“I cannot believe such rubbish is happening,” I said to myself, “and yet here I am -- hunting ghosts!”
I was walking along the pavement of the residential streets of the city's Hampden neighbourhood as these thoughts occurred to me, 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. I held the transonic turnscrew (an highly-advanced scientific instrument somewhat resembling a writing pen) out before me and checked on its readings.
“Nothing, of course,” said I. “Such things do not exist, no matter what the reports say. Still, our scanners at headquarters did detect something odd in this neighbourhood.”
As I continued my search, there amongst the townhouses of the area on that sunlit day, I suddenly heard a sweet little voice.
“Hi, how are you today?” she said. “My name is Sadie. Would you like to come in and have some lemonade?”
I turned and looked at the cute young girl who was standing in one of the front yards. She was tall and well-developed for her age, with sunny blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes, her skin the purest white of alabaster. Her figure was barely clad in cut-off blue jeans and a pink crop-top.
“Oh, hello,” I said to her, returning the transonic to my pocket. “My name is Doctor Rumanos. I am here doing some work, but I suppose I could take a little break, hmmm?”
“Ooh, you’re a doctor?” returned the lass. “That’s so hot! Come on in!”
I entered the house with the girl. It was a typical working-class home of the area, humble but clean. Sadie motioned for me to sit on the sofa and then went to the kitchen to pour me some lemonade.
“This is delicious,” said I upon tasting the beverage.
“I’m glad you like it,’ said Sadie. “Oh, and don’t worry. My parents won’t be home for hours.”
“Well, that is good to know, hmmm?” I smiled.
“I really like you,” announced the girl.
“I like you too, Sadie,” I admitted. “You are very pretty.”
I was then interrupted by noticing a form standing beside us. At first I thought that perhaps Sadie’s parents had come home early, by it was not that. What I saw was a large, grey figure, humanoid in shape but without any distinguishing characteristics visible. It was, indeed, just like a legendary ghost!
“Doctor, what’s that?!” screamed Sadie.
I quickly reached down and grabbed the transonic turnscrew from the pocket of my jacket. However, before I could activate the device, the grey figure faded from view.
“All is well now, Sadie,’ I assured the girl. “It is gone. Fascinating. It must have been attracted to the sexual energy of your attraction to me. That should give some clue as to what these ‘ghosts’ that people have been seeing actually are, hmmm?”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” admitted the lass, “but it’s all so hot!” …
My name is RUMANOS -- DOCTOR DANIEL 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!!! …
I got back to our headquarters, located as it is within the trapezoidal roof on the secret top level of a downtown skyscraper, the bottom floor of which is a pizza parlour. When I entered the room (filled as it is with advanced computer systems and numerous alien artefacts), Millie Drake, my companion and assistant, ran into my arms and hugged my warmly.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re back,” she said. “I was worried about you!”
“I had some business to attend to,” I explained. “Quite a lot of it, actually.”
Millie is an exceedingly beautiful young lady, petite and perfect with luxurious chestnut hair, enchanting violet eyes, sun-kissed skin, and luscious cherry-red lips. The tight, short, bright orange dress she wore only served to highlight the soft curves of her slender teenage figure.
“So, did you find out anything about those ghost things?” she enquired.
“Nothing definite,” I replied whilst tossing my hat and cape on the hallstand, “but there is indeed some unusual phenomenon happening in Hampden. Has there been anything further on the scanners?”
“Yes, they seem to have better pinpointed where the emanations are coming from,” replied Millie. “They seem to be centred around a local tavern called the Wylde Kingdom Saloon.”
“Ah, that is a place known in the local prostitution trade,” I pondered. “That would explain some things. Whatever this is seems to be using the sexual energies aroused there in an attempt to manifest.”
I then turned to Kit-10 -- our mobile personal computer that resembles nothing more or less than a small mechanical cat -- who was near by with her sensors attached to one of the computer banks.
“Kit-10, have you discovered anything concerning the emanations coming from the Hampden neighbourhood?” I queried.
“Indeed I have, s--,” replied the robot in her simulated yet pleasantly-feminine voice. “The energy surges are showing definite traces of the element known as Liddellium.”
(It should be noted here that Kit-10, along with her other catlike characteristics, is possessed of the total inability to openly show respect to 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”.)
“Spires of Daemonia!” I swore. “Liddellium is a rare substance only found in certain wandering asteroids. It is known to -- when properly utilised -- facilitate Time-travel.”
“My gosh, Daniel,” exclaimed Millie Drake, “could that explain the ghosts? Are they actually someone trying to travel through Time?”
