The Widow Sabishane - Part V, Page 1

Part V

The Gray Plague

The last rays of sunlight were just slipping beneath the horizon when the Widow's rowboat quietly thumped against the giant vessel's hull.  "We we've made it this far Mr. Klemmens." said the Widow breathlessly, stowing away the oars so as not to trip over them.  She and Mr. Klemmens had followed the immense ship as closely as they could for the rest of the afternoon.  Just when they thought they were about to lose it, the ship stopped dead and the old Victorian boathouse was finally able to catch up.  The Widow and Mr. Klemmens had waited until the sun was just about to set before grabbing some supplies and approaching the vessel, believing it  would be harder to spot them on the dark blue sea at dusk.

Rain had begun to drizzle lightly as they set out in the small rowboat and now, as Mr. Klemmens tied the boat to a cleat on the monster-ship's hull, it was turning into a squall.  The rain poured down like ice cold daggers as the Widow grabbed the flintlock pistol she had wrapped in a cloth and shoved it into her satchel.  She wore a rubber slicker over her dress and had secured a tiny dagger to her thigh with an old red scarf.  "Ready?" she whispered to Mr. Klemmens, who was standing at the stern of the rowboat wearing a dark green, hooded cape; a grappling hook dangling from his throwing paw.  The old scimitar he wore was now slung over his shoulder, crisscrossing on his back with a falchion in a red scabbard.  He nodded to the Widow as he swung his grappling hook around and around, faster and faster.  Then with supreme timing and incredible accuracy he let go of the hook, sending it catapulting up, over, and onto the deck of the ship.  He winced at the metal clang it made and yanked hard, wedging the hook into the underside ledge of the deck.  He tugged again to check the tension and began to climb upwards, slowly.  "Stay in the boat until I signal you Sabishane.  Let me scout out the vessel first." said Mr. Klemmens.  The Widow looked up at him, the rain splattering off her thick glasses as she nodded solemnly.
 
Mr. Klemmens flattened his ears back and peeked over the ledge of the deck.  His glowing eyes darted back and forth in the darkness as rain spattered loudly on the metal deck.  Thunder rolled above him and lightening cracked through the thick black clouds, illuminating the huge steaming towers and the giant cogs of black metal that loomed over him.  The colossal black wheels turned endlessly; over and over while iron and steel shrieked like a dying banshees, churning  the great engines below.  Mr. Klemmens stayed still for a moment, peering over the edge of the deck.  When he did not see anyone pass by, he slowly climbed up over the ledge and jumped onto the deck.  Keeping to the shadows Mr. Klemmens skulked around the area, checking for signs of sentries or guards...but there were none.  In fact, the entire deck of the ship seemed abandoned aside from stacks of crates and a few empty oil drums.  Mr. Klemmens snuck back to the ledge and signaled the Widow to come up.
 
Down in the rowboat, the Widow Sabishane tied the end of the rope that was dangling from the grappling hook around her waist and gave it a tug before beginning  to climb up.  When she arrived at the top Mr. Klemmens helped to pull her over the ledge and they both sat hunkered down in the shadows.  "There are no guards anywhere Sabishane." Mr. Klemmens whispered. "Just boxes and oil drums."  The Widow looked around warily as the rain came pattering off her slicker and cascading down  the front of her hood, like several miniature waterfalls.  "Alright, let's find a way in and see if we can locate where they keep the prisoners."  Mr. Klemmens nodded and motioned for the Widow to stay put.  He got down on all fours and lowered himself to the floor so that his belly was barely skimming the deck, as he began to crawl towards the bow of the giant vessel.

The Widow Sabishane - Part IV, Page 3

        After the Chief had finished his tale and every belly was full, he took the Widow and Mr. Klemmens on a tour of the village. Together they spent a solid chunk of the afternoon walking along the hanging rope bridges, sharing stories, eating food, meeting villagers and just generally having a good time. When the sun finally began to dip towards the horizon, the Widow Sabishane thanked the Chief for his hospitality and asked for directions back to the beach. Sad to see the Widow and Mr. Klemmens go, the villagers all lined up by the mysterious stone gate and waved them a heartfelt goodbye.

Atushka performed his ritual on the stone and when they had all opened their eyes they were back in the clearing of the jungle. "How do you do that Atushka?" asked Mr. Klemmens curiously "I must admit, I am very intrigued." The short, dark-skinned man looked up at Mr. Klemmens with his big brown eyes and smiled. "Magic!" he said, as he threw back his head and released a rumbling bout of deep laughter. "And to think, I was just starting to like you." replied Mr. Klemmens. Atushka's laugh turned into a high-pitched giggle as he bounded over to the large Somali cat, picked him up with surprising strength and hugged him tightly. "You are a good man, for a cat." said the Chief cheerily. "Take care of de young lady." The Widow Sabishane smiled warmly as she knelt down to the tiny man and embraced him. "Thank you Atushka. I will be thinking of you and your people, wishing for a safe return for the ones whom you have lost. I truly hope to see you again before I leave this world." Atushka blinked back his own tears and kissed the Widow on the hand before bowing to her. "You are most welcome Madame. And do not worry, de Spirits tell me I will see you again soon. Now, sail carefully and keep a lookout for de gray ship. You will know when you spot it, for it will fill de entire horizon." As the two friends walked away, the great Chief's smile slowly turned into a deep frown. He looked out towards the ocean and breathed in heavily. "I understand de order of life, but I will still be sad to see her go."

The walk back to the rowboat was relatively silent as Mr. Klemmens and the Widow were both thinking heavily about the Apuwashi tribe and the situation they were in. As soon as they had reached the boathouse the Widow stomped her feet hard and spun around completely. "There!" she said relieved, "I've just left all of the bad energy right here on the deck. Mr. Klemmens, if you would be so kind, please do the same and then sweep that portion of the deck for me will you?" As Mr. Klemmens hoisted himself up over the deck he smiled at her. "Of course Sabishane...Let's right ourselves and finish this day out in happiness." As he did this, the Widow secured the halyard to the head of the sail and began to hoist it up into the air. When it was all the way to the top, she tied the remaining line around a cleat on the mast and took hold of the helm.

The Widow Sabishane looked out over the water and smiled as she ran her wrinkled old hands over the smooth wheel of the helm and sucked in the salty air as hard as she could. As she let it all out she gave the wheel a strong clockwise spin before grabbing it sharply and holding it perfectly still. "Where are we going Sabishane?" Mr. Klemmens called out as he climbed up the ladder that lead to the crow's nest. The Widow Sabishane smiled and called up to him "Wherever the wind takes us my friend!" And as if she had called upon it herself, the wind came suddenly and powerfully. It surged westward, filling the giant sails that were tied to the large mast in the center of the deck and began pushing the boathouse forward with great speed. The Widow flicked a tiny switch behind the steering wheel and a few moments later music filled the air as an invigorating Flamenco guitar began playing out over the loud speakers.

As the slowly setting sun shined down upon her and the old Victorian boathouse sailed over the wide blue yonder, the spray of the ocean kissed the Widow's wrinkled old face. She smiled delightfully as the wind wiped around her, cooling her skin just as the sun began to make it sweat and enormous waves crashed against the walls of the huge Victorian house as it sailed along, its barnacle-covered bottom sloshing in and out of the water as the ocean raised and lowered the ship. They had sailed just a few miles out from Apuwashi when Mr. Klemmens began shouting, "Land ho Sabishane! Land ho!" The Widow quickly picked up her monocular from the brass mount just below the helm's steering wheel and extended it as far as it could go. She held it up to her right eye as the blood-orange sun glinted off its shiny surface. Narrowing her eyes she saw a large dark mass far out on the water and her heart sank. "That's not land Mr. Klemmens!" the old lady shouted. Mr. Klemmens squinted his own eyes, pulling out a large pair of binoculars he rarely had cause to use. "Well what in heaven's name is it?" he called below. The Widow Sabishane frowned as she bent her head back and looked upwards at the crow's nest where Mr. Klemmens stood watch. "It's a ship, a war vessel." Mr. Klemmens finally gave in and brought the binoculars up to his face, quickly adjusting the focus. "Oh." was all the talking cat could say.

Stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, was a massive ship. Its hull was a dull gray metal, which Mr. Klemmens guessed was a combination of steel and iron. He saw huge towers pouring out thick clouds of steam and metallic cogs that turned one another as they sat, sporadically jutting out from what looked like the deck of the ship. "A steam-powered ship of that size is impossible." he heard himself say. Yet there it was, with thousands of flags fluttering in the wind from hundreds of poles across it's deck, each one bearing a different emblem. Some were large and impressive with fire and dragons or skulls and swords, others were adorned with fancy gold lettering or a coat of arms and looked to be made of expensive silk, while even more flags hung lower on the poles and were torn and ratty looking, often bearing a modest sigil. What he saw last was the most terrifying. In the broadside of the ship, were massive square outlines that could only have one thing hiding behind them. "Cannons..." whispered Mr. Klemmens to himself.

