The Death Bringers "A Shadow Man Story" By John Pirillo. Sometimes things just go from bad to worse. He rides the shadows to save lives!

The Death Bringers
"A Shadow Man Story"
By John Pirillo

He stood there frozen in time and space, the shadow streams whirring past him, his arms outstretched, a pistol in each one. The classic two fisted gun slinging detective poses from the old Golden Age Detective Stories. Except. Except he was real. He wasn't really a detective. Least not the kind that chases bank robbers and thieves. And he wasn't trying to stop a crime. Least not the kind that most people might think of as a crime. No, he was the Shadow Man, prepared for...

The shadow streams opened up and he slipped into the one on his right and into the middle of hell. He had no choice. He began firing his weapons over and over and over.

By the time he was through. There was smoke from the weapons curling through the air, like snakes of smoke with lives of their own. Death stank. All around him. Not the kind of clean death you might smell in a mortuary, or a hospital. But a foul death. Of something that had no right to exist in norm space. The world of humans.

He kicked at the lifeless blotch of red and fur at his feet. It rolled over, revealing tusks the size of razor blades and equally as sharp. There were multiple eyes, all wide open in the shock of its sudden death. To its right and left were four more of the Death Bringers, as he preferred to call them. Because that's what they did in our world. Brought death. Death and destruction. They were invisible to everyone, but whom they were killing or him.

Sobbing caught his attention.

He swung around, snapping in fresh clips into each weapon without thinking as he did so, prepared for a new siege if necessary. It wasn't.

Huddled in a fetal position in a corner of the sealed room was a small child. Her hair was golden brown...once. Not anymore. His eyes saw the goodness of her soul. She was bright on the inside, just a bit cooked on the outside by the Death Bringers.

"It's okay." He finally said, stepping towards her. "I'm here to bring you home."

She kept sobbing.

He finally stopped next to her. He put his weapons back into their shoulder slings in front of his chest, and then stooped to gently turn her face to look at him.

Her eyes were filled with tears.

"Please don't hurt me." She begged.

"I would never, never, never hurt you." He promised, and then gently lifted her into his arms. She was a bit too old to carry, but this once he'd make an exception. She was crushed by what had happened to her and around her. "Close your eyes and don't open them until I tell you too." He told her.

"Will it hurt?"

He laughed gently. Hurt?

She looked into his face. "Will it?"

"Trust me. Just close your eyes."

And what she saw in his eyes at that moment must have met her need for security, because she pulled tighter against him and shut her eyes. He slipped back into the shadow planes that same moment, not wasting a second of the precious time he had. They flew like the wind, except there was no wind in this void of shadows. Only currents that ran throughout time and space, throughout the universe.

His eyes narrowed a moment, and then he caught the thread he had been sensing. He slipped into that and lit on a nice and clean shag rug, complete with a huge shaggy dog, which jumped up and began barking at him. He set the girl down and the dog, which had been targeting him, leaped on her instead and began licking her face happily. She was solemn at first, then she let go and began to laugh like the child she was.

An adult woman, her eyes blood red from weeping, saw him standing over the dog and girl. "Who are you? Get out of my house!"

He smiled at her. "My pleasure."

"Mommy, he saved me!" The girl yelled.

"Who are you?" The mother asked before he left.

He smiled at her again and tipped his hat. "The Shadow Man."

Then he slipped back into the shadows and vanished.

He'd leave it up to the mother to figure out a way to explain it to the little girl. She would probably have a tougher time accepting it, than her daughter who had experienced it. When he had time later on, he would slip back into the child's room and help her forget. It was part of the gift he had been given as a child, along with the ability to move swiftly and with certainty through the shadows.

He stepped to his right and into his living room. He threw off his overcoat, unslung his weapons and tossed them both on his sofa, then went into his bathroom to take a long, hot shower. The needles of hot water massaged the cramps from his muscles. There were a lot. He had saved two people this night. More than usual.

The Shadows were being stirred up by something. Something that didn't belong in the Shadow Realms. The fields of light and dark were ripe for something. But he never thought it would happen in his life. The balance had always been so perfect. Even his excursions made very few rippling effects on the fields. But this time, something was moving through the balances, disturbing them, breaking them up.

In the greater view of things, had he been a yogi, or a saint, he might have suspected that some kind of huge karmic event were in the making. Were he an avatar, maybe he would be preparing the masses for some kind of world event. But he was just a kid really. Hardly in his twenties. And a Shadow Man. A protector of those lost to the darkness, or about to be harmed by it. He wasn't a bringer of Light like Buddha or Jesus, but he didn't disturb the Light, he didn't avoid it or compromise it. He was its friend. Just not out in the open like the big guys. And he preferred it that way. No one would believe what he did unless he showed them and most who saw the shadow fields for the first time went mad or into total denial. He wasn't the one to try and shake up anyone's beliefs.

Let them believe that life was just getting up, making breakfast, going to work, coming home to dinner and going to bed. He knew better. Life was so much more. If his life was any indication, then a hell of a lot more.

His phone rang. He never used cells. They burned out around him, began receiving every text message ever sent. By the time he could scramble to stop it, his phone would overload and explode. Not literally, just kind of sag there, overheated, its plastic and glass fusing together. He had burned himself badly the first two times he had tried to use on in the shadow streams. Never three times. He'd learned his lessons.

"Yeah?"

"It's Sis."

"Hey!" He answered, his face lighting up. Even though he was beat, he always had time for family. He wiped himself further with his towel and sat down next to his overcoat and weapons. "Kind of late."

"Never too late for a brother."

He laughed.

He heard her laugh too.

"So what's up?"

"Is your TV turned on?"

He grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on. "Which station?"

"Doesn't matter."

Immediately, he saw a commentator with images of the White House burning. He flicked through channel after channel and saw the same thing. "God!" He exclaimed.

"They're all gone." She said, making choking sounds, no mistaking crying there.

"What happened?"

"No one knows for sure. One of the President's men was outside on the main lawn, smoking when he turned around and saw the sky open up."

