The Father of Darkness "A Count Dracula Story."

The last shivers of light from the setting sun slid behind the copious spread of trees about his mansion, settling his attic bedroom in a comfortable radiance of darkness. While vampires are immune to the effects of sunlight, they don't prefer it, instead preferring the more gentle light of the moon. As he slept upside down, his bare feet clinging to his favorite bed rafter, his eyelids slowly phased open, allowing more and more light to caress the weariness of the day before.

He had spent the good part of the day canvassing for clues to help him in dealing with the Legions of Darkness that everyone was aware were on their way.

Harry had stopped by with his handmade crystal ball and produced his magical bag of Elvin magic powders and sprinkled it generously on the faceted glass face, but the best they could see was a great tsunami of darkness building on the vast horizon of the Pacific and the Atlantic, preparing to collapse and roll over the continents that presented themselves to the weight of their evil.

Harry had laughed when Dracula had noted that such darkness, in such a great amount had to bode great magical fortitude and powers.

Harry laughed again, then wiped the tears from his eyes. "Any second rate wizard could produce such an illusion. No, it's not the darkness we should fear, but what its hiding."

"Then why can't we penetrate it, if it's second rate magic?"

Harry considered that all of one second. "Because it is not Elvin."

"But all magic is from the Elves of Fairie."

"No. Correction. All magic used...used to be from Fairie."

Dracula's thick eyebrows rose in orbit over his eye sockets, a rare phenomenon for him, emphasizing the azure black of his eyes, which had very little white to them, instead great dark veins of cobalt coal. "I don't think I like what I'm hearing. I thought you brought words of comfort."

Harry kicked back from the dining table they were seated at and propped his stockinged feet on the table top, despite the hard stares from Dracula, who distasted uncleanliness of any kind, even though he was wont to holiday in a nice cozy, sack of fresh dirt from Transylvania when it became available.

"I'm waiting."

Harry scratched at his day old beard, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "On the positive side James and Sherlock have come up with a plan to deploy our forces along the Thames."

Dracula lost his patience and smashed his fist down on the tabletop so hard, it cracked across its length, then collapsed, spilling Harry onto his back on his chair.

Dracula stood up, towering over Harry. "I am not amused by this display of lightheartedness."

"You should be." Came a forceful voice from behind them.

Dracula turned around so swiftly, that any mortal man might have never seen the movement, but the one he turned to see was even faster. When he turned around, no one was there. He had a heaving of the table halves and turned again rapidly, but this time he saw Lord Graystone in his loin cloth only and heavily bronzed muscles rejoining the table as easily as if they were parts of a child's puzzle. Finished, he withdrew a thick vine from his side pouch, then stripped its exterior with his teeth and began pressing it into the crack between the halves, making him appear almost comical with the intensity of his movements and focus.

Finished, he let go, pressed the halves so hard his muscles sprouted muscles, then with a contented grunt, leveraged Harry from the floor on his chair, then kicked over another to sit down in, his eyes gravely searching Dracula's own.

"We will have enough to fight without taking it to our friends as well." He advised.

Dracula curbed his temper at that moment, realizing the insanity of his actions. He was desperate to solve the problems facing them, because many of his relatives faced the first wave of the Legions of Doom. Many would perish if he were not there with some kind of solution.

"I agree." He admitted, then sat down, but not before swinging a bottle of a special wine he had imported from the India Isles. It was a special grape crossed with pomegranates. He set three crystal glasses down, then poured from the bottle into each glass, settling each glass before his two friends.

Harry still had a smug look on his face he wanted to wipe off, but he also knew that it was not malicious. It was just Harry. He was so used to challenging death that the advent of it didn't shake his soul even a sliver.

"To today." Lord Graystone, the Jungle Lord toasted.

"Today!" Harry and Dracula joined in, then sipping from their glasses.

"So what news?" Dracula finally asked, after waiting what seemed to him an interminable length of time. He was a patient vampire, except when it came to protecting those he loved, then patience be damned!

Lord Graystone turned an eye on him thoughtfully and replied. "We will have the help we seek when the time comes."

"Will it be enough?"

"Perhaps." Lord Graystone replied hesitantly. "There are many more pieces to this puzzle that we have not yet plucked from the box to be able to fit together and get the larger picture."

Harry nodded. "I agree. Even my crystal ball is blind to it. And you know from past experience, that is the rare thing, not the norm."