By tracking the motion of the vessel's crest in the water, Mr. Klemmens quickly noted the ship's speed and direction. "Sabishane, that thing is armed, and it's headed due north at about...about 100 knots!" The Widow snapped her head towards the crow's nest and shouted, "That's not possible, not something that large!" Mr. Klemmens continued to stare out of his binoculars. "Widow, if I'm wrong then so much the better for it. But somehow that steamship is tearing right through the ocean!" The Widow Sabishane slammed her monocular shut and squeezed it tightly. "Well then, what are we waiting for? There are Apuwashi prisoners aboard that ship Mr. Klemmens. Let us go and fetch them."

The Widow Sabishane - Part IV, Page 2

The Widow Sabishane and Mr. Klemmens ran behind Atushka as he led them deeper into the jungle.  After what seemed like hours, the trio finally came breathlessly panting to the edge of a wide clearing.  Facing them, stood a tall stone wall on the opposite end of the clearing.  Atushka had led them to a dead end.  The Widow and Mr, Klemmens looked at each other nervously but said nothing.  In the middle of the wall, wedged in a large gap, was a gigantic circular stone.  Atushka slowly turned around to his guests and smiled his mainly toothless smile.  "As I have mentioned before, we have had a lot of uninvited guests to de island lately so security had to be tightened up."  As he spoke Atushka turned around and placed his hand on the circular stone, his face turning stoic.  "Please, Madame, hold my hand.  You too furry catman."  He said, glancing back at Mr. Klemmens with a mischievous smile.  The Widow Sabishane grabbed Mr. Klemmens' paw before he could reply. Atushka turned back towards the stone with the Widow's hand tightly in one of his own and fanned his fingers out over the smooth chalky surface as he began to hum a deep and rhythmic tone, closing his eyes and lowering his head as he did so.
 
As Atushka hummed his wordless tone, the ground began to shake lightly and tiny pebbles began to fall from above them.  The pitch of the tone became deeper and the vibration became stronger and stronger.  Finally the humming was so deep that Mr. Klemmens could feel it in his chest, vibrating through his ribs and lungs.  He felt as though there were hundreds of tiny tribesmen like Atushka holding onto him, humming deeply and sending their deep vibrations through him.  The tremors became so strong that the Widow and Mr. Klemmens became dizzy and had to shut tight their eyes.  Seconds later the humming and the vibration had completely stopped, and the Widow felt Atushka release her hand.  She opened her eyes and the tiny man smiled up at her.  "What was all that about then?" she said to him, confused and a bit motion sick.  "Turn around and see for yourself Madame." said the little old man with pride lathering his voice.

The Widow slowly turned around and there in front of her was an incredibly complex village full of tiny men and women just like Atushka.  A massive stone wall surrounded it all and the Widow realized they were on the other side of the clearing.  There were huts made of wood and leaves in the canopy and strange long shacks on the ground.  Rope bridges connected every hut above them and vine-made ladders hung from various trees beneath.  The shacks below were long but short to the ground, made with mud walls and straw roofs.  The huts in the trees looked more like bird nests, made from a patchwork of wooden sticks, leaves and vines.  The Widow gasped in surprise and delight.  "How absolutely, incredibly, amazing Mr. Atushka!"  Atushka puffed out his chest and smiled.  "Thank you Madame.  Now, about dem scones...would you like to take dis meeting to my hut before I give you a tour?"  "Very much so."  Said the Widow as she took his already extended arm and the three of them walked towards the center of the village.

In Atushka's hut Mr. Klemmens and the Widow sat and ate as Atushka, who they now knew was the Chief, told them all about his people and their village.  "We are natives to dis island.  We call de island Apuwashi and have named ourselves de same.  We have been here since any of de eldest elders can remember.  Which, as far as I can recall would make our tribe somewhere around a few thousand years old, at least I dink so.  Anyway, we have had a long and generally very prosperous existence.  We are simple people who are content wid what de Spirits have given to us, so we have never ventured beyond our own island and until recently we've always had a good relation with any sort of folk who stopped by.  We even used to have a trading post set up on de coast for any travelers who passed drough."

The Widow put down her dried cranberry scone and looked at the Chief with her big sad eyes.  "Why exactly have you retreated to the deep center of your jungle Mr. Atushka?"  "Please, just call me Atushka.  It started about 5 years ago.  A massive ship, bigger than any I have ever seen, came to our tiny island.  It was gray like de color of de rocks but much harder and had a shine to it, like your sword
Mr. Klemmens, and when it came to our shores it dropped a massive bridge down from its bowels and hundreds of armed men poured out onto our beaches.  They came screaming into our villages with their weapons drawn high, cutting down anyding or anyone in deir path."  The Chief took a long breath and let out a heavy sigh.  "We were forced to flee; to retreat to dis place, de sanctuary.  Dey stole our food and our animals; dey even stole some of our people.  De next morning we tried to retaliate, to rescue dose who had been taken.  But the mighty ship was gone.  Since then, we have only seen smaller ones come and go in scouting parties.  We made a few raids on dem but, when we got to deir ships dere was nothing in dem.  I believe dey are looking for my people, to kidnap and enslave more of us."

The Widow Sabishane's eyes were full of tears as Atushka went on with his story, telling them of the horrors that the armed men inflicted upon his peaceful tribe.  Mr. Klemmens saw the Widow's tearful face and his blood began to boil with resentment for the unknown raiders.  At the outset of Atushka's tale, Mr. Klemmens had taken off his scimitar to sit comfortably and was now clutching the hilt so hard his paws were raw and bleeding.  Mr. Klemmens could not help but relive his own terrible memories as a kitten, when he had been abducted from his own clan, long before he had met Sabishane and only just before she became a widow.

The Widow Sabishane - Part IV, Page 1

Part IV

Atushka the Chief

As the sun was reaching its apex in the sky, Mr. Klemmens and the Widow were still walking through the lush jungle.  They had stopped briefly for a quick lunch and had just began to move out again when Mr. Klemmens suddenly rushed in front of the Widow and held his arm out in front of her, forcing the Widow to stop.  "What is it Mr. Klemmens?" she whispered.  "We're being watched, and I believe we may be surrounded."  "Oh heavens." said the Widow as she placed a hand in front of her mouth and looked around the jungle pensively.  Mr. Klemmens slowly began to unsheathe his scimitar as he crouched low and scanned the trees.

"Do not withdraw your arms, creature!"  boomed a deep voice from somewhere behind them.  Mr. Klemmens, keeping his paw on the hilt of the semi-unsheathed sword, quickly turned around to face the sound.  "Who are you, and what do you want with us?" demanded the Widow.  "What are you doing on MY island?" boomed back the mysterious voice.  "What makes this your island, is your name written on it?" said the Widow as she stifled a giggle.  Mr. Klemmens shot her a disapproving look.  "ENOUGH QUESTIONS!" boomed the voice.  "I AM NOT AMUSED!  TELL ME WHO YOU ARE AND WHY YOU HAVE COME HERE OR MY WARRIORS AND I WILL ATTACK WITHOUT MERCY!"  Mr. Klemmens' fully withdrew his scimitar with a loud SHINK! as his fur bristled and he hissed at the trees around them, "Try it fool!" he spit, baring his sharp teeth.  "Easy Mr. Klemmens." The Widow whispered.  "I can handle this."

The Widow stepped in front of Mr. Klemmens and put both of her arms outward, showing she had no weapons.  "Please excuse my good friend Mr. Klemmens; he only wishes to protect me.  As you can see, I am simply an old Widow.  We mean you no harm.  We were simply passing by your island when we nearly crashed.  We just wanted to stretch our legs and do a bit of exploring.  Please, do me a kindness and step out so that we can meet face to face, peaceably."   For a moment the Widow thought the man behind the voice had gone away, then without warning, the leaves began to rustle from all around them and the trees began to creak and sway in a building wind.  Mr. Klemmens pushed the Widow back behind him again and stood in a defensive position with his sword up and at the ready.  "Patience Mr. Klemmens, patience." Whispered the Widow.

