We drove up just outside the studios of WBUM Radio in the town of Dundalk on that bright summer day. I parked my canary-coloured Edwardian roadster (affectionately known as Lizzie) and my companions and I alighted from the car. I was dressed in my usual finery, including a frilled poet shirt, purple velvet suit, jungle boots, sunspecs, panama hat, and one of my favourite opera capes.
“So this is where the alien signal was coming from?” enquired Millie Drake.
“Quite so, love,” I told her. “It was partially shielded due to the radio transmission, but the technology at our headquarters just managed to pick it up.”
Millie Drake is an exceedingly beautiful young girl, petite and perfect with luxurious chestnut hair, sun-kissed skin, blue-violet eyes, and luscious red lips. The tight, short, brightly-flowered dress she wore only served to highlight the soft curves of her slender teenage figure.
Also with us was Kit-10, our mobile personal computer that resembles nothing more or less than a small mechanical cat.
I took the transonic turnscrew (an highly-advanced scientific instrument resembling a writing pen) from my jacket pocket and began to scan the area.
“Hmmm,” I pondered. “No unusual readings. Is anything showing up on your instruments, Kit-10?”
“Negative, s--,” returned the robot in her simulated but pleasantly-feminine voice. “The local strength of the radio transmission signal is blocking all other readings.”
(It should be noted here that Kit-10, along with her other feline characteristics, is possessed of the total inability to openly show respect for anyone. In fact, the closest she ever comes to it is by addressing me by a slight “s--” sound -- for “sir” -- and Millie by “m--” -- for “ma’am”.)
We were walking across the parking lot to-wards the WBUM building when Millie Drake suddenly noticed something.
“Daniel, look,” she said. “That man over there.”
A somewhat elderly man in overalls, apparently the groundskeeper, was staring at us strangely from the area of the shrubbery surrounding the building. When he saw that we had noticed him, he suddenly bounded to-wards us, wielding a large garden rake with which he obviously intended to do us violence.
“Stun him, Kit-10!” I called.
With this, the robot cat sent a blast of her nose-laser at the man. When it hit him, he only briefly halted before continuing his attack. It was then that something else was revealed -- something horrible and of extreme eldritch ungodliness. For as he approached we noticed that his eyes were glowing with a pitch-black effulgence.
“Oh my gosh!” screamed Millie. “He’s possessed by Cacodemons!”
I tuned the transonic to a certain setting and aimed it at the groundskeeper before activating it. Just before he reached us, the man suddenly jerked and trembled and dropped the rake. Then, issuing forth from his body was a shapeless mass of ebon darkness, a terrifying conglomeration of demoniacal forces. They hovered over the man for a few moments before then seemingly evaporating into the ethers.
The groundskeeper then fell down unconscious on to the pavement. I hurried to examine him.
“He will be all right,” I said. “Fortunately, the transonic turnscrew is programmed with a formula of exorcism against the Cacodemons of Andromeda. It only works when they possess organic matter, though. It would be of little help against a larger group of them.”
“You mean like as many as it would take to make that signal we picked up before?” queried the lass with a visible shudder.
“Exactly,” I returned.
“But the Cacodemons are the psychic essences remnant of the one-time rulers of another galaxy,” said Millie Drake, “What would they be doing here at a radio station in Dundalk?”
“That, my dear, is what we have to find out!” …
My name is RUMANOS -- DOCTOR DANIEL BEN-YAAKOV RUMANOS, Extraterrestrial Espionage Agent and Intergalactic Man of Mystery. Even though I have the physical appearance of an human being, I am in fact several thousands of years old and do carry within my blood the vastly superior genes of the legendary Aeternusians or “Watchers” of the Daemon-Star ALGOL. Originating ninety-three light years from Earth, we are the most intellectually-advanced race in all of the known galaxies, whose technology is so sophisticated it often appears to be “magic” and “miraculous” to lesser beings.
Whilst most Algolites tend to keep to themselves, preferring to live in elitist seclusion from the rest of the Universe and thus merely observing the goings-on of the myriad races of the vast reaches around them, I am an Operative for a secret organisation known as the KOSMIKOS or Cosmic Intervention Department, tasked with maintaining peace and order throughout the farthest reaches of Space and Time. You know, “plausible deniability”, and all of that sort of thing. It is our ongoing mission to defend the weak, the unfortunate, and the innocent from those who would harm or exploit them.