"Skies don't open up, Sis." He scalded her.

"This time it did."

"So what came out of it, big hairy monsters?"

"No. Shadows."

He sat up hard, banging his head on the picture frame above him. "Damn!"

"You all right?"

"Just beat. Hard day."

"Loud and clear. Talk to you tomorrow."

"Love you."

"Love you too, you big oaf."

She hung up and he listened to the dial tone for several long moments, then slung the wet towel from him, rushed into his bedroom and hurriedly began throwing on fresh clothing. He ran into the living room, slung on his shoulder holsters and weapons, then his overcoat. He double checked the clips in his weapons were full, and then slipped into the shadows.

No rest for the wicked, he thought as time and space shot past him. No time for the good either. He thought next.

Then he stepped from the shadows into the burning hell of the White House, his weapons were out in both his fists.

"Ready or not, here I come!" He hollered and stepped from the shadows into the burning white hot hell of the White House.

Death Bringers. Everywhere!

He wasn't going to get much rest this night either.

He ran and fired as he did, sending the beasts flying to their deaths.

He had a vague idea of where the President's bedroom was and stepped into the shadow of a doorway, where the fires hadn't reached yet and slipped through the shadow streams into the President's room.

The very tall man turned from the door to his room, nursing his right hand which had touched the burning knob. "Who are you?"

"Right now, I'm your best friend."

"Did you cause this?"

He shook his head. "No, but I intend to end it."

He approached the President, who backed away.

"Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you." The President looked into his eyes and what he saw calmed his fears.

"I know you?"

"No. This will only take a second. Close your eyes, Mister President."

The President hesitated.

"Please, it's for your own safety."

The President nodded and shut his eyes. "I hope I'm not going to..."

The Shadow Man touched him and they both slipped into the shadows, and then exited across the street from the White House. Reporters were there with camera men, commenting and taking photo coverage. One of them spotted the President as he stumbled onto the sidewalk. Dazed and confused.

"Thank you, young man." He said. But the young man was gone.

He had returned to the White House. There were a lot more souls in there that needed saving and time was running out.

He had thrown fresh clips into his weapons and he stepped from the shadows back into the White House and began firing, clearing his path of the Death Bringers, who leaped and clawed at him. But he was too quick. Faster. Smarter. And more importantly. He could see them.

It was going to be a long, long night, he thought as he found a Maid and headed towards her to save her. A very long night indeed.

He had left his TV on in his rush to save those in the White House.

He hadn't been able to save everyone, but he had saved a lot. But he didn't care at that moment, because as the TV commentator droned on about a mysterious man who had rescued the President and much of the staff, he was laying on the sofa, fast asleep. It had been a long, long, long night.

And even Shadow Men have to rest.

New crisp, mesmerizing, hypnotic swirls of radiant energy in a new Fractal Flame Gallery. Feast your eyes!

Godzilla: The Televison Series. Animated Cartoon. Bird of Paradise

Gamera 3: The Revenge of Iris..Japanese Kaiju movie. You've got to watch this. It's really rocks with action. Much better than older ones.

This series of Gamera movies were really outstanding. Done by a modern director with modern effects. Really liked them.

Enjoy.

John

Antman Features...Videos

Harry Houdini is back in his own story "Apparition," a tale of Shakespeare, drama, humor, ego, and of course mysterious happenings!

"Apparition"
A Harry Houdini Story
By John Pirillo

"Harry Houdini" The Eighth Wonder of the World. The sign read. Boldly, loudly, and just the way he wanted it to do.

Harry adjusted his tie and grinned at the mirror image of himself in the box-office window of the Globe Theater, which had been newly remodeled and the invention of Edison to project moving pictures installed and a huge screen. None of it affected him, however, as there were now two possible venues in the grand old Shakespearean theater. The live stage and the moving stage as the Brits were wont to call it.

The Parisians had gotten their first glimpse of the new cinema as it was being called nowadays when the Lumiere Brothers had scared them out of half a day's wine chugging when a huge train had appeared to be running amok into the theater.

He chuckled. How naive we are as humans to think that everything that can go wrong, or even right is about us. We are but specks on the great mantle of God's cloak called Creation. He mused to himself with a twinkle in his eye. He tweaked his mustache, swept his coal colored hair back from his forehead and bowed to a lovely lady who had stopped near him.

"Mademoiselle. Your timing is impeccable."

"And your hubris equally so." She teased.

He smiled and then gave his sister a big hug, as she did him back.

"Well then, shall we see the new play? I hear it's a robust one that Shakespeare hammered out over the weekend. Will spoke to me on the Tesla Phone he and Edison had put together this last year and told me everything about it. Something to do with a King who sells out his country and his citizens in order to accumulate their wealth."

"Rather sounds like some merchants these days. More intent on grabbing wealth, than spreading quality of service and product." She announced somewhat stiffly.

He gave her a double take. "Lady Shareen?"

She gave him a startled look. "How could you know that?"

"I've heard the spiel many times by now, having been and continuing to be best friends with her and her bronzed giant mate, Lord Graystone."

"Ah yes." She admitted. "I rather fancy that would make a difference. Shall we?" She offered him her arm and he took it. They went to the front of the old theater, which had been polished up and repainted for the new act he was presenting later in the evening. The Shakespeare side was not quite so rowdy looking, as Will tended to be more laid back and comfortable with staying in the background, rather than garnering stage presence. Though he was known to occasionally dress as a maiden when one of the female actresses failed to show up.

Lately, the Brits had accepted the introduction of women into the acting profession, which had taken a great load off those men more inclined to close lips with a beautiful lass, than a handsome rogue.

The Ticket Taker smiled at Houdini. "It's so good to see you again, Harry."

"Good to be here, Mary. This here is my sister, Wendy."

"So nice to meet you, Miss Houdini."

"Oh, my last name is not Houdini. That's just a stage name my brother concocted. My real last name is Astor Smith."

