams discovered his Satanist activities and, in no way approving of such things, sent him packing. He moved back to Maryland, raising money by selling prescription medications he had pilfered from Addams to Baltimore City’s illegal narcotics market.

And so, I arrived in the disgustingly blue-collar east Baltimore neighbourhood of Edgewater this 30 April -- Walpurgisnacht -- to prevent the satanic criminal Jay DuBrueler from achieving his demoniacal goals. I parked my canary-yellow Edwardian roadster at the end of Maple Leaf Road and began to cross the field to DuBrueler’s domicile -- a small, dilapidated house in the distance. I hoped to all that is holy that I still had time to save the girl, innocent Miss Megan McCrable, from his perverse embrace. Surely, DuBrueler would know he had to preserve her virginity until the ceremony in order to properly present the “sacrifice”. He would wait until midnight, the “Witching Hour” when, according to the superstitious, the powers of evil are most exalted.

A curious yellow fog had arisen that now-late afternoon, increasingly obscuring my surroundings as I crossed the grassy field. Then suddenly, as from out of nowhere and everywhere at once, I found myself surrounded by the appearance of myriads of darksome, eldritch forms. Forms of unmentionable and abominable alien shape and plethoric otherworldly visage.

This was no vision. I was being attacked by the servitors of Abraxas; the very manifestations of the psychic essences of those uncountable alien races who had been subjects in his own remote galaxy. The very beings whose amalgamated power Abraxas had used to transport himself across the Cosmos.

This mass of demonical terror surrounded me on all sides. Then, all at once, the dark horrors rushed upon me!!

Of the many beings who were the inhabitants of Galaxy 424 during the time of the Empire of Abraxas the Great, it could be said that very few of them would be considered of any sane visage to the humanoid mindset. Strange, writhing, obscenely distorted forms surrounded me, twisting and shifting in constant, grotesque motion; forms vaguely resembling gigantic insects and spiders and reptiles and centipedes and crustaceans and cephalopods and myriads of other shapes -- many of them beyond any possibility of description.

With this were howlings and buzzings and clickings and indeed a cacophony of diabolic sound.

What these creatures intended in their attack upon me I could only surmise. That they were servants of Abraxas was definite, but their rationale -- if indeed such a thing can be ascribed to such monstrosities -- was seemingly far beyond any type of logical comprehension.

That they were insane was definite. Their having teleported, along with their dark master, across such an unbelievable vastness of Outer Space so many uncountable aeons past had sent them into complete and utter screaming madness for all eternity. At this knowledge I could only think: if these servitors were so powerful and forceful in their abject insanity, what even higher unnameable powers of the twisted mind could then lurk within their superior, that legendary conqueror of worlds, Abraxas the Great?

As the alien forms swirled around me in constant hideous motion, feelers and claws and tentacles and fins and unmentionable appendages continuing to writhe and squirm and thrash about in horrendous constant motion, I was also beset by mental images of other scenes, scenes unfathomable.

I beheld scenes of uncountable darksome worlds; planets and comets and star systems of the most ancient age of that distant galaxy. Whirling planets with rings and moons and vast structures built for forms unimaginable of figure.

Darkling orbits of eldritch chaos and of seemingly-infinite enormity.

Moreover, during it all, I heard the chant; that chant of the worship of that incredibly-powerful being of sinister satanic terror, the oldest of the demons, the so-called “Father of God”; that creature of cosmic horror and horrid eternal evil whose adoration is only the continual repetition of his feared and awesome name:

“Abraxas… Abraxas… Abraxas!!”

Through all of this, I endeavoured to concentrate, to break through the distractions of the great cosmic wickedness that was being revealed to me. I had to concentrate on my mission, to that with which I had been entrusted: preventing the debauched cultist Jay DuBrueler from achieving his satanic goal of bringing the insane and demoniacal alien tyrant known as Abraxas into manifestation upon Earth, and therefore plunging the unsuspecting human race into a world of dark chaos from which they would likely never return.