“So it appears, my dear,” I pondered. “So it appears. Nevertheless, the question remains the same. Who or what is doing this, and why?”
“So we should go investigate that bar, right?” asked Millie.
“Quite so, love,” said I whilst retrieving my hat and cloak. “Kit-10, you remain here and continue to monitor things. We can stay in contact via the transonic if necessary. Millie, you and I are paying a visit to the Wylde Kingdom Saloon!” …
At that same time, in the dimly-lit backroom of the aforementioned Hampden neighbourhood tavern known by the grotesque moniker of the Wylde Kingdom Saloon, a person sat behind a desk upon which was a name-plaque marked “Wendy Wylde, Owner & Manager”. She appeared to be a woman of about fifty, with dung-brown hair and eyes tinged with madness. Her face was made-up garishly, as if she were vainly attempting to hide the ravages of age. She wore large spectacles and was clad in a shapeless dress of matte black.
“It is the night,” she said to herself, her voice having a distinctly Midwestern drawl. “It is the night that my ghosts will come out and give me all. They will take over this world for me, and will destroy all those who have stood in my way, including that perverted girl-lover, Daniel Rumanos!”
As she spoke, the strange woman fingered a medallion that hung on a ribbon near her throat. On it was carved a three interlocking inverted triangles -- the symbol of that horrid occult terrorist organisation known to eternal ungodly infamy as Spectral Paranormal. In a corner of the small office, a figure began to come into view. At first it was just a large grey mist, vaguely humanoid in shape.
“Come forth now, my ghosts,” continued the woman, her voice growing with insanity. “Come forth and make me, Wendy Wylde, the ruler of this planet!”
With this, the ghostly figure solidified, coming into full view. It was a tall cybernetic man, silver of hue and with various mechanical devices attached to its form. It was a thing known to the history of Space as a part of one of the of the most dangerous forces in all of existence. It was a Leknii Replicant!! …
We arrived at the Wylde Kingdom Saloon just at sunset and entered the establishment. It was a typical structure of the area, a former pawn shop that had been altered to house the tavern, its plate-glass front window painted black.
“Be careful in here, Mills,” I advised. “This place has quite a negative reputation, hmmm? Be certain to stay close to me at all times”
“Don’t worry Daniel,” replied Millie Drake. “I will.”
There were twenty or so patrons crowded around the small bar and adjacent tables. Most were men, all of them neighbourhood blue-collar types. There were a few women of the obvious demirep kind.
Millie and I went over to the bartender, a young man obviously of the local “starving artist” variety who likely had taken the job out of desperation.
“I shall have a rum and cola, my good man,” said I, “and an iced tea for the young lady.”
“Right away,” replied the bartender as he turned to prepare our drinks.
I surreptitiously took the transonic turnscrew from my jacket pocket and used it to scan the area.
“Anything?” enquired Millie.
“Yes, the emanations are quite strong here,” I informed her, “and they are definitely caused by the utilisation of Liddellium, as Kit-10 detected.”
“But who could it be?” wondered the girl.
“One shudders to think,” I mused. “Liddellium is a psyche-sensitive element, so it does make a certain amount of sense that they would use a place like this as a focus-point. The numerous illicit sexual ‘pickups’ that occur here would make it an applicable location.”
“But, if someone is attempting Time-travel, what could their purpose be?” asked Millie “Conquest? Escape from something?”
As we spoke, one of the men at the bar, a particularly-large “redneck” type clad in rather dirty overalls and drinking a cheap brand of beer directly from the bottle, was surreptitiously eyeing Millie.
“Your drinks, man,” said the bartender.
I turned to pay him and beheld someone emerging from the backroom of the tavern. It looked like a middle-aged woman in a rather shapeless dress of matte black, her hair dung-coloured and her face covered with rather garish cosmetics and large spectacles. Around her neck was a ribbon on which hung a medallion carved with the sigil of Spectral Paranormal. She walked directly over to stand only a couple metres from us.
“Doctor Daniel Rumanos,” she said, her voice filled with extreme disdain and mad intensity, “My name is Wendy Wylde. Welcome to my Wylde Kingdom!”
“Wendy Wylde?” I repeated. “Ah, of course. You were a Spectral Paranormal operative years ago. Originally from Aurora, Colorado. You called yourself ‘Wendy Lyles’ in those days, hmmm? You visited this city when the fake ‘magician’ Vince Wilson (thankfully now deceased) had a ‘conference’ at the Holiday Inn Downtown. He was a lieutenant of Magister Don Wingus, so of course it was all just a front for a meeting of that terrorist organisation and the eldritch satanic rituals they use to assure the compliance of their members. So now you have changed your name and returned here to open this saloon, with incredibly nefarious purposes, no doubt. Someone from Spectral would never be satisfied with ordinary vice and crime, would they?”