Lord Graystone was silent.

Dracula's hearing caught a sound at the front of the home. "A moment."

He flew over the plush red carpet that stretched wall to wall in his mansion on feet that barely touched the floor, then plucked open his front door before Sherlock could pull the great bronze vampire head that was attached to it.

"Count." Sherlock greeted, then walked in without another word or look back.

Doctor Watson came next, followed by Challenger and Conan, both dressed lightly for the evening had not yet felt the delicate touch of frost that it was wont to experience this time of year. The weather had been changing dramatically for some months now, which was yet another indication of the danger they all faced in the time ahead.

He closed the door, and all joined him at his table, where he refilled glasses, and poured new until all were settled in their places.

"Where are they young ladies?" Dracula inquired delicately.

Watson laughed. "Were Mrs. Hudson here she would blush with delight."

Dracula inclined his head. "All of you are but children compared to my years."

"Perhaps." Conan pronounced, "but between us all we compile many more years of understanding."

"Bravo, Conan." Challenger responded, clapping his hammy, freckled hands. He leaned across the table and looked into Dracula's eyes. "You fear something, don't you?"

Dracula was going to ignore the question, as he usually did, but with his friends, he knew it would be a caviler move that none would respect u ultimately, expecting better of him. "My family is in great danger from the approaching storm."

Sherlock spoke for the first time. "Everyone's families are in danger."

Dracula settled back, humbled by his great friend's words. "Yes. In that you are right."

Challenger smiled. "I have good news." He frowned. "Or at least I believe I do."

Everyone turned their attention to him. He rubbed a hand through his thick shock of ruddy red hair and spoke. "On my last expedition...to the remains of the old Atlantis. Not the new. I found something I think we will find to be of use."

"Conan." 

Conan dug into his doctor's black bag which he always carried with him and withdrew a head that looked like Medusa, except its eyes were closed by patches of cloth, with bands of string holding them close.

Even Lord Graystone blanched at the sight of the head.

Dracula crossed himself, which caused Conan to chuckle for a moment, until Dracula glared at him.

"Forgive me, dear friend." Conan apologized. "I fear we are all in a strait of one kind or another over the approaching..."

"Darkness." Sherlock finished. He templed his long, artistic fingers and placed his chin upon them. 

"If Medusa helps,  then we must not avoid any token of success that is available, no matter how fraught with danger it might be for our very own selves, for the very sanity of humanity is at risk now, let alone its longevity."

Conan put the head on the table and every man there.

"Lady Shareen, Madame Curie and Mrs. Hudson are working on a proper container for the head before we take it into battle."

The men all shuddered, even the most powerful of them, Count Dracula, for if it took a Medusa's head to slow down, if not stop the enemy, then what they faced was more than just dread and much more than simply death.

"We are agreed then that we are proceeding in the proper directions with our preparations?" Dracula finally inquired.

They all nodded.

He rose, then smiled. "Then I suggest we look to our tasks. Time waits on no man. Or..." He looked at the Jungle Lord. "God."

Lord Graystone smiled at the somewhat subtle joke and then he and the others left the mansion, one by one, giving their goodbyes as they left, until Dracula was alone by himself. He waited for several moments, to make sure they were truly gone, for he did not want them to see what he had been working on.

Satisfied, he descended through five sub basements of his home until he came into a barely lit area with a huge stone well in its center, that was surrounded by pentacles on its five corners with bright ever burning candles in their center. He stepped to just outside the nearest pentacle, then raised his hands. 

"It is as you said, your Majesty." He declared.

The waters of the well, which appeared opaque and gelatinous began to boil upwards and slowly, slowly a shape that would bring terror to those who had known it before, slowly took shape. Dracula slowly kneeled before the magnificent beast arising from the deathly well. 

"Father." He said.

The Invisible Boy trailer

After Forbidden Planet, there was a cute picture, "The Invisible Boy." which also starred Robbie the Robot.

I loved this whimsical take on Robbie the Robot. No ray guns, no science fiction monsters, just a wonderful children's tale.

Enjoy

John

A Wave of the Wand "A Lovelight Story"

A Wave of the Wand

A wave of the wind

the weather blows

again and again.

The creatures gather

in nests of feather

to weather the storms

that must begin.

And brave the souls

who hearts repose

in the glitter of illusion

to show the way.