Currently assigned to Earth, I protect its people (both upon their own planet and across the eternal void) from the hideous manipulations of the arch-villain known as Magister Don Wingus and his occult terrorist organisation, Spectral Paranormal; as well as from alien invasions, mad scientists, and indeed all manner of menace. Assisted by my friends -- the beautiful young Hollywood starlet Miss Millie Drake, and our catlike robot known as Kit-10 -- I am the living icon of Algol on this world. I am a Knight of the Eternal Spires. I am the sword of justice from the planet Daemonia. I am the cosmic crusader. I am the stellar swashbuckler.
I am -- THE DAEMON-STAR!!! …
WBUM Radio is a station devoted largely to news and talk of the “Conservative” political variety. Located as it is in Dundalk, a rather blue-collar portion of the County, it provides the locals with fodder for discussions involving the various concerns of working-class Americans. Amongst the station’s various programmes is “The Pat O’Donnell Show” hosted by a local congressional representative who has a considerable local popularity due to his outspoken dislike of feminism, immigration, and other cultural bugaboos of the American Conservative set.
“So do you think the Cacodemons were summoned by someone?” enquired Millie as we approached the front entrance of the building.
“It seems likely, Mills,” I replied, “but very few individuals would have that ability.”
“So who could it be?” shuddered the girl. “Daniel, you don’t think…”
“It is best not to speculate, my dear,” I counselled. “Not until we have more evidence, hmmm?’ …
When Millie Drake, Kit-10, and I entered the radio station building, we were being watched from a view screen fed by one of the security cameras. From behind a desk, a man peered at the monitor with intense scrutiny. He wore a standard dark blue business suit, and had reddish-brown hair and a bushy but well-groomed moustache. Thick, black-rimmed spectacles somewhat hid his eyes. The plaque on his desk identified him as “Carl Seidel, Station Manager”.
Seidel touched a switch on his desk, activating a private interoffice communications system.
“Vince, they have arrived,” he announced. “Take Ronnie from his cage and do as you have been previously instructed.”
“Yes, my master,” replied a rather high-pitched man’s voice over the system. …
We had walked several metres down the entrance corridor when a door suddenly slid open to the right of us. From it, two figures emerged. One was a morbidly obese man in his late forties, his hair the colour of excrement, sporting a full scruffy beard and dressed in garish carnival clothing. He was holding a handgun and breathing heavily through his mouth. Something about him struck me as vaguely familiar.
The other was a creature out of nightmare. It was a dwarfish, hideously deformed subhuman monstrosity of the type I knew to be found in the darkest jungles of Indonesia, where some of the remote native tribes have retained characteristics of the homo erectus and other prehistoric hominids. It was completely nude, with thick tufts of black hair covering its dark skin, and its face was an apelike thing of utterly bestial horror.
“Ronnie,” spoke the high-pitched voice of the carnival man to the monster, “kill him.”
Before I could react, the ape-man screeched in challenge and leapt to-wards me. I heard Millie scream as the impact of the creature sent me crashing against the wall. It was incredibly strong, even with its rather diminutive size. The creature’s muscles were hard as iron, and it quickly put its long apish arms around my throat in what I knew could become a death grip.
Kit-10 had immediately gone into action to assist me. She sent several warning shots of her nose-laser around us, but could not attempt a direct hit without possibly injuring me.
As the proto-human horror tightened its grip around my throat, I began to feel the creeping darkness of unconsciousness come upon me.
Unknown to me, at the same time, the man in carny clothing had grabbed Millie Drake and held the gun to her head.
“You’re coming with me, girlie,” said the man. “My master has a use for you.”
With this, he dragged the horrified lass through the door, which immediately slid shut behind them. Kit-10 had of course turned to defend Millie, but not quite in time.
I just managed to continue my struggle with Ronnie the ape-man. In desperation, I had forced us around and backwards so that its/his spine rammed against the wall several times. This at last caused his grip on my throat to loosen and, with a certain jujitsu technique, I then threw the monstrosity over my head and sent him sprawling on the floor. A quick blast from Kit-10’s blaster then sent the brute into immediate and complete unconsciousness.
“Thank you, Kit-10,” said I.