Just then, from behind a small shrub, came a very short and very old man with heavily tattooed ebony skin.  The black tribal tattoos were connected and seemed to swirl and wrap around every part of his body as though he were entirely covered with one giant tattoo.  The man wore nothing but a loincloth and had a quiver of arrows slung over his back and a huge hunting bow in one hand, which he now leaned upon like a great staff.  The little man looked up at the Widow warily, then, seeing she truly meant him no harm he smiled a wide, semi-toothless grin.  "Ah yes!  Hello." he said a with a heavy Rastafarian accent.  "I am Atushka and dis is my island, de Island of Apuwashi!  I am de chief of a very small tribe dat exists only on dis island." the small man looked down at his feet shamefully, kicking up dirt as he spoke.  "I am sorry for de threateninglyness of myself.  I have most probably scared de Jumblies out of you, but we've had many uninvited guests to our island recently and dey aren't usually as pleasant as you Madame.  In fact dey are more often than not quite hostile, like your fat, furry friend here."  said Atushka as he poked Mr. Klemmens belly with his bow and laughed.  Mr. Klemmens sheathed his sword roughly and flashed the man a grin full of long white teeth.  "Well it certainly is nice to meet you Mr. Atushka." said the Widow enthusiastically.  "Is your village close by?  I brought some of my special scones with me and I would love to share them with you while you tell me all about your wonderful island."  "Oh yes, I would like dat very much." said the old man excitedly.  "Follow me!" he bellowed as he dashed off into the jungle with surprising speed.

The Widow Sabishane - Part III, Page 4

After they had finished their breakfast Mr. Klemmens and the Widow Sabishane continued through the jungle.  Mr. Klemmens, now beginning to understand that keen observation brings insightful appreciation, had sheathed his sword and was climbing over and under every vine, thicket, and root in their path.  His large cat eyes stared in wonder at all the different kinds of plants.  "This one is interesting Widow, it has ten petals but only one flower per plant.  Oh and look here, every petal is a different color.  I wonder why that is."  The Widow smiled warmly at her friend and bent down to him, carefully examining the plant he was pointing to.  "Oh yes, that's called the Doting Marquis Mr. Klemmens.  It is an extremely rare flower with a bit of a fable.  Would you like to hear it?"  The large Somali cat curled up on the floor of the jungle and nodded his head, his yellow and gold flecked tail swishing back and forth excitedly.  "Very well then." Said the Widow as she plopped down next to him and began scratching behind his ear.

"In the small town of Hue, many many years ago, there lived a kind and loving Marquis with his beautiful Marchioness.  They ruled their people for many years with kindness and equality and they never gave in to greed or corruption like so many others.  The Marquis and Marchioness loved each other very much and so it comes as to no surprise that they had 10 lovely daughters between them, each one born exactly one year after the last.  As you can imagine, birthdays became especially difficult for the Marquis and his wife, as each daughter's was on the same exact day."

"For many years the gifted Marquis would come up with a new present for each daughter that was always especially unique.  Unfortunately, when the eldest daughter was about to turn twenty, the Marquis of Hue was finally stumped.  He had thought of one hundred and fifty-three wonderfully distinct ideas over the past 20 years and now he could think of nothing else to give to them.  As his daughters' birthdays grew closer, the Marquis began to worry.  One evening, when the moon was big and bright, he went out to his garden to sit and think.  While he sat, staring at his beautifully exotic garden, his head in his hands, the he began to lose hope.   It was at this moment when the moon ducked behind a cloud and the garden became very, very dark.  The Marquis looked up at the sky out of curiosity and the clouds slowly began to drift apart.  As they did this, a very small portion of the garden became illuminated and the Marquis gasped in astonishment at what he saw.  There, in the middle of his garden, was the most gorgeous flower he had ever seen."

"A flower with ten pristine petals, each one an amazingly unique shade of color unlike any of the others.  The Marquis rose from his seat at once and hurried to the small flower.  Falling to his knees, the humble man dug the tiny plant out of the ground as carefully as he could.  He lifted the strange looking flower like a newborn baby, carefully bringing it inside.  After taking some top soil from his garden, the Marquis re-potted the tiny plant in a red porcelain bowl with gorgeous blue and white hand-painted Koi swimming across it.  When he was finished, he sat at his kitchen table staring at the tiny flower in awe."

"The petals ranged in color from blood orange to scarlet, citrine, indigo, amaranthine, tangerine, jade, coral, cerulean, and finally amber.  Upon looking even closer, the Marquis noticed tiny veins in each petal of the flower.  The veins too were strange and unique, as they took on the colors of the petals next to them.  For instance, the dark amaranthine petal's veins bore the bright color of the citrine petal next to it, and the citrine petal's veins bore the dark color of the amaranthine.  Every petal was, in this way, sharing a unique quality of its neighbor.   As the Marquis looked even closer still, he saw that what he thought were individual petals were in fact all growing as one from the same area at the top of the stem.  "Each petal is connected!"  Said the Marquis to himself as he stamped his feet in excitement.  "Finally, my search for the perfect gift is over!"

"On the following morning, the morning of his daughters' birthday, the Marquis sat in the kitchen anxiously awaiting his daughters.  When every one of them had come down the steps the Marquis wished them all a happy birthday and gave them each a kiss on the forehead.  "My lovely daughters," the Marquis said proudly as he stood before them, "I have found for you, the perfect gift.  Aside from your mother and the ten of you, this gift is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life."  As the Marquis said this he stepped aside, revealing the potted flower to his daughters.  Each daughter marveled at the flower and its extraordinary beauty as they examined it.  After a few moments the youngest daughter, who was only ten years old, came up to her father and tugged on his coat tails.  "But sir, tis only one flower.  Who gets this one and what do the rest of us get?"  The Marquis looked down at his youngest daughter and smiled fondly while scooping her up into his arms.  He walked to the table where the flower was, sat down placing his daughter on his knee and then motioned for the rest of the girls to sit with him."

"Once they had all gathered around, he spoke.  "My daughters, this flower is a gift to each of you.  Look closely, for what it represents is something much more beautiful than any of its brilliant colors."  The girls did as their father asked, but no matter how hard they tried and no matter how many ways they looked at the flower, not one of them could guess what it was their father had meant.  When he realized they would need some guidance, the Marquis spoke up.  "Look at the stem of the plant my children, do you see how it grows upward but never stops?  What you first see as an individual petal is in fact an extension of the entire plant.  Each petal is physically connected to its sister; there is no separation between any one part of the plant.  Not only are they connected on the exterior, but look at the veins.  Each petal reflects a quality of its neighbor within itself.  So in short, my beautiful petals, this flower not only represents each of you, but it represents all of you.  You are all connected to each other and you each reflect one another's beauty within yourself."

When the Widow had finished her story Mr. Klemmens was staring at her intently.  "This is lesson two isn't it Sabishane?"  The Widow smiled her fantastic smile and stood up with great effort.  "Yes Mr. Klemmens, it is.  The second lesson in appreciation is connection.  We are all connected Mr. Klemmens; to each other, to the Earth, and to the paths that lead us to our destinations, wherever they may be.  If you can find these connections and remember to observe them, then you will learn many things.  You will appreciate your life and other's lives much more when you see the connections we share.  You will see just how sacred we all are.  Now, let's get a move on, shall we?"

The Widow Sabishane - Part III, Page 3

My apologies for the long delay in posting.  To be fair I will do my best to post 2 additional serials this week.  Thanks and enjoy!

A dark silhouette of the Victorian boathouse bobbed up and down in the distance as Mr. Klemmens and the Widow Sabishane heaved the tiny rowboat to shore, banking it on the pitch-colored sand. Once the boat was at a safe distance from the tide the Widow walked up the beach, her floral dress clinging to her legs, snapping in the wind as she looked up at the jungle that stood towering before them. Through the thicket she observed tall coconut Palms swaying in the wind, their bounty dropping sporadically to the ground and rolling down the beach to greet her. Deeper still grew patches of bright green bamboo which crisscrossed competitively over neighboring plants. She could see brightly colored fruit-bearing Jambu trees and wild climbing vines; their creeping appendages desperately trying to wrap themselves around every living thing.

From where she was standing the Widow could just see the Southern side of the island. Here, a gorgeous lagoon glistened in the sun and stilted mangroves grew tall, their aerial roots drawing in the nutrients of the crystal clear water. "Oh Mr. Klemmens, isn't this one of the most beautiful islands you have ever seen?" gushed the Widow. The usually irritable cat trotted up beside her and faintly smiled. "It most certainly is Sabishane. Now, shall we press on?" The Widow looked down at her feline companion and frowned. "You don't appreciate very much, do you Mr. Klemmens?" she said. "I appreciate lots of things Madame. Like, a fat herring for dinner, or a day-long nap in the sun." argued Mr. Klemmens. "I think you mean you appreciate what satisfies your urges, correct?" said the Widow, taking a handful of sand and watching intently as the grain slowly sifted through her fingers.