"I like that." The Ticker Taker replied, then handed the both of them a ticket. "Old Will is personally taking tickets this afternoon. Something about wanting to see the audience reaction in every way possible."

Houdini winked at Mary. "Thank you. But that shouldn't surprise you; Old Willie is somewhat of a perfectionist. After all this rhyming poetry is truly despicable when it comes to writing it. I could never do such if you paid me a million pounds to do so."

Mary smiled. "Not that you need the money any."

He winked at her, and turned to Wendy, his sister. "Shall we?"

They entered past two marble columns sculpted with demi-gods and fierce mythological creatures. Wendy looked at the creatures a bit fearfully. "Good thing those awful things only exist in the imagination."

Houdini didn't remove that thought from her mind, even though he had personally been responsible for removing at least two of the monsters from existence with the help of the Brotherhood of Baker Street.

"Yes. It would be a...uh...extremely difficult thing to do, wouldn't it?"

Old Will...who was in fact no older than Harry, dimpled when Wendy was brought to him to offer her ticket up. He immediately bowed and took her left hand and kissed it. "Who would have thought such a lovely young creature could ever have been related to Harry here?"

She dimpled back at him, touched by his words. "And I'm sure Harry agrees, don't you Harry?"

But Harry was gone. He had seen something in one of the top balconies. Something that should not have been there. He probably should have warned Will and Wendy, but he didn't want to arouse any fears that weren't based in fact, so he just swept up the heavily carpeted, red cloth that lined the swirling spiral of steps to the next floor, leaving them perplexed in the rear.

"I guess Harry's found someone else to chase." William said, an amused look on his face.

Wendy turned to look at his face. "Truly. My brother has wandering eyes?"

"Oh, please forgive me for being so boorish. I didn't realize you two didn't speak of such things." William said, his face reddening with a blush.

She smiled at him. "No matter. It fits rather nicely with his larger than life image now, doesn't it?"

"I imagine so. I hope he doesn't miss the prologue. I wrote it especially for him in honor of his show tonight."

"Really." She said, thrilled to hear it. "What is it called?"

William gave her a long look and then said. "The Fall of Man through Narcissism."

She laughed. "Oh Harry will find that ever so funny."

William let out a relieved breath of air, and then offered his arm. "Come now. He may be late, but I still have time to show you to the box seats. Best seats for hearing everything perfectly."

"I thought the acoustics had been much improved."

"Oh, they have, but there are still certain portions of the old theater that drop words. This way."

He guided her along two aisles, then up a short sweep of steps into a box seat that had room for four.

"Oh, but this is much too large for just Harry and I." She said as he seated her.

"Don't worry. I will be seated behind the two of you watching the stage...and my actors like a hawk!"

She burst into laughter. He gave her a good-bye kiss on her right hand, then hurried back to the ticket taking spot and hurriedly took tickets from what looked to be a Lord and Lady. She thought it might be Whittleson, but she couldn't be for certain because of the lighting in the house being dimmed.

===================================================

Harry reached the second level of the theater and went searching through the rows of seats he had seen earlier where the apparition had first appeared. If it had really been there, his senses would light up like a roman candle when he came close. It was when he went to the far right of the level and near the sweeping stairs that lifted to the Booth of Royalty, where the Good Queen Mary of Scots had perpetually reserved seats, that he felt the essence penetrate his senses.

It tasted to his awareness like foul soup that had been embodied with sewage and rotting corpses. Hovering over the Queen's chair was something barely visible, but it had enough of a presence for him to see its general outline. Male. It saw him, but ignored him, its eyes on something to its right. Harry looked that way just as Conan burst into the booth, carrying an odd looking scanner in his right hand and a bag of salt in the other. "Be gone, foul demon!" Conan had cried out, and then flung the salt at the presence. The salt spread into a light cloud of particle and enveloped the presence.

The lighting in the house, which was fueled by the new Tesla power generators, flickered horribly, dropping the theater in utter darkness one moment, and then flaring brightly the next. This went on for several seconds accompanied by a high pitched wailing sound that everyone in the audience below could hear and clapped hands over their ears, or fainted from the intensity of it.

Conan ran closer to the presence, and then pulled out a mirror. He held it towards the presence. "This is what you have become. Shall you still call yourself human and claim that Divinity?"

The presence suddenly became as solid as a real person for several long moments that Harry would never forget. It was a tall gentleman with a face that had been scarred horribly. But his eyes were that of a child's. He fell to his knees before Conan. "Father, forgive me."

Then he vanished utterly. Every light in the house went to full blast a long second, and then fell back to their normal luminosity. Within the theater the audience slowly stood up.

Will stood nervously at his ticket-taking spot as everyone turned slowly around to face him. He was going to be thrown bodily out into the street. He could visualize it even that moment, as the men and women fixed their eyes on him, but then a very, very strange thing happened. They all broke into applause. A standing ovation.

"Hear, hear!"The shouts rang through the levels of the theater.

Harry and Conan stood at the edge of the Queen's box and beamed. "He really deserves the recognition, even if not for this once."

Harry smiled. "I trust that Will will not disappoint them." And laughed at his double entendre.

Conan smiled and patted him on the back. "As to the father thing, it was not I he was asking for forgiveness from."

"I rather fancied so, Conan, you really don't look like the fatherly type." Harry laughed.

Conan gave Harry a hard look for a moment, and then laughed. "I suppose I don't." But then as he was exiting the booth, he turned back and said. "But I rather fashion you will not be either."

He left the booth barking like a seal with laughter so loud that some below looked up to see what was going on.

Harry hurried down the steps to the booth for him and his sister, entered and sat beside her. "Will's off to a nice start, isn't he?"

She gave him a searching look. "So you say, Harry. So you say!"

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A Day in the Life "A Cartoon Story" By John Pirillo Being a hero isn't all it's cracked up to be. Just ask the Comic Book Commando!

A Day in the Life
A Cartoon Story
By John Pirillo

He stood beneath the star studded skies, Cartoon to his left and a strange cactus with big brown eyes on his right that held a cactus spear. They were watching the horizon for signs of the approaching enemy. "I don't like it." Johnnie finally spoke after the building silence.