“Oh this makes a fine home base,” admitted Wendy Wylde. “The energies of the degradation caused by the alcoholism and perversion here are good for my ghosts.”
“Your ‘ghosts’?” I questioned.
“Oh yes, Rumanos. You see, I am haunted. Not my house or anything like that. Me. Just me. My ghosts have been with me for a long time and now they are going to help me with my plans.”
Millie Drake was still standing beside me, and I had instinctively moved slightly in front of her, to protect her when the obviously quite mad Wendy Wylde had entered the bar-room. However, the redneck man, seeing his chance, had by now crept around the bar behind us, and, his drunken eyes dark with obscene lust and perverse desire, was reaching out his hands for the girl.
“You are insane, Ms. Wylde,” I stated, unaware of the danger threatening my beloved Millie. “These ‘ghosts’ of yours are actually Time-travellers of some sort, most likely alien ones. We do not as yet know their intentions, but be assured that any complicity with them is highly inadvisable.”
“You are so ridiculous, Rumanos,” laughed Wylde. “They are my ghosts, and they are going to aid me in taking over this world, and in ruling it in the legacy of my friend Vince Wilson and Spectral Paranormal. In fact, my ghosts are here right now!”
With this, eerie grey figures began to come into sight on each side of Wendy Wylde. There were four of them, all vague shapes, huge and humanoid.
It was then that I heard Millie Drake scream. I assumed it was from the sight of the “ghosts”, but when I turned to-wards her I realised it was caused by a quite different sort of peril. For at that very moment, the redneck type had grabbed Millie around the waist and, with a show of absolute sexual degeneracy on his bestial countenance, was dragging the terrified and vainly-struggling girl out of the establishment!
Is it possible, my dear friends and most loyal readers, that you can even begin to see the absolute demoniacal terror and complete unnameable horror in this situation, forsooth, the unspeakable dreadfulness and unhallowed awfulness that I was experiencing on that weird and uncanny evening? For even as I was facing the grotesquely insane Wendy Wylde and her mysterious “ghosts”, my assistant and companion, the beautiful Miss Millie Drake, was being abducted by a local degenerate bent on raping that helpless young lady!
I ran over to the redneck man just before he could reach the door of the saloon. As I approached, I heard him talking.
“I gonna have you, lil’ girl,” he breathed. “I gonna take you to my pickup truck and do all kinda things to you!”
I managed to reach out around the man’s head and jerk it back. The resultant shock caused him to drop the girl.
“Whaaa… ?” he exclaimed as he turned to face me. “You leave me alone, you friggin’ harasser weirdo! You ain’t gonna stop me! You wouldn’t do this to me if I was Black or a damned foreigner or a Jew or Muslim or somethin’! The friggin’ liberal government wouldn’t let you!”
The redneck then made an attempt to punch me in the stomach, but I easily avoided him and delivered a kung fu kick to his head with a strength sufficient to propel him across the room. He hit the brick wall of the tavern with such force as to create a shock to his system that ended his life immediately. He slid down to the floor in death.
I picked up Millie Drake. She had swooned from the horror that she had just experienced, but was otherwise unharmed. Cradling her in one arm, I went back over to the bar area and once again faced the hideous Wendy Wylde.
“Quite a nice little display of alpha male domination, Rumanos” mocked the bizarre woman. “It was very entertaining, but now is the time for you to be destroyed along with all others like you!”
By now the “ghosts” were taking a more solid form. It was a form I knew only too well, for at that moment came into clear and total solidity four huge cybernetic beings of the type known to universal horror as the Replicants of Leknii!
“By the Stellar Trinary!” I swore. “We knew the Leknii Replicants have been doing experiments with Liddellium, in an attempt to develop Time-travel capabilities to the extent that they could then go back and wipe out the human race before the start of the Replicant Wars that so led to their own near-extinction. The comparatively few remaining post-war Leknii have succeeded in going back and recruiting some of their comrades from the time of the conflict, but the Liddellium -- always an unstable element -- had so far failed to take them back further. Now your sickening hate and madness, Wendy Wylde, coupled with the perverted sexual energies ingenerated by the prostitution trade here, have aided them in manifesting!”
“Whatever you think all that means, Daniel Rumanos,” continued to scorn Wylde, “these are my ghosts, and they are going to destroy all those who stand in the way of my ruling this planet!”