The giant cat thought for a moment, then nodded his great orange head. "Why yes, I suppose I do." he said firmly, not expecting any argument. "Well that's just too bad." said the Widow Sabishane sadly, as she clapped her sandy hands on her dress and began to walk towards the treeline. "It's too bad that you don't realize what will truly benefit you in the long run." she said as she trailed off into the distance. Mr. Klemmens stood still for a moment, trying to understand the Widow's words before quickly scurrying off to join her.


As they traveled through the jungle Mr. Klemmens walked in front of the Widow, hacking away at the thick vines and lush vegetation with his scimitar. "What did you mean on the beach, what you said about not realizing what will benefit me in the long run?" Mr. Klemmens called back to the Widow, trying hard not to sound too concerned. The Widow Sabishane, smiling wide as she lightly touched almost every plant in her path, stopped walking and sat down. Mr. Klemmens turned completely around and looked at the Widow confused, "What are you doing?" he asked. The old woman slid the basket off of her arm and sat it on the ground next to her. "Having breakfast, isn't it obvious?" she said, as she opened the lid and began taking out an astonishing assortment of foods.

Mr. Klemmens' twisted his whiskers in frustration, "But we're in the middle of the jungle!" he shouted. "Oh? I hadn't noticed." said the Widow with a heavy layer of sarcasm, "Now be quiet and sit down. Or would you prefer I ignore your question?" The orange and gold cat sheathed the old sword he had been using to hack away at the impeding jungle and sighed as he sat down opposite the Widow. Soon she began to lay out the food she had prepared aboard the boathouse. She first brought out a large plate of mustard-crusted, roast potatoes with chopped shallots and garlic sprinkled generously on top. Next she pulled out a heaping plate of sausages whose casings were hand-stuffed with a mix of feta cheese, spinach and minced pork. Lastly, the Widow reached deep into the basket and produced a small box of scones which had she had baked with an assortment of currants, dried cranberries, raisins, chocolate chips, chopped nuts, and even coconut. Each scone had been topped with clotted cream and then drizzled lightly with honey.

Mr. Klemmens' mouth began to water as he stuck his paw out to grab one of the more plump looking sausages; it's skin cracked and golden and dripping with juices. The Widow moved with great speed, slapping Mr. Klemmens' paw away from the plate and giving him a stern look. "Ow! What the Devil was that for?" he cried out, pulling his paw to his chest and licking it tenderly "Appreciation." said the old Widow lightly as she held up the plate of potatoes and breathed in through her nose heavily, smiling like a crazed baboon. "Aahh! Mmm! That smells wonderful Mr. Klemmens! Just wonderful!" Mr. Klemmens flashed her a quick and unconvincing smile, "Oh yes, very nice indeed!" as he reached out for a potato. Slap! Again the Widow struck the cat's outstretched paw. "Stop it! In the name of Fritti Tailchaser, Sabishane! Can I eat or not?"

Picking up the plate of sausages the Widow deeply inhaled the aroma and smiled. "Once you appreciate the meal, you may eat the meal." Mr. Klemmens sat slumped over, raising his paws up over his head. "Well how do I do that without tasting it first?" The old woman blinked in surprise. "By observing it my ravenous little friend. The first step in learning how to appreciate anything of great importance is to observe it. How it looks, how it smells, how it feels; what makes it important Mr. Klemmens? And how will you know if you devour it on sight? How will you see it for what it really is if you do not stop to take it in?" Mr. Klemmens looked at her curiously. "Take this jungle for instance." She began again. "In this moment, it is rare and it is beautiful, but before the world was as developed as it is now, there used to be thousands of them just like it, all across the globe. Do you think the loggers who chopped them down to make room for parking lots, or the businessmen who drew up the contracts for large sums of money, saw them for what they were? They couldn't Mr. Klemmens; they didn't take the time to. They were all too busy looking for the end result and the fastest buck. Do you think a commercial fisherman appreciates the beauty of his 10-ton catch?" said the Widow as she sat back, wiping her hands on her dress and folding them across her lap. "You, Mr. Klemmens, are very much like these individuals. You live for the end result and not for the moment. You wish to eat, to fill your belly. You want to walk, to get where you are going. You must stop and you must observe. That, is lesson one."

Mr. Klemmens sat for a long moment and thought on the Widow's words. When he felt he had waited long enough, he cautiously stretched out his paw out for the plate of potatoes. When he realized she would not swat him, Mr. Klemmens grabbed the plate by its sides and glared at the potatoes intently. He looked at the golden brown mustard flakes clinging to the skin, at the tiny pieces of chopped garlic, and the light brown surface where the fire had been close to the skin. Slowly, he realized the effort that had gone into preparing each and every potato, the love and the care. He picked one up and brought it to his tiny pink nose. He held it there for a moment, unsure of himself, then dismissed it with a reassuring glance at the Widow and breathed in the lofty aroma.

As the deep and pungent smells filled his nostrils a burst from of each of his senses overpowered him. Hundreds of different smells flooded his mind, bringing back a myriad of memories with his family and friends who had all been long dead, and of the meals they had once shared together as kittens. He shut his eyes tightly and there, in his mind's eye, were instances of his life playing like an old silent film. He smelled the crackling fire used to roast the potatoes as faces floated before him like seared memories. His mother and father, laughed around a campfire after a day of hunting lessons in the tall grass. The mustard flakes, sweet and spicy, reminded him of Dr. Rupert Sabishane's beloved deviled eggs and the young cat's first Christmas shared between the three of them, only months after Mr. Klemmens has lost his entire family. Each smell brought back another powerful memory and they each stemmed from the simple scent of a roasted potato. After a while, Mr. Klemmens opened his small yellow eyes and blinked back a tear of deep nostalgia and longing. The Widow smiled affectionately at her friend. "Now you see my dear Mr. Klemmens. Now you see."

The Widow Sabishane - Part III, Page 2

Holding fast to the brass handrails, the Widow hummed pleasantly as the elevator shook with speed.  It was always a quick ride to the deck but it was never a smooth one.  Only moments later the gate slid upwards and the doors slowly opened.  Bright sunlight poured into the elevator and the Widow Sabishane shouted with surprise.  "Mr. Klemmens!" she squawked.  "You've got hold of the wheel!  That's absolutely marvelous!"

 Mr. Klemmens had, in fact, been forced to jump up onto the great wooden helm in a desperate attempt to divert the Victorian houseboat from crashing headlong into a tiny island.  Which incredibly, he had just missed it by inches. "I KNOW that Sabishane!  If I would have waited for you to get here, we'd be stuck on those rocks to the East, breathing our last breath!" shouted Mr. Klemmens, as he strained to keep hold of a wheel that was twice his size.  The widow looked to her right and saw a tiny island with black beaches, a lush jungle, and a rocky outcrop that ended about a quarter mile out into the sea.  Running to the starboard side, she took a glance downward and saw that the bottom of the house was just barely scrapping against the beginnings of a long jetty.

"Oh bugger Mr. Klemmens.  You are such a worry wart." said the Widow.  The large cat twisted his face in agitation before retracting his claws from the dark wood of the helm and dropping down onto the deck.  Mr. Klemmens glared at her with disdain.  "Fine.  Have it your way!  It's not like you've ever thanked me for saving our lives countless times before either.  No need to thank me for such trivial actions is there?"  The Widow Sabishane smiled warmly at Mr. Klemmens as she bent down and ruffled his fur.  "Oh hush, I'm only joking." she said, as she reached into the pocket of her robe and produced a small dried fish.  "Not fair Sabishane." said Mr. Klemmens reproachfully, licking his lips and twitching his whiskers.  "You can't bribe me into..." but it was already too late.  As soon as the smell of fish had hit his tiny nose, Mr. Klemmens was purring like a kitten.  The old Widow giggled as she fed him, scratching behind his ears for a job well done.

Once her companion was full and they had slowed the boat enough, the Widow walked over to the ship's bow roller and tightly grabbed onto the cool chain of the Anchor rode and tossed the majority of it overboard.  Running the line with one hand, she signaled Mr. Klemmens at the helm to hold steady as she continued to let it drop.  Slowly she let the rode slip between her fingers, careful to keep pressure to the nylon line until she was sure the anchor had dug into the seabed.  When she was satisfied, she snubbed the line around the closest deck cleat and knotted it.  The Widow checked a final time for tension, just to be sure the anchor was set.  "Alright Mr. Klemmens.  Now, let's get off this rickety old thing and check out that gorgeous little island."