"Who does?" The gruff sounding cactus shot back in an annoyed tone. "No one likes to pull up their roots in the middle of the night to fight Karnies."

Cartoon glanced at the cactus. "Spine, they're your own people."

"Yeah. But their spines go the wrong way."

Johnnie almost laughed, but then he remembered where he wasn't. He wasn't on Earth. He was in the land of Cartoon, her domain. A world caught in a universe where all the laws of man were turned upside down by the fourth law of cartoonism, "That which man has imagined. Exists. That which man has not imagined. Exists. Put them together and you have our world. Everything is real, including a few improbabilities and impossibilities."

How in the world had he, just a simple teenager wanting to finish college, with a part time janitorial job end up being a Comic Book Commando with the power to command the powers of every comic that had ever existed? Simple. He had saved a young girl from a horrible fire and the horrible girl turned out to be Cartoon. She had triggered the magic within him that gave him the powers.

It was something no one, including himself, ever talked about, but soon he would have to. The dead kept lining up to be killed again, werewolves, vampires, things of unimaginable ferocity, prehistoric creatures...you name it...kept trying to put a nick in his shiny new armor. He really, really hated that.

Johnnie laughed.

Spine gave him a roguish smile. "You understand laddy?"

"Boy, do I."

Cartoon glared at him.

He shrugged. She was the Princess, not him. It was her job to smooth the feathers of the disgruntled. His job was to put them three under if they were evil and mean. Simple fact. He was the hero.

She elbowed him.

The hint of arrogance blew out of him like air from a balloon. "Why'd you do that?"

"Third Law of Cartoonism." She recited. "No hero shall gloat over the misfortune of others, nor shall he ever disagree with the Princess!"

He gave her a blank look for a moment, and then broke into laughter. Bad move. She elbowed him again. "Look, Cartoon, I'm not your subject. I'm just here to help."

Spine nodded. "He has a valid point, My Lady. Best not to upset him. We need all the heroes we can get right now. Especially now. They're coming and coming fast."

Johnnie surveyed the horizon, but the nearest of the cactus army was still about the same distance away. "If that's fast, then I'm a Westinghouse Washing Machine."

Spine gave him a suspicious look. "You're making fun of me."

"Not really." He lied, reminded again of how sharp Spine's, ah, spines were.

Cartoon gave him a knowing look, but said nothing.

"So what's the plan?" Johnnie asked Spine.

"We hurry down this hill and ambush them."

Spine began moving, a fraction of an inch at a time, as if he were attempting to move, but couldn't get past slow motion.

"Nope. Don't think so." Johnnie said.

"Then what?" Spine asked, miffed at Johnnie's refusal to run down the hill.

"How about I run down the hill and ambush them?"

Before Spine could reply, Cartoon spoke up. "Better yet, how about if we don't ambush them, but just slow them down." She bent closer and whispered in his ear. "We build a trench in their path and it'll take those years to get past it. Maybe by then they'll have changed their mind about war."

"By then we probably won't even be alive." Johnnie quipped, then instantly regretted it as he got a look from both Spine and Cartoon that boded nothing good for him.

"Okay. Your way, Princess."

Johnnie unslung his backpack and reached into it. He rifled through the comic books in their plastic protections and finally stopped on one. "Got it! Give me a minute!"

He closed his eyes and imagined his right hand changing.

"Johnnie!" Shrieked Cartoon.

He opened his eyes and his right hand had turned into an electric pump shovel capable of digging a shovel load a second. Thick wire cables ran up from his shovel hand into his wrist and arms. He grinned. "Back in a sec!"

He winked at Spine and ran down the hill. Awkwardly. Holding a comic book in one hand and a hundred pound electric pump shovel in the other made for a bit of lack of balance. He fell forward at the bottom.

"I'll help you, laddy." Spine called out from above, and fractionally moved.

"I've got it!" Johnnie said, getting back to his feet. He shoved the comic book into his rear pocket, and then turned his other hand into an electric pump shovel. He almost fell again.

"I'm almost there, laddy!" Spine hollered enthusiastically.

Johnnie looked back. Spine didn't look as if he had moved an inch yet.

Johnnie eyed the plain before him. "Mmmmm." He muttered, realizing he had a long stretch to dig, even with electric pump shovel hands. The next moment his legs turned into motorized wheels and he began moving swiftly along the stretch of land, shoveling sand and rock aside, until within a few minutes he had dug a trench about ten inches deep and about a dozen miles long. He undid his electric pump shovel hands and motorized wheel feet and turned his legs into a huge water borer. The tube struck the earth and pounded into it, directly in the trench. In about ten minutes he heard water gurgling and it began to trickle up and around his water borer legs.

He made his legs...legs again and stepped out of the gathering water.

He ran back up the hill and stopped beside Spine. "It's okay; you don't have to run anymore."

"Thanks laddy." Spine said, gasping for air. "All this physical exercise is running me down a bit."

Johnnie smiled at Cartoon.

She nodded.

"Let's go home." She suggested.

She closed her eyes and a bubble of light opened before them. She gently lifted Spine by his arms, which had no spines, and stepped into the light. He followed.

==============================================================

"Libraries closing." The Librarian told him.

He jerked awake.

His head had fallen across the book he had been reading. Arizona Desert Explained. He yawned, stretched, then went to a book stack and placed the book there.

"Find what you needed?" The Librarian asked him.

"Not really. I'll be back tomorrow."

"We open at noon tomorrow." She reminded him, pushing the stack of books on the cart they lay upon towards her desk.

"Gotcha!" He acknowledged, and then headed for the elevator.

"Strangest damn dream." He said, yawning yet again.

He got into the elevator after the doors pinged open and pressed lobby. The elevator sank slowly. "I wonder what Cartoon's world really looks like."