“Of course, s--,” replied the mechanical feline. “Though it appears we have another problem.”
“Millie!” I said, looking around and realising the truth. “Where is she? Where is Millie?!”
Forsooth, the girl was missing!
Kit-10 quickly filled me in on the facts of Millie Drake’s abduction, and of her own failure to save the lass.
“I am certain you did all you could, my friend,” I assured Kit-10 whilst using the transonic turnscrew to activate the sliding door mechanism, “you were concerned with that prehistoric man, as was I.”
The doorway led to another corridor, along which were numerous portraits of the various on-air personalities that made up the WBUM roster. I looked at them and pondered.
“The man who kidnapped Millie looked strangely familiar to me,” I considered. “Nevertheless, I just cannot quite place him. Apparently, he is not part of their on-air radio talent, hmmm? Kit-10, do you get anything by applying his facial imprint to your database?”
A whirring sound then came from the catlike computer as she searched her information systems.
“Negative, s--,” she then announced. “He appears to be completely unknown.”
“Interesting,” said I whilst we continued down the hallway. “In any event, he admitted he was not the force driving this outrage. We need to find out who this ‘master’ of his actually is, what connection they have to the manifestation of the Andromedan Cacodemons, and most importantly of all -- where they have taken Millie!”
By now, we had come to an elevator lift, beside which was a directory of offices and studios in the station building.
“Ah, here we go,” I said. “‘Carl Seidel, Station Manager, 9th Floor, Office 1’. That would appear to be our prime choice, hmmm?”
Kit-10 and I then entered the lift and I pushed the button for the ninth floor. The rather antiquated mechanism creaked eerily as it raised us to the higher storey. When the doors opened, we found ourselves in another corridor, quite similar to the one we had just left but with better carpeting and several doorways leading to offices. The one at the far end of the hall had a sign announcing it as that of the station manager.
“Advise caution, s--,” counselled Kit-10.
We made our way down the corridor and approached the door. I put my hand on the knob and prepared to open it.
“Bizarre,” I whispered. “Quite bizarre, indeed. No one else about, but it almost feels as if we are very much expected.”
I opened the door and beheld the interior of the office. It was illuminated by track-lighting, with a shade closed upon the plate-glass window at the far end of the room. Seated at the large polished-wood desk was a man with a bushy moustache and spectacles, clad in a dark-blue business suit. He smiled strangely upon seeing me.
“Good afternoon, Daniel Rumanos,” he said. “As you can see, we have already arranged accommodations for your little girlfriend. My assistant, Vince, is seeing to her comforts, I assure you.”
I looked over to the direction he indicated and saw Millie Drake tied to a chair by ropes. It was obvious that, for the moment, neither Kit-10 nor I could take any action to rescue her. Her kidnapper was holding the handgun to her head.
“Ah, I recognise this person now,“ said I. “Vince Wilson, the small-time carnival magician who was recruited into the Spectral Paranormal terrorist network years ago. How are you doing these days, Vince? Funny how you never quite managed to make enough fame for yourself in the show business industry to even show up in a rather extensive computer database, hmmm? But I suppose that scandal at the Holiday Inn Downtown -- involving your nine-year-old niece -- rather cut short your would-be career, did it not? Finally out of prison, Vince? So, is it true what they say about how chaps like you get treated in there?”
The mouth-breathing magician Vince Wilson then sneered hatefully at me as he continued to train the gun on the helpless girl.
“You won’t be laughing for long, Doctor Rumanos,” he countered. “My master here will use the Cacodemons to make Spectral Paranormal the rulers of the world.”
“Ah yes, your master,” said I, turning back to Carl Seidel. “So we have identified the assistant, for what it is worth. Now, I could guess at the identity of the ‘master’, but the membership of Spectral Paranormal is unfortunately rather extensive. So, pray tell, who exactly are you?”
“Really, Rumanos,” mocked the supposed station manager whilst standing up from his seat. “You must be slipping. Age catching up to you at last? Really, you still do not recognise me?”
At this, his face then flashed and changed, revealing its true form. It was the countenance of a man of middle years, still showing a certain handsome distinction despite being marred with the signs of seeming lifetimes of extreme profligate wickedness. His hair was long and dark, and his face was decorated with a thin moustache and goatee. Most of all, his eyes shone with an intensely-hypnotic glare.