After he had released the mainsheet from the mast and dutifully rolled it up, Mr. Klemmens walked to the starboard side of the roof and peaked out over the edge.  Below him sitting in its mount, was a small rowboat.  Turning around casually, he walked over to a small chest that was lying on the deck against the mast with a rusty old key sticking out.  Upon reaching it Mr. Klemmens turned the key in its iron lock at the center and flipped open the lid.  Inside were the jackline and several tethers neatly rolled up into a pile.  There was also a grappling hook, a few coils of utility rope, several various old swords in their tarnished scabbards, and a flintlock pistol with a small pouch of gunpowder and ammo tied to the trigger.  Mr. Klemmens grabbed the jackline and tethers, a medium coil of rope and the grappling hook, hesitated, and then picked out an old scimitar.  "You never know." He shrugged.

The sword was sheathed in a purple scabbard and had a hilt of woven gold.  Briefly he recalled the Widow's tale of the sword, how it had been given to the late Dr. Sabishane as a parting gift from Captain Nemo of the famous Nautilus.  He smiled to himself as he placed the hilt over his left shoulder and the coil of rope over the other, crisscrossing them across his chest like a make-shift bandoleer.  With the sword resting on his back and the grappling hook hung at his side from one end of the rope, Mr. Klemmens took one end of the jackline and ran it to the bow of the boathouse, looping it around a deck cleat quickly and neatly.  Taking the other end, he ran to the stern and did the same, creating a tight and secure line of rope from the front to the rear of the boat.

Once the jackline was in place, Mr. Klemmens clipped one end of his tether to it and wrapped the other around his waist.  Then, in one quick sprint to the starboard side of the boathouse the large cat leapt up onto the wall and launched himself out over the edge.  Using his amazing feline agility, Mr. Klemmens turned midair, exposing his back to the sea.  The tether snapped taught with a loud, "THIP!"  as he kicked both of his hind legs out, straight as a board.  The force of the swing brought him flying down towards the side of the boathouse.  Wind rushed through his fur and whistled past his ears as he picked up speed, grinning like a wildcat.  Just before he smacked against the side of the house Mr. Klemmens quickly untied the tether from his waist in one deft motion, bounced off of the hull and into the rowboat below him, landing on all fours with barely a sound.

In the meantime, the Widow Sabishane had visited the kitchen, gotten a basket of supplies for their island expedition, and was now just coming back out of the elevator.  While below, the Widow had taken the time to change out of her bathrobe and into a beautiful white dress which was covered in red, pink, and purple hyacinths.  Her long white hair flew out behind her like the silken sails on the old boathouse.  The old Widow hurriedly rounded the mast and headed towards the spot where the tether disappeared over the edge.  Sticking her head out over the wooden banister she saw Mr. Klemmens below and smiled before grabbing the tether with one hand and climbing over the side.  Hand over hand she carefully lowered herself down to the rowboat, keeping the basket in the crook of her elbow.  When she was close enough she let go of the tether and landed on the deck with a soft thud.  Mr. Klemmens flashed his white teeth in a smile that brought his whiskers up and his eyelids together.  "I jumped." He said snobbishly, beaming with self-approval.  "Fantastically done I'm sure!  Now, let's begin today's adventure, shall we?" said the Widow, as she sat down and took up an oar.

The Widow Sabishane - Part III, Page 1

Part III - Observation

Page 1

"Wake up Widow! Confounded woman, wake UP!" Mr. Klemmens was standing on the Widow Sabishane's chest shouting at her as she awoke. His voice growled with frustration and his fur bristled all along his body. The Widow calmly opened her eyes and pushed the panicking feline onto the floor, pulling her comforter up over her head. "You leave me alone Mr. Klemmens!" said the Widow, her voice slightly muffled by the thick blanket. "You'll get your breakfast when I'm good and ready." Mr. Klemmens pounced back onto the bed and began to viciously claw at the Widow's comforter. "You need to get up now!" he bellowed. "The house is about to crash into a massive pile of rocks, Sabishane! Now get up and DO something about it!" The Widow quickly pulled the comforter off of her soft, wrinkled face and blinked her huge cobalt blue eyes at Mr. Klemmens. "Well why didn't you say so, you big fathead?" she teased. "Hurry up and get to the helm, love. I'll be topside in a jiff!"

Mr. Klemmens scurried away cussing under his breath as the Widow Sabishane quickly jumped out of bed. She flipped a small toggle switch on the bed-stand, blindly grabbing her glasses and placing them on her face. While she shuffled to the closet and tossed on her favorite robe, a tiny robotic arm shot out from the base of the bed-stand, flexed its' fingers once and waited motionless. A moment later the little bed-stand's wooden surface automatically began to separate into hundreds of tiny tiles which turned and spun out of sight as they separated, retracting into its sides. Slowly, from the now exposed surface area, an old phonograph on a tiny elevator rose up and clicked into place.

Suddenly the robotic arm sprung to life with a loud grinding sound, like a tractor-trailer switching gears. It's incredibly long telescopic arm extended further and further until reaching a huge stack of records in the corner of the Widow's room. With metal fingers the strange appendage carefully grabbed a random record from the overwhelmingly huge pile and slowly began retracting itself. Once the robotic arm reached the bed-stand it carefully oscillated its tiny hand and placed the record onto the phonograph. The turntable immediately began to spin and a small needle rose and fell onto the record all by itself. "Oh Dr. Sabishane, I do so love your inventions." said the Widow happily.

Summertime by Billie Holiday began to play through tiny speakers, echoing throughout the entire house, and the Widow squealed with delight. "Wonderful song for such a sunny morning!" she said reverently as she fixed open her curtains and smiled at the ocean and the sun that shined proudly upon it. With excitement and mounting fear in her heart, she ran to a brass fire pole at the other end of her room. Wrapping her legs around its shiny surface and keeping the robe between her thighs, she flew down the pole into the room below, giggling until she landed with a soft thud. The Widow Sabishane quickly dashed up a flight of steel steps, stopping at an old metal doorway with a wrought iron gate. "Sometimes you've got to go down, to go up!" She said to herself with a dainty laugh as she pushed the only button on the wall; her hips jiving back and forth to the music that played on around her.
A distant bell rang out from high above as metal wheels began to turn from somewhere behind the walls. The Widow Sabishane tapped her foot in time to the music and after a moment a loud whooshing sound, like the wind rushing past your ears, filled the little room she now stood in and a heavy gust of air blew at her shins. The sound grew louder and louder until it stopped with a loud "PING". The metal doors slid aside and the iron gate slid upwards, disappearing into darkness.

The interior of the elevator had brass handrails along each wall. A plush burgundy carpet lined the floor and the walls and an elaborate panel blinked and flashed next to the entrance. The complicated panel had an array of buttons but there were no floor numbers or names, just lights and knobs and switches. The Widow stepped inside and confidently pushed a clear button on the top of the panel. The button lit up with an electric blue light and the gate lowered itself down as the metal doors slid shut with a resounding clunk. The Widow felt gravity weigh down upon her as a cool rush of air ran across her face and the elevator began to hurtle upward with incredible speed.

The Widow Sabishane - Part II

Part II

The Meeting

Deep in the darkness of the night, Ocean, Wind, Sun and Moon sat down to a palaver.  "Why have you brought us here Ocean?" asked Sun, with great concern in her voice.  For it was quite rare to meet at the same time and in the same place.  Ocean smiled deeply at Sun before she looked into each of her sibling's ancient faces and addressed them all.  "I have called each of you here to discuss the Widow Sabishane."

Now Ocean loved the Widow, as did Wind, Sun, and Moon.  For she had lived among them for many years and as each of them already knew, her long and adventurous journey was finally coming to an end.  "As you all know" began Ocean, speaking slowly and thoughtfully.  "The Widow has been a blessing for us all.  We have seen her grow from a poor orphan girl into a wise old woman.  She has seen many great and wondrous things, and, she has learned all that we can teach her.  It is with great sadness that I come to tell you...she has done her part and Earth has requested that she be returned to the land of her ancestors.  Our beloved Earth senses, as we all do, that the Widow's thread wears thin, and she would see that she is done this small honor."  Sun, Moon, and Wind looked at each other with a heavy sadness and slowly, one by one, they nodded their heads in agreement.  "It is as was expected, my sister.  It is the least that we can do for the Widow." said Wind, as he stroked his endless beard.

They went around to each other, sharing fond memories of the Widow Sabishane and raising their glasses in her honor.  Then, with a heavy heart they called out to Earth.  When she arrived she looked to be the saddest of them all.  "Thank you for having me." she said, her voice quivering with emotion.  "And thank you for giving us this chance to celebrate her together for one last time.  Please know that if there were any other way, I would keep the Widow Sabishane among you until the end of time."  Wind raised his glass to Earth out of respect and spoke only once she acknowledged him.  "I have one favor to ask of you my dear.  Will you let us have one final day with her?  Do not take her in her sleep tonight but instead, allow us one more day to fill her life with adventure."  Earth smiled her ever expanding smile and nodded to them all.  "Of course my brothers and sisters, she deserves as much.  Tomorrow, after Sun has set and Wind is at rest, when Moon is at his apex and Ocean is at peace, I will take the Widow."