For they are soldiers

great and bolder

who will one day unite

man who has gone astray.

Cherishing thoughts strewn like cherry petals in a Japanese orchard, fluttered about Lovelight's mind as she looked at old photos of her grandparents when they were young, then at them again in their older years. How time does change one, she thought, and yet though they were much more worn and frayed by the years they had lived, their hearts had grown stronger and their love as well. She vibrated with the thought of their kind words and soft caresses when she got lost as a child and couldn't find her way. They were always there to help her summon up the courage to once more get on her feet and do the right thing, even if it hurt like hell.

She laughed at that thought.

Courage was like a road that split a thousand directions. Make a choice, and then take the consequences.

Just like today. She sighed, and then swept her golden hair back from her eyes so she could focus on the tall dandelion leaning towards her. She was seated in a yoga position on the lawn of her grandparents, her concentration on the tinder feather like stamen that would float away with the slightest breeze, or breath from her is she wasn't careful.

She closed her eyes and held her breath, then centered her consciousness on a tiny pearl she imagined to be in the center of the dandelion, hovering on the tender stamen, as delicate as a feather, but grounded in a kind of wispy white light that clutched at it from all sides. It was a flower of Light. A feathery wand that she could blow away with her breath, or if she could gain control over her thoughts, wield it like a wand of power to concentrate her spiritual powers.

She had learned a lot in the last year or so. When she first saw the flower fairies, she had learned all too soon who she could talk about to, and who not. Her mother listened. Her grandparents listened, but only her mother understood, then one day as she had been playing soccer with her girlfriends, she had kicked the ball off the side and it had landed in the lap of an elderly gentleman of Chinese ancestry. He had caught it on a finger and it was still whirling on the tip of his finger when she approached him to take it back.

"Life is a delicate balance of power and strength, Light and purpose. Both are necessary to function. Both are necessary to achieve what is real in life. What has true purpose?" Then he had gently slid the ball onto her outstretched palm where it continued to spin.

"If we stay focused on what is good and right, the ball of our life spins effortlessly with direction and hope, but..."

She felt her mind drifting. The ball sputtered awkwardly in her palm, the dropped off.

"But if we lose our direction..." He gestured to the ball as it bounced down the bleacher seats back onto the field.

She had watched it bounce, and then turned to speak to him. "But..."

But he was gone. Where he had sat was nothing. No one was even near that thought, though some were looking at her a bit funny. Why?

When she told her mother later on, her mother had told her. "Angels come in all shapes and sizes. The people couldn't see what you saw. Most will not. Some will think you're crazy. Some will be jealous, and some just plain...most just won't...even care."

She realized then that she was not only a girl, but different in ways that most girls never could be. The older she became the more she became sure that somehow she had a purpose in life. A direction that was meant only for her.

She grew less resentful of being called Lovelight instead of by her real name Cynthia. She actually came to love the nickname, and would one day as she grew older actually make that name legal, even though she didn't really have to.

She felt the pearl in her inner eye's vision begin to melt and open up like a thousand petalled lotus, revealing layer after layer of delicate pink throat, until when it was done she saw a tiny star floating in its throat. 

Her vision zoomed into that star, and it was as if she were being gently lifted by a gigantic hand of great warmth and tenderness.

And as quickly as the vision had come, it fled her, leaving her feeling alone, yet not alone. She opened her eyes and saw the tiny feather stamen bursting into the air, liberated by a sudden breeze that had blown in from the south.

She rejoiced in the freedom of the dandelion as it dispersed its seeds across the void of time and space to replicate itself somewhere else and begin the cycle and recycle of life and death as effortlessly as a potter turns a clay wheel to churn out his pottery.

She smiled and climbed to her feet.

She stretched her arms, then turned to go back into her grandparent's house, feeling refreshed and someone contained, as if all of her had found a kind of peace lacking before. She still didn't know what her purpose was, but she knew that every time surrendered her fears of being the thing she feared the most, she came closer to becoming the thing she desired the most...a true Light to all those around her.

Some would call that faddish, or stupid, or cultish, or a number of ridiculous things, as if being kind and generous were sins. People had lost their way in so many directions she realized, and if she wasn't careful, she too could become one of those who had held the Wand of Light and thrust it from her, believing that life was just about taking what you want and to hell with everything else. It wasn't. It never was and never would be.