“You cannot make deals with the Replicants, Ms. Wylde,” I attempted to counsel. “They are a cybernetic race, and exist only to convert others to their own soulless, unfeeling kind. Even if they do not kill all members of the human race, they will assimilate them, making them things like themselves -- creatures of metallic horror without love or emotion or empathy. It is truly a fate worse than death!”
By now, the bartender and the majority of the patrons of the Wylde Kingdom Saloon had fled in terror, but there were a few stragglers, far too inebriated to find their way to the door. Quickly, before I could even react, one of the Replicants raised its arm and shot a bolt of its energy weapon, wiping one of the bystanders out of existence -- leaving only a small pile of ash.
Then the hideous cyborg spoke.
“We are the Replicants of Leknii,” it said, its voice an emotionless electronic whirr. “Any show of resistance is useless. All humans will be converted or destroyed.”
It was then that a sudden thought occurred to me.
“Of course!” I exclaimed. “By the Eternal Spires, I should have realised this sooner!”
I then whipped the transonic turnscrew from my pocket and held it up, activating a certain setting. All four of the Leknii Replicants then began to cough and shudder and, a few moments later, simply disintegrated away, their forms breaking up into countless tiny shards.
“What have you done, Rumanos!” shrieked Wendy Wylde in absolute rage. “How have you sent my ghosts away?!”
“These Leknii were of the time of the Replicant Wars,” I explained, “so I realised they would still be susceptible to their allergy to the alien spice known as vlooj.”
Millie Drake, now having recovered from her faint, continued for me.
“You used the synthetic vlooj setting on your transonic to suffocate them,” she said.
“Quite so, Mills,” said I, “and they shattered into microscopic pieces, as is a safety protocol of all Leknii Replicants, in order to prevent enemies from cannibalising their technology.”
“I hate you!” suddenly interrupted Wendy Wylde. “I hate you and all that you stand for, Daniel Rumanos! You damned heterosexual hebephile meddler! You sent my ghosts away and you deserve to die! You and that little girl of yours deserve to die!”
I knew that Wendy Wylde was insane, in sooth mad beyond any hope of redemption. She was not responsible for her actions. None the less, she had threatened Millie Drake, and that is not something one does in my presence if one wishes to continue existence in this or any other world.
Wendy Wylde then ran to-wards us, shrieking hatred and threats and reaching out as if she hoped to tear Millie and me to pieces with her bare hands. Just before she reached us, I stepped forwards and delivered a blow to her face with my fist; the resultant impact sending Wendy Wylde careening across the floor and smashing directly through the plate-glass window at the front of the saloon.
I ran over and looked out through the broken glass. Wendy Wylde was lying motionless on the pavement. The glass had caught on her dress and torn it off, and I saw something that explained so much of what was actually the cause of the horror we had just experienced. I quickly scanned the body with my transonic turnscrew before walking back to the bar.
“Wendy Wylde is dead,” I told Millie. “The shock of impact caused a fatal heart attack.”
We then heard the sound of sirens approaching.
“We will have to explain things to the City Police Department,” I said. “Fortunately, they still owe me a couple of favours, and I am certain they will be pleased to see that the Wylde Kingdom Saloon will no longer exist as a centre of local vice crimes.”
“I’m sure they will be, Daniel,” said Millie Drake as she hugged me tightly. “It was really such a terrible place, and she was such a terrible person.”
“Well, it turns out that this was a real ghost adventure after all,” I mused, attempting to think of something other than what I had beheld on the naked corpse of Wendy Wylde. “Well, in a manner of speaking, hmmm?”
“But why, Daniel?” queried Millie. “I know she was a Spectral Paranormal agent, but why did she hate you so much? So specifically, I mean?”
“Just look and see,” I advised, “It explains Wendy Wylde’s extreme hatred of me and of my attraction to girls. I knew from the utter intensity of it that it was all something different than the usual old woman jealousy.”
Millie Drake walked over to the broken window and looked out to what had been revealed when Wendy Wylde’s dress had been torn off -- and to the anatomy that was there exposed. I heard the girl gasp in realisation at what she saw there. All was now quite obvious; the reasons for the hate, the jealousy, the utter insanity of Wendy Wylde, now-deceased agent of Spectral Paranormal and proprietor of the horrid Wylde Kingdom Saloon. It could all be seen just by glancing at the dead body lying on that city sidewalk.
Wendy Wylde was a man!
***** DANIEL RUMANOS AND MILLIE DRAKE SHALL RETURN