The Widow Sabishane - Part I

Part I

The Widow and the Moon

The Widow Sabishane looked out from her tall bay windows at the vast and dark sea which calmly swayed before her. Her ancient blue eyes scanned the horizon from behind the thick lenses and bulky rose-colored frames that rested atop her small button nose. The Widow slowly turned her head up towards the huge bright moon in the sky and smiled. Her heart swelled up with a feeling of complete fulfillment and pride as she let out a slow and happy sigh. "I do say Mr. Klemmens, this is the largest full moon I've seen in a very long time. It reminds me of my late husband, Rupert, and of when he and I used to travel 'round the world for the Queen of England; doing all manner of mysterious and dangerous things. You remember those days don't you Mr. Klemmens?" said the Widow, her regal accent emphasizing almost every other syllable.

Behind the Widow lounged an extremely large Somali cat on an old black piano bench. The giant housecat's thick fur was ticked with orange and golden flecks and shone beautifully in the bright moonlight; the trademark black stripe of the Somali cat ran down his back like a river of dark ink. Dismissing the Widow, Mr. Klemmens licked his paws distractedly, clearly uninterested in old memories and nostalgic whimsy. The Widow Sabishane scoffed her disapproval and pushed him off of the bench as she went to sit down at the black and white ivory keys of her grand piano. Her joints popped and her back creaked with age as she lowered herself down onto the equally old and creaky bench. Mr. Klemmens shook himself off and looked to find a new spot to nap in. Spying an old mauve recliner close by the Somali cat leapt up onto it, curling up comfortably as the Widow cracked her neck with one quick motion and began to play.  Her thick knuckles moved with surprising grace and speed as her fingers flew over the piano keys like a young virtuoso with no back pain and no arthritis.

Adagio sostenuto, the first movement in Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, began to echo quietly throughout the large house as it bobbed and swayed on the water. The moon hung over the house like a giant orb of soft light, casting long and twisted shadows through the clouds and across the calm, dark sea before it. The Widow smiled as she played; the notes drifting through each room, touching on each and every memory from her adventurous past with her eccentric husband.

Emanating from the beautiful black piano and its ivory keys, the melancholy notes of Beethoven's 14th symphony swept through a pair of French doors that led into the living room where they lingered to marvel at the great paintings that hung in huge, ornate, wooden frames and the antique furniture that lined the room. They sat on an elegant walnut armchair with hand-carved floras in the arms and legs and a silk cushion from Louis the XV. They carefully browsed a majestic birch-wood bookcase with a rich, golden patina that had been filled with authors of every century and they rummaged through a boulle-style cabinet with a tortoise shell inlay and bronze-etched scrolls.

They skimmed across the hand-weaved oriental carpets of red, black, tan and gray which rested on top of natural hickory floorboards and they resonated in delight as they scaled the old walls of the ancient house, drinking up the smooth scent of the late Dr. Rupert Sabishane's vanilla tobacco that still clung there. They crept through the dining room and swam over the long cherry wood table where the Doctor and the Widow had shared lavish dinners and deep conversations with prominent guests from around the world and where they sat alone together, just to sit and talk. They danced over her fine China dishes with hand painted clouds and over glided over the gold plated dinnerware.  They brushed up against the silk table cloths, extraordinarily soft and welcoming, as the twirled in the air.

Finally, having graced as much of the old Victorian house as they could, the deep notes passed through the walls where they soared out to sea. Here they dove deeply into the water and played along the backs of the great beasts who lived there. They swirled around the silent behemoths, bringing peace and tranquility to their dreams as they drifted off to sleep. Then, in a great rush the steady notes began to surge upward, breaking out of the water and rising into the sky like invisible arms reaching out towards the heavens. The heavy notes danced playfully with each other as they flew into the clouds, higher and higher until they reached the moon itself and the old man who lived there. They kissed his cheek good night and then slowly drifted back down to the seabed where they laid to rest.

The Widow Sabishane - Introduction

Good day readers! It's Monday the 18th and as promised I've got some brand new reading material for you.

Now, I had previously stated that I would be starting a new horror story this week but as you've just read a horror story and I've just written one, I decided to go ahead and start publishing my first young adult serial.

Ready yourselves for "The Widow Sabishane", a short story about a very old and very mysterious widow who lives in a house on the sea. Join the Widow and her companion Mr. Klemmen's, the talking Somali cat, on an extraordinary adventure filled with pirates, sword fights, giant ships and exotic islands! When all is said and done and story is told, perhaps you may even learn something about yourself.

Enjoy!

On Feedback and New Stories To Come

Special thanks to everyone who has been following along on facebook while I uploaded page after page of my first short to the lame Notes section.  Hopefully this new format will be easier for everyone...I know it will be for me.

So, The Ifrit is up.  I urge you to check out the archive to find the intro and page #'s so you can start at the beginning.  It was a lot of fun to write so I really hope you all enjoy it.  I've gotten some amazing feedback from a few really fantastic people and I hope it continues.  I urge you to be brutally honest and to not be afraid of commenting publicly.  Just don't be a jerk for the sake of being a jerk :)

In other news, a new serial will begin on Monday, July 18th!  I haven't even really started it yet, so this should be fun!

The Ifrit - Page 12 (Conclusion)

The huge bed turned into a nest of leaves and sticks and instead of silk, animal hides now laid over top to serve as crude linens. The mirror melted and dripped onto the floor like mercury and a stale wind blew through the air. Brad looked around the room and it finally hit him. He was in some sort of dimly lit cave. There were torches shoved deeply into iron baskets which were crudely nailed into the cave’s walls. Brad thought about the mysterious elevator earlier and had an overwhelming feeling that they were not high up in a skyscraper in the middle of New York City, but that they were in fact very deep beneath the ground, in some hellish place, nowhere near Manhattan.

When he looked back down at Ifreeta his heart flooded with terror. Her eyes now gleamed in the darkness, pupil-less, they stared straight up at him. Her hair was fire, spiting and crackling, licking everything it came in contact with. But it did not burn what it touched. Her skin had become tough and thick under Brad’s hands and her face had grown long and gaunt. She smiled wide, spreading thin black lips to reveal a massive and jagged set of long, sharp teeth. Each needle-like tooth was overlapping another, crisscrossing like ivory blades of grass. The fingers on her hands grew and stretched before Brad’s eyes becoming as long and thin as a reptile’s. Thick black fingernails protruded from each appendage as she bore them into Brad’s hips, rubbing herself against him.

Brad tried to escape her grasp but every attempt only brought forth more pain as she clenched down harder, pushing her fingernails deeper and deeper into his shattered hips. “Jesus Christ, stop! Please fucking stop!” Brad cried out in agony as tears streamed down his salon-tanned face. The burning sensation continued up through his crotch and into his stomach. His guts boiled and popped until bile and blood began erupting from his mouth like green and red foam. The fire spread and his lungs began to singe. Molten hot, it tore through his lungs and out of his mouth with carrying with it another gurgling cry for help.
“God. Help. Me.” He managed through sputtering and spitting.
“There are no gods here Brad Pitzer, only daemons and spirits.” said Ifreeta, in the same horrible voices as before.

Brad’s eyes began to tear up and he could smell his own burning hair and flesh in his nose. Trying desperately to look around the room, Brad saw them through his tear filled eyes; shadowy figures looming around Ifreeta’s make-shift bedding. He saw the man at the door, short but much stockier. His skin was green and rock-like and his face was twisted with two sunken eyes, each of them a glowing deep red. He saw the bartender, her skin as pale and as shiny as the fullest moon on the darkest night, as she opened her huge mouth and licked two large fangs which had been protruding out over her bottom lip. A man with blue skin and countless tattoos sat hovering in mid air, no more than three feet from the dirt floor, with his legs crisscrossed like an Indian. His eyes radiated an iridescent blue and his mouth was covered by a silk scarf. Three identical women floated eerily nearby, ghostly and ethereal. They swam about in the air, singing horrible melodies that made Brad want to smash his head into a wall, or jump from the highest cliff he could find.

Finally, looking down, Brad saw what looked like a bright orange orb of light behind the taught skin of his stomach. The incandescent ball began to expand, and his gut along with it. The heat grew even more intense throughout his body and the pain…The pain was so immense, so violent, he could think of nothing else.