Of course, I immediately recognised this visage. I recognised it was that of my oldest and most bitter enemy -- the notorious renegade Algolite who has become the most evil and heinous criminal in all of Space and Time. Carl Seidl, WBUM Station Manager, was actually Magister Don Wingus!
“You!” I ejaculated. “I should have known. Don Wingus, the devil in disguise. So you did escape from Pluto.”
“Such drama, Rumanos,” retorted Wingus. “Same as always. It was quite fun watching you find your way here. I do so hope you did not hurt little Ronnie too much. He has such a fine fuzzy fundament.”
“How exactly did you ever acquire that horrid beast anyway, Wingus?” I enquired. “Have you been on tropical safari in between your more nefarious escapades, or did you get him from some obscure backwoods circus menagerie?”
“Ronnie was purchased via the exotic sex slaves market,” informed the villain. “You should look into that sometime, Rumanos. There is an obscure Polynesian tribe where the females never fully develop secondary sexual characteristics, and… ”
“Never mind that,” I interrupted. “What about the Cacodemons? I know you have a history of dealings with them, dating back to the Galactic Wars, when you attempted to sell out the Space Allies to the Andromedan Axis powers. Much later than that, here on Earth, you even had your own daughter, Anastasia, sacrificed in an horridly perverse ceremony in order to gain contact with the psychic essences of Andromeda.”
“Ah, yes,” mused Don Wingus. “Such nostalgic remembrances. However, all of that pales in comparison to what I shall now achieve. I intend to utilise the Cacodemons to gain power here on the planet Earth. I will be high priest of their worship, with propaganda provided by the political pundits here at WBUM Radio! Then, I shall use the power I will gain in order to return in splendour to our own home planet of Daemonia, from which I will then make myself supreme ruler of all Time and Space!”
“Madness, Wingus. Absolute madness. You know very well neither the Kosmikos nor the Absolute Convention of the Watchers will simply stand by and allow you to so corrupt our worlds. You will be stopped before you can even begin.”
“In that you are incorrect, Rumanos,” chuckled the master villain. “There are great changes happening in Algolitish society. Our people will soon be returning to the old ways.”
“You are referring to the student movement to self-identify as pure Aeternusians,” I queried, “like our most remote ancestors?”
“Oh, that and much more, Rumanos. Much more. There is a new interest that has grown up amongst certain contingencies of Algolite society. An interest in the ancient prophecies concerning the Starchild!”
I was quite taken aback at this. The Starchild again? Why had I been hearing so much recently about that particularly archaic Algolitish legend? More than that, why did the very mention of this mythological being -- something usually thought of as a mere fairy tale, an inspirational story told to children with its genesis being within the most ancient traditions of my own Algolitish race, in truth a story so old that even its actual origins and true purpose have long been forgotten -- seem to be having such a supreme effect upon my consciousness? Why did it seem to bring to mind something, something elusive, something that I just could not quite grasp -- and yet something that, it the deepest reaches of my own inner being, I knew to be of extreme and unmatchable importance?
“So you intend to take advantage of the situation?” I said, regaining my composure. “You want to use a cultural interest on Daemonia to gain influence there, is that it?”
“Oh of course, Rumanos,” chuckled Wingus. “That and much more. You see, it is the sudden thinking about the Starchild that has caused a certain temporal breach. Just a slight crack, so far, but enough that the Cacodemons could much more easily be brought through from the inter-dimensional prison in which they were confined by the Convention. With this, I have made contact and now have complete mental control over them.”
“What you have is complete insanity, Wingus,” I told him. “Of course, I shall speak with the Kosmikos and have any temporal breaches repaired immediately. As for your plans, you should know from past experience that the Cacodemons cannot be controlled to the point of utilisation. They are utter chaos and beyond any semblance of order.”
“In that you are also wrong,” returned the arch-criminal “The Cacodemons are completely within my mental control and I now have the ability to use them by mere psychic command. Allow me to demonstrate.”
“Daniel, look out!” suddenly screamed Millie Drake, still bound to the chair with the criminal henchman known as Vince Wilson training his gun upon her.
I whirled around to behold what the girl had seen. It was indeed a thing of horror. For at that moment, coming from behind me was an huge conglomeration of horrid ebony black Cacodemons. They soon covered Kit-10 and me, blanketing us with a swirling terror of pitch darkness and complete satanic insanity.