The doors pinged open and he stepped out into the lobby, where other students were still chatting on benches, and preparing to leave. He passed several girls he knew, waved and they waved back, and then returned to chatting. He frowned a bit. He hadn't had much of a college life lately because of the adventures he inevitably found himself falling into...sometimes literally. But he didn't resent it. It was just...he yawned again. Exhausting.

He pressed through the huge close doors and stepped out into the quad, where dozens of students were talking to each other as others skated, skateboarded, walked and ran past to their classes, homes, cars and buses.

Speaking of which.

He barely made his bus.

He went to the back and shut his eyes. He could use a bit more rest. Last night he had fought off ten dozen zombies dressed like cheerleaders. It had been hard to polish them off, because they had such cute legs.

He grinned. Better not let Cartoon hear that thought or zombies would be the last thing he'd have to dread. And with that amusing thought, he sank into a gentle sleep. As he slept, he didn't notice that the passenger just in front of him and to the right wore a hat too tall and an overcoat with strange bumps poking from it all over the place.

Spine chuckled on the seat he was upon. "There's a good laddy now. Sleep well. More work to be done on the morrow."

Some kids turned to look back at the strange voice, but all they saw was Johnnie, his mouth hanging open in sleep. They laughed, giggled and joked and turned away.

Scary beautiful fantastic set of Fractal Flames to rattle the imagination.

Gamera, Super Monster...high octange Japanese sci-fi fantasy about a flying turtle who battles evil and flies like a saucer.

Go, Gamera! Go, Go, Go!

Popeye Meets Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves...full color cartoon feast.

This still remains one of my fondest cartoons. And in living breathing color, which was so rare back in those days.

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Ant Man TV Spot...First Falcon footage...HD

Captured by the Eastern Faction allied with the Nazis, Jet and Harry are in great danger! Doctor Zombie. A Rocketman Story By John Pirillo.

 
Doctor Zombie
A Rocketman Story
By John Pirillo
 
Doctor Zombie

A Rocketman Story

By John Pirillo

Harry struggled against the maglocks that kept him chained to the wall. Jet watched him from across the cell, straining against his own as well. Finally, they both stopped.

"Well if that doesn't take the cake." Jet finally said in a blast of exhaustion and frustration.

Both men had been strung up to the wall now for two days without food or water. Their pants were soiled and stinking and their arms hurt like hell as well. Their wrists and hands were going number. Their legs were about to buckle, which meant they would probably collapse, causing their wrists to dislocate and the loss of both hands.

"Yeah. War stinks." Harry cursed. "And so do we?"

"Well, the way I see it, pal, is that if the Nazis don't turn us into Zombies to kill our friends, then these Eastern Faction crazies going to rip our skin off to see what makes us tick."

"Or both." Harry added.

"You had to say that, didn't you? Didn't you!." Jet shot back.

"Hey! Someone's gotta keep up our spirits!"

"War is still hell."

"And it stinks!" Harry said sniffing the air in a comical manner.

"Now, now Harry. Just look at it as a little manly fragrance to pass the time away with."

"This is serious." Harry insisted.

"And it's never not been?"

"Noted."

Harry sighed, and then looked to the solid wall that opened up to allow their captors inside. "What do you think they want from us?"

"Maybe a chocolate malted and fries."

Harry laughed despite himself. "Jet!"

"Yeah man. Thinking. Thinking." Shakes his head. "Nope. No thoughts. You?"

Before Harry could reply the door in the wall slid open, revealing a very beautiful oriental woman clad in a doctor's smock. Her hands were covered in gloves.

"This don't look good, Harry." Jet said, eyeing the gloves.

"Losing your touch with the ladies, Jet?"

"In this case I'll make an exception." Jet quipped, again his eyes not leaving those gloved hands. Finally, he looked up. "I hope those gloves have got useful purposes...like letting us out of our prison, feeding us, arming us."

The oriental woman neither smiled, nor responded. She came into the room, plucked a thermometer from her smock, stuck it in Harry's mouth, then went to the other side of the room and did the same with Jet.

Jet smiled at her. "My favorite flavor. None."

Her eyes flickered for a moment, but she still said nothing. She left the room.

Harry looked over at Jet. "I think your charm is making headway."

"Yeah. Like an airplane crash."

They both laughed.

Several minutes later the door opened again and the same oriental woman entered the room, plucked the thermometers out, made a note of their temperatures, and then exited again.

"What the hell?" Jet asked no one in particular.

"You have to admit, it does help pass the time between getting nowhere fast and possibly being tortured next."

Jet perked up. "You think?"

Harry didn't respond. He didn't want to think about it. He knew what kind of tortures the Orientals on his own timeline had used during World War Two; he could only imagine what the ones in this crazy cocked up would do.

The door opened again a large man, also in a doctor's smock entered. He was glancing at a notepad in his hands. He was escorted by what appeared to be Samurai, except that instead of swords they carried these wicked looking rods with barbed tips that emitted sparks every now and then.

Jet swallowed. The torture was about to begin.

The large man gestured to Jet.

The guards headed for him.

"Harry!"

"Don't worry, pal. I'll be there with you when the time comes."

Jet looked back at Harry as he was removed from the maglocks. "You're kidding? Right? Right?"

As the guards walked past Harry, he suddenly jerked his entire body upwards, straining against the maglocks with his hands to hold on, and kicked the nearest Samurai Guard. It swung around and shoved its rod at Harry, who managed to dodge the blow to his chest. The rod glanced across his shoulder and struck the maglocks over Harry's head, emitting a shower of sparks.

Harry slumped against the wall.

"Damn! Harry! Harry!" Jet cried out as the Samurai Guard gave Harry a second blast from his rod in his back, then grunted happily and followed the first guard and the large man out. The doors closed.

Harry's body hung on the maglocks for what seemed like forever, but then a strange thing occurred. A smile slid across his lips.

====================================================

Jet was hauled into a large warehouse with an open door at the opposite end, where Japanese Soldiers were marching. Rows of odd looking tanks lined opposite walls. The tanks cannon all appeared similar to the rods the guards carried. He was marched to a large table where his and Harry's jump suits lay stretched out. A scientist with a Nazi band on his right upper arm, with its red deadhead on it, looked up from his examination of the suits.