Ifreeta was now bucking wildly, screaming out in passion as Brad’s eyes rolled around crazily in their sockets, searching for some end to the agony. Ifreeta’s voice rang out in the dark, dank cavern as she pulled her claw-like fingers from Brad’s flesh and ran them affectionately through his hair, matting it with his own thick blood.
“Oh Brad…I-I think I’m coming.” she shuddered, as she breathed in heavily.
“For the first time in centuries, I’m coming!” she said again as she let out one final shriek of pleasure.
Brad’s stomach ripped apart in an explosion of fire and flesh. Flames shot outward and upward, incinerating the rest of his body as though it were a dry twig.

When it was done, Ifreeta laid on the bed she had made for herself fifteen thousand years ago with her arms outstretched and her thighs humming pleasantly. As she brushed the ashes off of her stomach, Ifreeta smiled.
“Now this, I could get used to.” She said aloud.

The Ifrit - Page 11

It was when Brad flipped Ifreeta over and began to take her from behind that he first noticed the huge mirror above her bed. Looking upward at his reflection, Brad noticed that he was sweating profusely, much more than he usually did. Shrugging it off, he grabbed Ifreeta by her hair and pulled her head back as he continued to push himself into her as hard as he could. Gasping moans erupted from her throat as Brad slammed into her, again and again, his face taught with concentration.

As he glanced up at the mirror once again, Brad saw that there was another glimmer over Ifreeta’s hair. This time it seemed to transform it from an abyssal black to a bloody orange color as it quivered and vibrated. Brad shook his head violently, losing concentration and slowing his pace. He searched for Ifreeta’s face in the mirror and found that she was looking directly into his eyes. Her pupils were no longer the dark and muddy brown they had been at the bar. Now, it was as if all tiny specks had that had accented her pupils had exploded into a fiery mix of red and orange, overtaking her eyes entirely along with any white that might have been visible. They too began to shimmer, like giant glass orbs, full of wild fire.

Confused and drunk, Brad had no words for what he saw. Instead, he looked down at the small of Ifreeta’s back and ran his hand along her dark brown skin. Her flesh was hot to the touch and as dry as the walls or the floor, she was not sweating at all. Brad flipped Ifreeta onto her back again and looked directly at her, still heavily gyrating against her, still pushing into her hips as hard as he could. The shimmering heat wave was happening all over her body now. Brad rubbed his eyes madly but the vision would not leave him. Her hair, once dark black and then a bloody orange had now completely changed into a mix of yellow, red, and ochre; every strand was alive, writhing and bending, cracking itself like a whip on the silk laden bed. Her eyes were flashing and flickering, calling him to push into her, harder and harder. He could do nothing but obey.

Suddenly Brad’s crotch felt like it was surrounded by increasingly unnatural warmth, and it began to intensify. The warmth became heat and the heat became a searing pain. It spread upward and Brad felt as though a hot poker was slowly forcing itself into the center of his crotch. As it traveled upward the pain grew in intensity. Finally Brad was able to break his gaze from Ifreeta’s wild eyes just long enough to stop thrusting. Desperately he tried to pull himself out of her molten core but Ifreeta grabbed him by the hips. Her strength was incredible as she held him in place firmly with almost no effort at all.

As he screamed in agony and horror Brad saw Ifreeta’s mouth move with words.
“I told you that you would regret it.” They seemed to be saying. But the sound that came out was not her voice as he knew it. It was raspy and omnidirectional, layered with other voices all bearing hundreds of different accents. They bounced from wall to ceiling, crashing into Brad’s eardrums over and over again, making him feel sick and nauseated. They resonated in the windowless room like horrible agonizing screams calling out from a thousand miles away. They sounded ancient, and they sounded lonely.

The pain was becoming unbearable and Brad felt as though he was on fire, burning from the inside out like a small star. Ifreeta continued to hold him against her by his hips with insurmountable strength until they cracked and disintegrated beneath her grip, as she ground up against him and moaned savagely. Brad looked up into the mirror and saw that the entire room was now shimmering with heat. The walls shifted before his eyes, from marble floors to cold dirt and hard stone. Light fixtures turned into stalactites and stalagmites which dripped century old moisture into pools on the earthen floor, and the smell of rot hit his nose.

The Ifrit - Page 10

Brad looked down and a quiet, maniacal laughter slowly began to trickle out of his throat. He looked up at Ifreeta and the laughter rose. Her eyes wet and huge; she looked scared and vulnerable to Brad. In a flash he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her violently down onto the bed so that he was now on top of her. Ifreeta glared at him as he held her down.
“What are you doing? Listen, Brad, this isn’t something you can handle. Just keep it in your pants and if you behave there are plenty of other things we can do tonight.”

Brad looked down at Ifreeta and gave her a disturbingly malicious smile, “I don’t want to be good.” He spat. “And trust me, I can fucking handle you.”
Brad sat up and put his weight on Ifreeta in order to keep her down on the bed, but she did not struggle. He opened his belt buckle with one hand and gripped both of Ifreeta’s wrists in the other. Pushing himself up awkwardly he pulled down his pants and underwear with one free hand. Still Ifreeta did not bother trying to squirm or escape. Instead she just started at Brad, the look in her eyes changing from sorrowful to full of pity and loathing. “You really have no idea what you’re getting into. I’m trying to help you.” Said Ifreeta desperately. “I like you Brad but, I will kill you if you do this.”

Brad was losing patience. He slapped Ifreeta hard in the face and a tiny trickle of blood began to form in the corner of her mouth.
“Stop talking cunt. It’s too late for that.” said Brad stiffly.
Ifreeta glared into his eyes and for a moment he hesitated. But it was only a moment. Grabbing a hold of himself with his free hand, Brad found what he was looking for and pushed himself deep inside of her. Despite Ifreeta’s protests she was still incredibly wet and very warm. As Brad slowly continued to push himself inside of her she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, scraping her teeth in inescapable pleasure.

Brad thrust himself back and forth inside of her, pushing harder and harder with each gyration. Ifreeta was overwhelmed with euphoria and could scarcely hold back the cries of ecstasy that tried desperately to escape her lips. Brad released her wrists and Ifreeta grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him against her soft breasts so that she could feel his firm chest against her. She could resist no longer. Giving in to him with everything she had, Ifreeta and Brad became a whirlwind of passion. She clawed at his back and pulled his hips into hers to goad him into being more forceful.

Brad put everything he had into grinding himself against her hips as hard and long as his strength would allow him, but still she wanted more. Ifreeta dug her nails into his back, deeper and deeper until warm blood began to trickle down his back, mixing with the sweat that was beginning to bead on his skin. Brad brought his head down to her chest and wrapped his mouth around her left breast, licking and sucking on her nipple while slipping his free hand down to where he had himself inside of her. Slowly he began to rub her in a slow circular motion, clockwise then counter-clockwise, alternating again and again. Ifreeta cried out in ecstasy as Brad opened his eyes for the first time since they began. For a moment he thought he saw Ifreeta’s hair shimmer like a wave of heat, rising up from the sun soaked pavement midsummer. But when Brad squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, there was nothing unusual about it. “Just a girl, getting what she wanted me to give her, whether she knew it or not.” thought Brad as he smiled to himself.

The Ifrit - Page 9

Brad’s mind was reeling. He wanted Ifreeta so badly it was painful. Every muscle ached for her body; every thought swam around in an ocean of testosterone. Ifreeta delicately licked Brad’s earlobe then straightened up. She was taller than Brad had originally thought, almost taller than he was. She grabbed Brad by his shirt and easily ripped it open. Buttons popped off and flew about the room like tiny missiles, bouncing on the hard marble floor as they fell. Ifreeta gripped the shirt tighter and spun Brad completely around; pushing him with surprising strength onto the wide and flowing bed.

“You certainly are strong for a woman.” He said excitedly.
Ifreeta smiled and slowly began reaching behind her back to unclasp her bra. Brad propped himself up on his elbows for a better view. Ifreeta let the black brazier slip from her shoulders and into her hands, tossing it at Brad in one fluid motion. He let the bra hit him in the face and then slowly pulled it off, inhaling deeply and smiling his huge salesman’s smile. Brad thought Ifreeta’s breasts were straight out of an oil painting, like someone had spent months or even years carefully crafting them to be flawless; perfectly round and perky, full but not overbearing. Her dark brown nipples stood erect and once again gooseflesh popped up all over Brad’s arms.

Ifreeta slid her thumbs into the waistline of her panties and seductively looped them around the lacey elastic band, pulling them away from her and then down, gently sliding them off of her hips and down over her thighs. When they had completely fallen to her feet she slowly stepped out of them, her long legs moving purposefully as she walked over to the edge of the bed. Brad looked at her and saw that she was completely shaven except for a small patch below to keep her modest.