She smiled. Yes, it was going to be a great day. A very great day indeed.

"Who are you?" Whispered the breeze.

"I am myself." She replied.

"Who is that?" It asked.

"Lovelight." She answered, truly believing it. Satisfied that the only answer she need ever give was the true feelings of her heart and soul and that everything else was just static on the TV screen of life.

Dragnet

An old, old FBI TV show that starred Jack Webb. My father and the family used to watch it avidly every week. Meek by today's standards, but interesting to check out still.

The Knight in the Closet "A Samuel Light Junior Story"

My name's Samuel Light Junior, but all my friends call me Sammie. My Mom calls me Sprung, because I've grown like a wild weed lately. My best teacher calls me Leech, because once I get my eager hands on a new novel I won't let go. I just read and read and read until my eyeballs become so weary they look like red lobsters that have been just boiled.

I have this gift. Sort of. It's not really a gift so much as a legacy, an inheritance, a kind of genetic light up that cause me to do weird things like see dead people, relive other people's past lives...as if our own weren't enough, heal people...not all the time, just certain times...and levitate...not very far, depends on the occasion. I think you're getting the drift from what I've said so far that I don't have a lot of control over my abilities.

That's what Al says, he's my angel friend who used to be Albert Einstein on the Earth, but now spends all his time...at the time I see him...in a ghostly form, egging me on to do better, acting the better part of a Yoda, and sometimes the worst, and dancing and singing a lot with M...the golden blonde of Hollywood flame who caused many a sailor and soldier to wish they knew her better. Al and her get along great. Nothing sexual going on. I don't even know if angels are even wired that way, at least these kinds.

I haven't seen any with wings, though I've been assured by my local Church pastor that they do exist, though when I ask him what they look like, he's a bit vague. Myself, I can describe Al and M to the last detail, and even their unearthly habits...remember they're not humans like us anymore, though some might say they're more human than most of us.

So on one of those nights when I've put in a long day on the field and track, or slamming a ball across the third base for a home run and hightailing it about the bases before I get my you know what tagged, I'm usually drained and ready for bed.

"Mom, heading for the shower." I told Mom as I entered the front door with Jimbo trailing me with a handful of chips and a coke.

"Dinner in thirty." She yelled at us as we ran up the stairs to my second floor bedroom that overlooks the front yard. It's a beautiful yard, especially in the Spring when all the daisies and roses spread their petal wings and dance in the winds, showing off their bright colors and casting off their fragrant scents.

Slam! Jimbo shut the window.

I gave him the look. He shrugged and sniffed. "Allergies."

"Allergies, my baseball bat." I cried out, putting my bat in the corner of my closet.

"Really." He insisted. I gave him another of those looks, but he didn't flinch. 

The better part of valor with Jimbo, my gnarly, rebellious Texan immigrant, is to usually give in, because he's bigger than pretty much everyone, except me. I top him by two or so inches. But what I have in height, he has in girth. He's one big dude. Built like a bulldog with enough teeth to take down a Bengal Tiger. Don't ever tell him I said that or he'll bite both of us and spit us out for breakfast.

"Me first." I yelled as I dashed for my bathroom and the shower. I slammed the door in his face before he could cut me off.

I tossed my clothing on the floor. It was caked with lime from the field markings, dirt, weeds and green stains from the grass between the markings. 

I shuddered a moment as a stream, more like a blasting arctic wind, caught me in its cruel claws and ripped me open from the inside out, exposing my wind interior to a furious blast of shivering cold water. I yelped like a dog howling at the moon.

I heard laughter over the shower stream. I couldn't figure out why.

Finished, I got out, my whole body shaking, then saw Jimbo turn on the hot water pipes again.

"You dog!" I cursed at him.

"Bark bark." He shot back at me with a big Texan man-eating grin.

I shook my head, causing my mop of blonde hair to shower him with cold water.

He shot up so fast he banged his head into the sink door. "Owww!" He cried out.

My Mom's voice hammered at the bedroom door. "You two scoundrels at it again?"

"No Mom!" We both said at the same time.

She laughed so hard that both of us fell into stitches, realizing how stupid and silly we were both acting.  To show Jimbo I had forgiven him as he took his own clothing off to shower, I snapped my wet towel across his buttocks with a loud snap.

"Yell!" He cried out, turning to look at the red mark I had made.