"Ah, I see you have accepted our invitation to join us." The scientist said. He nodded to the large man and he walked off. The two guards fell back from Jet, who began rubbing his wrists to bring life into them again. He hadn't had a chance in the grip of the guards.

"I wasn't invited." Jet said, his voice growling and low.

"Come now. Surely you can appreciate a bit of humor in light of what we could alternatively choose to do?"

"You mean like hanging me on a wall and torturing me?"

"Oh no, that would be too uncivilized."

The scientist gestured to the right and then Jet saw the silent men and women in uniform that stood at perfect attention. Their faces rigid and immobile, fists clenched against their hips. They wore Nazi armbands.

"Zombies!" Jet uttered, the horror of what he was seeing gripping his heart and soul.

"Ah. I see you have fond memories of the good old days."

"How could you know...?"

The scientist came closer to Jet and looked into his eyes. "Do you not recognize the one who made you?"

Jet's horror grew even more. "Doctor Zombie"

Doctor Zombie smiled at Jet. "Oh, I'm so much more than that!"

Jet actually managed to shake off both his guards for a moment as he rushed the Doctor, but their reactions were faster than his and they snapped him back against them again, locking their hand tightly about his arms.

The Doctor smiled. Their grips relaxed.

Jet tensed, ready to spring again for the Doctor, but decided to see if a better moment should arise.

"Yes. A curious name your fellow zombies named me and one I've grown affectionate of. And I have never forgotten you, Jet. You always were the one that got away. Both figuratively and literally in the end. I look forward to inspecting your brain to see how that happened." He clapped his hands.

The guards gripped Jet by his arms again. He tried to shake them off, but was too weak to do so. Their strength was immense.

"I see you have noticed the superior strength of my new generation." The scientist said.

"You're mad." Jet swore. "No good will ever come of this!"

"Oh, but it already has. I expect you to talk excitedly about these..." He pointed to the jump suits. "And very loudly."

One of the guards quite unexpectedly broke Jet's left pinkie.

Jet screamed in pain.

"Am I making myself quite clear, Jet?"

"But how, how did he know to..." Jet uttered despite his growing pain.

The scientist tapped his head. "Here. I have found a way to connect myself to all my creations."

And upon those words every single zombie in the lineups turned and saluted the scientists with a Nazi goosestep to boot.

"Damn!" Jet muttered, a smile coming to his lips. "Busby Berkeley could sure use these guys!"

Jet screamed even louder when his left pinkie was broken.

"What the hell you do that for, man?" Jet hollered.

The scientist tapped his head. "Because I can. Now, shall we talk as peace loving men, or shall we continue our little game of sticks and stones."

The scientist started to smile and then grimaced and made a very, very ugly face as his forehead sprouted a blossom of red. He tumbled to the concrete floor and lay there unmoving.

Jet broke away from the guards, expecting them to stop him, but they were frozen in place. Alarms began to ring.

Harry came running from behind a tank, tossing a Japanese rifle to the ground as he dashed Jet's way. "Suit up!" He screamed.

Jet didn't wait for another invitation. He hurriedly buttoned up as Harry scrambled to do his own. Both men finished as the troops arrived. A barrage of bullets zinged about them. They didn't wait for further encouragement.

"Rockets away!" Harry hollered.

"You got it!" Jet cried out.

Both men ran towards the exit, where the massive doors were beginning to close with a loud groaning sound. They leaped into the air and their rockets cut in and propelled them faster and faster towards the diminishing exit opening.

Soldiers outside were running to cover the exit, firing at them as they came closer.

"Ever had a close shave before, Jet."

"Yeah...every day with you!" Jet cursed.

Then both men in perfect sync turned as one sideways and shot out the closing door exit, making it just in the nick of time. The soldiers outside spun around and aimed their weapons at the fleeing men, firing round after round.

"Ow!" Jet cried out as they shot over the encampment and the vast warehouse they had been held captive in.

"Where you shot, Jet?"

"My damn pinkies, they're both broken and I forgot that and tried to use them."

"Next time, use your middle finger." Harry joked.

Jet did. But not on his controls.

The two rocket men shot upwards and safely into the high clouds overhead.

Sparkling and bright to make your day right. A new Fractal Flame gallery by John Pirillo.

The Romance of Betty Boop...Short animated film

Such a cute voice!

Golden Age Classic Serial, Spy Smasher, Chapter Six. Death and destruction again!

Superman and Batman have a face off. Who will win? Who lose?Batman Versus Superman: Dawn of Justice - Official Teaser Trailer

Don't you get those goosebumps when you watch this?

The Comic Book Commando jumps into the life of a teenager who is granted super comic book powers and must learn how to use them to survive.

"Don't love me just because I'm beautiful. Love me because your heart tells you it is the truth of your own soul." Cartoon


A young girl screams for help!

A young teen named Johnnie hears her cry of terror and fear.

He's no hero, but he can't just let her die.

He rushes into blazing hot high rise fire to rescue the young girl who is trapped between broken floors.

In a daring attempt to save not only her life, but his own as well, Johnnie risks a leap that no normal human could possibly do.

He succeeds.

When he reaches the outside of the building, with the young girl in his hands, he discovers she has mysteriously vanished.

This is the beginning of a number of strange events that leads to him discover he has been tested by the Princess of another world. Another universe. A place where all living creatures, human, plants, animals and monsters are comic book characters drawn by someone at some time either in our world or another.

Her name is Cartoon.

She tells him he has been granted the ability to draw on the powers of all cartoons!

Thus begins a series of fantastic adventures that expose Johnnie to danger and evil of a kind he never thought could exist in the real world.

Nothing will ever be the same for him. 

He's no longer just a teenage kid going to college and holding down a part time job.


He has become...THE COMIC BOOK COMMANDO!