In this, I most was able to concentrate on saving the girl, the beautiful young woman that DuBrueler had so cruelly abducted. The girl whom he now intended to force into taking part in his perverse evocation. The innocent and blameless maiden whom he intended to violate upon his altar of madness -- the so-called “sexual sacrifice” that would raise the psyche-static energy necessary to bring the eldritch abomination of Abraxas into total and complete manifestation. I concentrated on the damsel named Miss Megan McCrable.

With this thought in mind, I unleashed a burst of my bright orange and blue Algolitish powers around me, blasting away the images of the demoniac alien servitors. Suddenly, they were silent, and I saw that I was back in that Edgewater field, with the extraterrestrial distortions now banished.

Nevertheless, it was then that I new horror overtook me, forsooth an horror of realisation. For it was then I noticed that time had passed whilst I had been in the dark grip of the servitors; much more time than had seemed, for what is a temporal difference to beings of such ancient origin? It was now well after sunset, and the misty field was enshrouded in the darkness of nighttime.

For this had been the purpose of the servitors: to delay me. I knew that it was now midnight, the time allotted for the sexual sacrifice and the final conjuration of Abraxas. I hurried towards the house of Jay DuBrueler in my final attempt to prevent this and to save the helpless girl, realising that I might already be too late!

Inside the house, Jay DuBrueler had completed the opening evocations, and already an huge, ebon-black phantasm was forming over the altar of madness that he had constructed. DuBrueler smiled evilly, his sallow complexion and dark eyes alit by the numerous candles burning around the chamber. Copious amounts of incense, made from hideously unlawful herbs, filled the air.

Lying helpless upon the altar was Megan McCrable, exquisitely beautiful and nude and powerless to prevent the outrage that was intended. Her pure white skin shone clearly in the candlelight, her lush golden hair framing her perfect features. She slightly opened her lovely blue eyes, but the sickening narcotic tranquillisers that DuBrueler had given her in her food prevented her from attaining full consciousness.

Jay DuBrueler approached Megan’s helpless figure with unrestrained lust showing upon his bestial face. The short time that he had kept the girl there had to him seemed like an eternity of waiting, but he had managed to restrain himself until now; and now the time had come for him to perform the “sexual sacrifice” -- to forcefully violate the young virgin and to use the resulting psyche-sensual energy of this outrage in order to bring the horrid abomination of Abraxas into full horrid manifestation!

DuBrueler could not repress a chuckle as he opened his black ceremonial robe and prepared to take his obscene pleasure with the helpless damsel. His desire was engorged to the extreme, and he knew it would not take long to perform the perverse rite and to thereby complete the calling forth of his chaotic, demoniacal lord.

“Abraxas,” the wicked Satanist chanted as he drew near the poor wee lass, “Abraxas... Abraxas!”

But then, mere seconds before the villainous filth Jay DuBrueler could begin his ravishing of the maiden, he heard the sound of the glass shattering in one of the windows. DuBrueler looked up just in time to see me as I delivered a flying kick to his midsection, sending him hurling across the room, safely away from the girl. He hit his head against a shelf, and I beheld him fall down dead as blood poured from his now-cleft skull.

I turned quickly to the hideous form of Abraxas forming above the altar, and recited the prayer to exorcise the spectral horror from this reality:

“In Nomine Dominus Nostri Christos Jesus Excelsus!”

There was a sound as of countless souls in everlasting agony, and then silence as the horrid form vanished, cast back into its proper hell -- hopefully for all eternity.

There is a reason, dear readers, why the alien horror Abraxas had became known, albeit so blasphemously, as the “Father of God”. It is because that the fear and danger of his very existence had caused the human race to turn to the worship of the One True Lord and Creator, and to embrace the extraterrestrial technology -- taught them by the Watchers of Algol through the Gargoyles of Mu -- that is known upon this planet as Abrahamic Religion.

I picked up Megan McCrable and carried her from the house. I would return her to her grateful parents, who would ask few questions out of happiness to see their teenage daughter safe. Megan would recover well, considering the circumstances, and she would remember little of what had occurred due to the drugs that the villainous DuBrueler had given her.

That night, as I carried the beautiful girl from the house of evil, she looked up at me dreamily, a slight smile upon her lovely lips.

“I like your coat,” she said softly, feeling the leather against her naked skin.

“You should see me in a peplum,” I replied, and she swooned

Daniel Rumanos shall return.