I grinned. "You always wanted to look like an Indian."

He started to chase me, and I slammed the bathroom door in his face. "Come after me and I'll eat all the food before you can get any." I warned.

The door knob which had been forcing in my hand relaxed.

"Nice doggie!"

The door banged open, sending me flying across my bed. 

After he showered and I had rubbed some ointment on my own red bottom and generously passed some on to him for his, we both stomped downstairs, happy and hungry enough to eat a bear. 

Mom had made us a huge basket of bread rolls dripping with butter, corn on the cob, a bowl of beans and fried chicken.

We dug in and she watched us with amazement as we managed to eat every single piece of food on the table. After we finished, she quizzed us on how track and baseball were going, and we filled her in.

Mom looked at Jimbo. "Sticking round for the night?"

He looked at me. I shrugged. He gave me a hurt look.

I turned to Mom. "I'd love the big old goofball to stay. Can he?"

"If you promise not to trash the house with your antics."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." He said with a very serious look on his face, even as he was kicking me under the table.

I refused to do the same. "I can't cross two hearts with one hand." I told him.

He laughed. 

We helped Mom clean up the kitchen, then took out the garbage and helped her clean the house. I took the living room and Jimbo the dining room. We usually did that when he stayed. It was also good for Mom, as she could kick back and watch her favorite news program.

Finished, we were more than tired enough to go to bed.

"Early to bed." I told her with a light kiss on her cheek.

"Earth to rise." Jimbo said giving her a sloppy kiss on her other cheek.

She shoved him back. "Jimbo!" She giggled.

He smiled, then we headed upstairs.

We dug into my pile of Marvel comic books and read until about nine, then turned out the lights. He slept on the left side of the bed and I on the other. He slept in a sleeping bag he left for himself and I under the covers. 

In moments he was snoring loudly. Needless to say, I wasn't snoring or sleeping.

I lay there a long time thinking about how many ways I could shut him up without killing him, but nothing seemed to work except murder, so I decided to tough it out.

Just when I thought things could get no worse, there was a pounding in my closet. I sat up, startled. Nothing. I started to lay back down and the noises started again, like metal shifting about. I didn't  have anything metal in my closet.

I jumped up, grabbed my bat and went to the closet. I threw open the door and aimed my bat over my head. "Come out or I'll bash you over the head!"

Wrong words.

Something very, very large rose from the floor until it towered over me. I backed up and it stepped out of the closet and quietly withdrew a sword almost as tall as I was. The sword was bloody red and almost seemed alive. It gave off a blaze of energies like none I had ever seen before.

The Black Knight stood there gazing at me with mournful eyes through a head mask of pure burnished black metal.

"I am the Knight of Nights and I challenge you to a duel to the death."

"Wait!" I said, holding a hand out.

"I was only kidding. I thought you were a burglar or something."

The Knight wavered, his sword dropping somewhat. "A what?"

"A thief!" I answered.

He charged me. "I'm no thief!"

Before he could strike me with the sword Jimbo sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Who's the damsel after you, Sammie?"

The Knight froze in horror. It looked at itself as if seeing itself for the first time, then wheeled to face Jimbo. "Prepare to die, knave!"

Jimbo laughed. "No one talks that way anymore!"

The Knight screamed and charged the bed.

A loud pounding struck the bedroom door.

"You two fighting again?"

The Knight froze, turned its helmed head to look at the door.

"Did you hear me? Don't make me come in there and hurt you?" She warned.

The Knight began to shake with fear and back into the closet. "What manner of female demon lives in this house?" He asked us.

Jimbo grinned. "His mother."

The Knight slammed the closet door on himself the same time as I flipped on the lights and opened the door for Mom. She peered inside, saw Jimbo in his sleeping bag, then eyed me closely. "Bad dream?"

I grinned. "You could say that."

"Good night boys. Up at seven. French toast."

Jimbo saluted her. "Yes, M'am!"

She laughed and shut the door. The moment she did, we both sprang for the closet door to open it. We threw it open, but all that was inside there were my clothes and boxes of comic books.

Jimbo looked at me and I looked at him.

"Don't ask me." I uttered, then shut the door and went back to bed.

He did the same.

Jimbo tapped me on the shoulder. "Your life scares me sometimes."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Love it!" He whispered, then. "Night, Sammie!"

"Night, Jimbo!"