Don't miss out on this epic new adventure that goes places no one has ever gone before. Purchase it now at Amazon, Smashwords or here in my bookstore for only $2.99.

Enjoy hours of reading pleasure.

Become a comic book hero.

Rescue a Princess.

Bound over buildings.

Battle zombies.

Pass your exams!

Be a Comic Book Commando!

Available now for only $2.99 at Amazon, Smashwords and here in my bookstore.

Case of the Missing Death "A Sherlock Holmes Story" By John Pirillo. Even the smallest of things can have the most profound of effects.

Case of the Missing Death
"A Sherlock Holmes Story"
By John Pirillo

James examined the piece of rock he held in his rather large hand, as Sherlock and Watson watched from the side. Watson was radiating a kind of warmth towards James, while Sherlock had a restrained feeling to him, as if measuring the man in some way. James totally ignored both of them as he examined the rock.

"First, it is obviously not from the coal mine whatsoever. I can see from the mica striations and the lack of carbonized particles that it had been placed there, and not found there. There are no known striations of mica to be found in good British coal mines."

"Or bad." Joked Watson, who laughed at his own humor.

Sherlock gave his partner a patient look, then examined James again, his face inscrutable.

"And second, Moriarity?" Sherlock inquired his face still unblemished by emotion.

"Second, had it been the instrument of the miner's death, there should be some indication of fresh breakage."

"Indeed." Holmes said.

"And call me James. Please."

Sherlock's face lost its rigidness. "So sorry, James. I keep seeing the other Moriarity when I look at you and not yourself. It's hard sometimes to forget the difference."

James had entered this current world through an interdimensional portal where Moriarity had turned out completely different from the evil and vile one Sherlock had faced on his world and Watson in this one. Both men had to make tremendous adjustments in their thinking to accept this eager young man, who's every thought, word and action spoke of an immensely kind heart as well as a great intellect.

"Understandable and I forgive you." James Moriarity replied, a broad smile on his face, which he turned to beam on Watson as well.

"But James." Watson demanded. "You haven't finished yet. What is third? You never stop without at least three conjectures or explanations."

"You've been reading too many stories about me." James laughed.

Watson laughed even harder, because he was the one who wrote them about his friend and one time regular companion in sleuthing. "So right you are and writing them as well."

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Right." James said. "Third, see this."

He held the rock closer for the two men to see a spot near his right thumb. Look closely near my right thumb. You will see a cavity there, will you not?"

"Yes. I do." Watson exclaimed. "See here, James, that wasn't there before!"

"Exactly." James said, his smile reappearing as Sherlock gave him a demanding look. "For it was not there when you first brought it to my attention. Nor shortly thereafter. It has only appeared within the last day."

"I say, isn't that rather...uh...ummm...impossible?" Watson asked, his face showing his mind struggling to deal with something impossible in front of his eyes.

Sherlock took the stone and examined the hole a moment, took out his spyglass and examined it even closer. His right eyebrow arched at what he saw. He said nothing, but handed the stone back to James, who gave Sherlock a searching glance.

"What did you see, Holmes?"

"I'd rather not speculate."

"Then I shall." James went on, happy for the chance to reveal some of his skills to Sherlock, whom he was getting to know better and better since they had begun teaming up on various assignments for the good Queen Mary. Sherlock had been reluctant at first, but upon learning of how James had saved her life more than once, and Watsons, he had reluctantly let go of any resistance he had initially felt towards the man who resembled his worst nightmare, and made it his purpose and yes, his duty to assist Watson in learning how to cope with loving two different men at the same time.

He knew it had to be hard for both of them, as he had been out of Watson's life for quite a long time, and even if he wasn't the original Sherlock, it didn't matter, the feelings were just as strong for him as for Watson, the Watson he loved now quite deeply and the one he had lost what seemed to him at moments of melancholy not that long ago. Some day he might relive that horrible moment of his life, but for now he was content to let the past remain in the past.

"Go on." Sherlock encouraged James with a wave of his hand.

"I believe we are dealing with an atmospheric device."

"I beg your pardon." Watson blurted out. "An atmospheric what?"

"I believe he's intimating that this stone he holds is some kind of vessel, Watson."

"Vessel! As in something to drink out of?"

"No, my dear Watson, something to live in."

Watson gasped and sputtered a moment, striving to grasp what had just been said. Finally, he picked up his black bag, which he always carried with him, no matter where he went and headed for the entrance of the mine, ignoring the piercing glances that both James and Sherlock gave him as he departed.

James carefully placed the stone in a cloth bag, which he put on his vest pocket, then turned to Sherlock. "You concur?"

"I do."

"What would you suggest our next step be?"

"Discover what killed the miner."

James eyebrows scrunched together in thought. "You believe the two are related, do you not?"

"Excellent deduction, James."

"I say, we appear to be on agreement once again."

Sherlock gave James the hint of a smile. "So it would seem."

And without further word he followed after Watson.

James remained behind and turned to examine the mine floor once more, to see if he had missed something. He was about to give up, when the Tesla lamp in his free hand caught something sparkly a bit further down the shaft. He went that way, stopped and held the light closer to the source of the glow. It was quite small, but gave off a very, very intense glow. He touched it, and then recoiled in pain.

"Drat it all, James, it's hotter than a furnace fire."

He examined his finger and it was quickly reddening and puffing up into a boil. "It burned me!"

Undaunted, he looked about until he found a miner's lantern, unlit and hanging on a nearby wall. He hurried over, unscrewed the glass from the base, set the glass down, emptied the base of all fluids, carefully wiped it, and then drew several handfuls of dirt into the opening. Satisfied, he took the glass, and then used it to scoop up the glowing sliver that had burned him. He held the glowing object before his eyes and smiled. "What do we have here, hey?"

====================================================

Inspector Bloodstone arrived a bit late at 221B, but didn't hesitate to knock anyway. Constable Evans was to his right, a comfortable look on his face. He punched him on his right arm. "Look sharp, lad, you might be my son, but you're still a Constable and I won't have you looking like one of those clowns from Piccadilly."