“Systems shutting down due to outside influence, s--” stated Kit-10. “Forces too powerful and causing psyche-electric drain.”
And, as the robot cat and I were engulfed inside the demoniacal terror, the arch-villain known as Don Wingus laughed a laugh of ungodly wickedness and extreme unmitigated madness.
Do you even begin to recognise the supreme and unhallowed horror of this situation, my dearest friends and most loyal readers? I was completely surrounded by the eldritch terror of the Cacodemons, overcome and enclosed by the terrifying satanic force of those ancient and unhallowed entities -- the very beings of eternal darkness and supreme unmentionable fright that the evil Don Wingus intended to use in his wicked scheme to achieve complete leadership over the planet Earth and the entire human race, after which he planned go forth and conquer the very Universe, the Cosmos of all Space and all Time!
The noise was like unto the howling of a thousand thousand unholy curs as the absolute chaotic terror of the Cacodemons swirled around us. Kit-10 was by now completely immobile and, forsooth, I myself was beginning to feel the horror of the oppressive influence of the hellish beings -- those disincarnate mental essences of the once-mighty armies of the Andromeda Galaxy, formed after so many generations of having augmented themselves with grotesque psychic weaponry calculated to remove the very hope and morale of their enemies.
Within that ungodly melee, I felt the very influence of extreme depression as the unspeakable influence of the Cacodemons begin to invade my consciousness. …
Unknown to me at the time, Millie Drake had managed to loosen part of the ropes by which she was bound to the chair. Vince Wilson still held the gun upon her, but was somewhat distracted by the grotesque sight of the demonic forces. He did not even notice when she got a hand free and surreptitiously reached it down the front of her dress, taking out a small cylindrical object resembling a cosmetics container.
Near by, Don Wingus was looking at the mass of Cacodemons that surrounded me, his face an unholy visage of evil satanic triumph. …
Still inside the demoniacal tempest, I closed my eyes and grasped my head in my hands as the unnameable horror continued to permeate me. …
Millie Drake activated her transonic lip-gloss and, directly above the head of Don Wingus, a light fixture shattered. He turned his gaze away from the Cacodemons for just a moment, but it was enough.
The grotesque conglomeration of demonic powers quickly moved away from Kit-10 and me, and in stead headed directly to-wards Don Wingus. They quickly surrounded him, engulfing him and attacking what their psychic weaponry perceived as being an attempt at enemy infiltration of their forces.
“No! No!” screeched the villain in sudden fright. “No! I am your master! I control you! You cannot do this to me!! I… I… I… ”
And with this, the evil Magister Don Wingus was completely overwhelmed by the Cacodemons, all of which then disappeared into the ether taking him with them!
I turned and saw Vince Wilson, his mouth agape at the events he had just beheld. I quickly kicked the gun out of his hand and, with a blow of my fist to his head, sent him reeling across the room. He crashed through the large office window and, with a final shriek of terror, fell nine storeys to his death on the pavement below.
I quickly freed Millie Drake from what remained of her bonds, and the lovely little lass jumped up into my arms.
“Oh, Daniel!” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re all right!”
“Thanks in part to you, love,” I told the wonderful young lady. “The distraction you caused broke the concentration by which Wingus was controlling the Cacodemons. They immediately turned upon him and have apparently taken him with them back to their inter-dimensional prison. You used your transonic lip-gloss, hmmm?”
“Yes,” she replied, stepping back and holding up the instrument with a lovely smile, “after I used those escape artist techniques you taught me to partly get free of the ropes.”
“And I wonderful job of it you did,” I told her. “Kit-10, have you recovered?”
“Of course, s--,” replied the mechanical puss. “Without the negative influence, all systems are now functioning perfectly.”
“Excellent,“ I approved. “We shall have to contact the County Police to clean up matters here, and also animal control to find a suitable environment for that Ronnie brute. Then, my dear Millie, we can go have an early dinner, hmmm?’
“Sounds great, Daniel!” cheered the girl.
“There is at least one good thing about Dundalk,” I mused. “It does have a couple of fantastic Italian restaurants!”
***** DANIEL RUMANOS AND MILLIE DRAKE SHALL RETURN