"Yes, father..." On the Inspector's glare. "Uh...Inspector."

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson stood there, beaming at the two of them. "Oh, it's so good to see the two of you again."

"And you, dear Mrs. Hudson." Constable Evans returned, ignoring his father's glare afterwards.

Inspector Bloodstone coughed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector. Go right on up, they're waiting for you."

She stopped Constable Evans before he could follow. "I have need of a strong hand."

"At your service, Madam." Constable Evans said, checking with his father who had stopped several steps above them. He nodded and Constable Evans followed Mrs. Hudson inside. She shut the door and went into the small kitchen that was her domain. Neither Sherlock nor Watson was allowed to be in there without her escort. She pointed to four large trays. One was filled to overflowing with tiny sandwiches of meat and lettuce, while the next was filled with scones, the third with a coffee pot and a tea pot and the last with silverware and napkins.

======================================================

"So it is your belief." Inspector Bloodstone commented, after sipping from his tea cup the delicious coffee that Mrs. Hudson had brewed. "It is your belief that this case is solved and need press no further then?"

Both James and Sherlock nodded their heads.

The Inspector broke into laughter, which caused Constable Evans, who had never heard him laugh during business, to choke on his sandwich. Watson pounded his back and offered him a drink to help him out.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor." Constable Evans said finally, after a worried look from his father and a concerned look from Mrs. Hudson, who feared she had done something wrong with the preparation of her food.

Constable Evans smiled at her. "It wasn't the food, Mrs. Hudson, I assure you. It is of the finest quality I could ever eat."

On his father's glare. "My mother's fare being no exclusion from that..."

On further glare from his father. "Oh, drat it all. Inspector, I'm going downstairs to check on our wagon to make sure everything's ready for when we leave."

The Inspector nodded and Constable Evans left the sitting room, with both James and Sherlock exchanging very subtle smiles.

Watson went to the various tesla lamps about the room and began turning them off.

"I say, is there something wrong, Watson?" The Inspector asked in alarm, rising as if a battle were about to commence.

"Not at all, Inspector." James finally said, reaching for a metal box that had been seated in a silver bowl of water up to that point on the fireplace mantle. He pulled it down and set it on the table as Watson turned off the last light.

He opened the lid.

The Inspector and Mrs. Hudson gasped in surprise.

Seated atop the stone retrieved from the mine was a very hotly glowing piece of substance.  The very one that James had found and burned his finger upon.

"What in God's name is that thing?" The Inspector demanded, utterly confused by what he was seeing.

Watson snorted. "Inspector, it's elementary really."

James and Sherlock both gave Watson a surprised look.

He smiled and took a seat near the object. He took a cigar from his vest and touched its tip to the object. The tip caught on fire immediately. "It's a very advanced form of heat." Watson declared happily, satisfied with his deduction.

He took a puff on his cigar, and then smiled even wider. "And it is also a weapon."

James smiled and nodded.

Sherlock gave his friend an appreciative glance.

The Inspector, still wheeling in circles inside his mind as to how this could have anything to do with the case, suddenly woke up to a thought of urgent nature. "The dead miner. He had no obvious wound to cause his death."

"But one." James said. He looked to Sherlock, who retrieved a sketch he had made of the dead miner's head.

James poked the center of the miner's forehead. "This was where the forensic pathologist discovered the entry. After dissection of his skull, it was noted that his entire brain had been cooked."

Sherlock nodded. "Also that there had been an opposite exit from the skull with a similar marking on the back of his head."

The Inspector got it. "So the weapon that was used penetrated his forehead and exited the rear of his skull. But what kind of weapon could possibly do that?" Then his eyes caught the glow of Watson's cigar and that of the object lying upon the dirt inside the box in the silver container of water. "My God! Do you know what you're saying?"

"Yes. We do." James spoke up. "That our miner, curious as to the nature of this..." He very carefully raised the stone so that it was level before the Inspector's eyes. "And as you and I are now, raised the stone to this level to look at it more closely, especially once he'd noted the appearance of gold on the stone."

"Which it was not." The Inspector pointed out.

"Just so." Sherlock agreed.

Watson butted in again. "The beings living in the stone..."

The Inspector began making choking sounds of his own. Mrs. Hudson hurriedly refilled his tea cup and he downed it in a gulp and cleared his throat. He stared at Watson as if he'd gone mad. "Beings living..."

"Inside that stone." Watson reiterated.

The Inspector looked to James, who nodded and to Sherlock who blinked his eyes.

"This is..."

"Insane." Doctor Watson agreed heartily, a smile warming his generous face. "And why I had to leave at first when I realized the import of what had truly happened."

James eyed Watson. "But why did you leave it to me to discover the true reason?"

"James, you and I both know I'm not good when it comes to such details, but I have had more than enough proper preparation of my powers of deduction from this good fellow seated next to me."

"Why thank you, Watson."

"I was referring to the Inspector."

Everyone roared with laughter, except the Inspector, who was the butt of the joke, but finally he relaxed and spread his hands in his lap. Accepting the truth of his eyes and the explanations.

"But what of the beings who fired this..." He pointed at the glowing object.

"Gone." James said.

"The hole in the stone had to have been their escape hatch." Watson pointed out.

"We returned the next morning and examined every possible path from where the stone had lain and discovered nothing more. They had left." Sherlock added.

"Left you say." The Inspector gasped in horror. "You mean they're still loose on our world."

"Yes." James agreed. "And I imagine feeling quite lost in a world that is so, so much larger than our own."

"What if they use that dread weapon again?" The Inspector asked. "How shall we stop them?"

No one answered him. No one at all.

Flames of incadescent beauty and mysterious wonder. New Fractal Flame Gallery.

Dancing Parrot

The Incredible Petrified World ,starring classic film horror actor John Carradine

Godzilla, King of Monsters BBC TV Show

John Carter of Mars Showreel which is spectacular in and of itself, compared to the movie that was eventually made by another director.