Ifreeta bent over the bed, putting her body between Brad’s legs before slowly crawling over him on her hands and knees until she was completely on top of him. With each leg on either side of Brad she took his hand and pressed it against her breasts, allowing him to gently cup and massage them. Taking his other hand Ifreeta slowly and deliberately slid Brad down past her flat stomach, allowing him to push his fingers deep inside of her. Ifreeta threw back her head; whipping her long black hair behind her while she pushed out a deep and sensuous moan. Brad felt the inside of her and grinned at how wet and incredibly warm she was for him, and his want for her grew stronger still.

After a few indulging moments Brad pulled himself out of Ifreeta’s warmth and began to remove his pants. His fingers slipped over the belt buckle as he fumbled with it anxiously. Ifreeta pushed herself up from Brad and looked at him suddenly very serious, “We can’t have sex.” She said carefully. “Y-you really wouldn’t want to.”
Brad cocked his head to the side and laughed “What the hell are you talking about? Of course I would.” He said, before continuing to yank at his belt in frustration. Ifreeta began to frown and Brad sighed.
“Listen, you can’t get a guy all excited like that and then say we can’t fuck. It just doesn’t work that way.”
Ifreeta looked away from Brad; she suddenly seemed sad and abandoned, as if she’d been going through this for a very long time.
“Brad I want to but, I’m afraid that I would hurt you. I…I just can’t control myself.” She said with deep sorrow in her voice. Tears had begun to well up in her eyes and she looked to Brad for comfort. But no comfort would come ever from Brad Pitzer, top salesman and leading bachelor in one night stands.

The Ifrit - Page 8

Ifreeta would wait no longer. She tossed her keys onto a big leather couch and pulled Brad toward her by the collar of his shirt, kicking her heels off as she did. “Come with me.” She demanded, as she kissed Brad deeply and took him by the hand. She led Brad past the living room and into a long hallway where the black and red marble continued in flying buttresses that jutted out of the walls to support a barrel vaulted ceiling. Ornate gas lamps of wrought iron lit the way as the two hurried down the hall, breathless and wanting.

When they reached the end of the hall there were two gigantic oak doors towering over the pair of them. Ifreeta spun around, pulling Brad toward her and kissing him passionately as she backed into the colossal doors. With a loud creak the two slabs of oak swung inward as if they weighed nothing at all. Inside, Ifreeta’s bedroom was large and circular. There were no windows and the walls were adorned with the same gas lamps as the hallway. Mysteriously, they were all already lit and burning brightly when the doors had opened. In the center of the room was a massive bed with flowing silk sheets and countless throw pillows decorated with ornate patterns sewn into them. At a glance, Brad thought the patterns were symbols or letters but it was Ifreeta who was taking up most of his attention at the moment, and he had never really cared for literature anyway.

Brad saw all of this in only a moment. As soon as she had opened the doors Ifreeta released Brad from her embrace and walked to the edge of the luxurious bed. There she turned and stood patiently, staring deeply into Brad’s eyes. When Brad smiled and took a step toward her she held up her hand. “Wait.” She said. Slowly and softly she slipped her left hand under the right strap of her dark red dress, pushing it down off of her brown shoulder and letting it hang seductively. She kept her arm crossed as she raised the other and slipped off another strap. With her arms criss-crossed, pushing her breasts together, Ifreeta pulled the front of her dress down so that it was just barely exposing a black bra. Brad gapped at her impressive bust. He smiled an intoxicated grin and moved his hands towards Ifreeta in an effort to grab them but Ifreeta slapped his hands and smiled. Slowly she held her index finger up in front of her pouting lips and wagged it back and forth. “Not yet.” She mouthed silently.

Ifreeta moved her soft hands to her hips and slipped the tiny dress the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the cold marble floor and exposing her full frame which was far beyond any beauty Brad had witnessed before. His heart leapt and his mind lurched forward with the thought of sex. “She is fucking perfect.” thought Brad silently, in complete awe of Ifreeta. His eyes followed each curve, dip, and dimple on her body as he drank in every last detail. He regarded her matching black panties and tall stockings with lustful excitement and Ifreeta noticed. Flames from the gas lamps danced wildly in her mysterious brown eyes, their orange and red flecks crackling with the firelight like tiny sparks.
“Do you want me human?” she asked mildly as she began to walk towards Brad, swaying her hips in a hypnotic motion.
“Human? Are you trying to tell me you’re a goddess Ifreeta? Because right now I think I’ll believe anything you tell me.” said Brad, exasperated and desperate.
She gave Brad the same wry smile she had given him in the archway just moments before pulling him through the hypnotic passageway; the corners of her mouth stretching up as high as they could go.

She had reached Brad now and was pressing her body tightly against his when she spoke. Delicately she held her mouth just barely above the nape of his neck and whispered. “Not a goddess Bradley, but not exactly human either.” Her hot, moist breath caused the flesh on Brad’s arms to pimple and blood rushed to his crotch causing an instant erection. Brad’s mind was racing, as much as he loved this game. The hunger inside him was taking over, and Brad Pitzer wanted to fuck.

The Ifrit - Page 7

A little drunk, Ifreeta and Brad walked down the staircase and towards the archway with the pulsing LEDs that Brad had used to enter the club. “Aren’t we going the wrong way?” asked Brad. “This hall leads to the exit.”
“This passage leads to many places Bradley.” Whispered Ifreeta. With a wry smile, she took him by the hand and pulled him into the darkness beyond the archway.

The blood and alcohol in Brad’s head pulsed in time with the LED lights overhead. Instead of one path, they now led out from each other in a root-like network. Each offshoot was another color and traveled in another direction until the light faded into darkness. In the confusion, Brad could barely see Ifreeta but he could feel her grip on his hand like a vice. Men and women from the club were taking different routes; all of them seemed taller and longer in the darkness.

“This way!” Brad heard Ifreeta shout as she pulled him to his left. Chancing a look up Brad caught a glimpse of a fiery orange path of blurred lights above him and realized they had turned off of the main passage and taken one of the alternate routes. “Where the fuck are we going?” asked Brad, a little sounding a little more panicked than he would have liked. Ifreeta giggled from somewhere in front of him. “We’re almost there.” She said. Brad could take the nauseating lights no longer and shouted “Almost where?”

Ifreeta came to a sudden stop then, causing Brad to bump into her in the darkness. He could see her now, barely illuminated by the orange lights above them. Her eyes glittered and she was smiling deeply. She pushed her body against his and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Here.” She said as she turned around and pointed to two silver doors just behind her. “The elevators.”

Ifreeta pulled out a small set of ancient looking keys from her bosom and slipped one of them into a fitted groove in the wall, slightly to the right of the elevators. With a pleasant tone one of the elevator doors opened and Ifreeta let go of Brad’s hand and stepped inside. A brighter orange light filled the elevator compartment but Brad stood to look at Ifreeta, still slightly dazed and confused by the long walk. Seeing his hesitation, Ifreeta smiled and looked into his eyes longingly. “Come. If it’s biting you’re afraid of, you needn’t be. I only use whips and chains on my men.” Brad laughed loudly and smiled as he shook his head and walked into the elevator.

After Ifreeta hit a button and the elevator began moving, Brad wondered why he felt like he was going down instead of up. After a moment he brushed it off, quickly accrediting it to being drunk and disoriented from the walk. Not to mention the difficulty of focusing on anything when a beautiful woman is kissing your neck and grabbing your crotch.

As the elevator let out an unceremonious ping, Ifreeta and Brad came drunkenly stumbling out and directly into her apartment. Brad stood stunned as he looked around at what he assumed was her living room. The floors beneath him and every countertop he could see was made of a dark and swirling marble. There were windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling and the marble floors were littered with Persian rugs. Most of which were flanked by plush leather furniture colored a brown that was so deep and dark, it reminded him of dirt found deep beneath the earth.

The Ifrit - Page 6

“Listen, if I sit down next to you is there some big bastard who’s going to show up and try to pick a fight with me for hitting on his absolutely stunning girlfriend?” said Brad slyly, as he pulled out a bar stool and gave the exotic woman a friendly grin.
The corner of her mouth curled up very slightly, trying to hold back a bigger smile. She spoke perfect English with a slight accent which Brad thought to be Middle Eastern. “No, I’m not with anyone tonight.”
Brad flashed a smile. “Well aren’t there laws against beautiful women spending a night out all alone?” “There should be.” She agreed. “But unfortunately for me, my friends have decided not to show up. So never the less, here I sit.”

Brad contorted his smile into an exaggerated frown as he finally sat down on the stool he had pulled out. “Well they don’t sound like very good friends. I’ll tell you what, my name is Brad…Why don’t I be your friend for the evening?” said Brad, as he propped his elbow on the bar, leaning forward and extending his hand towards the young woman. She took it gingerly and shook it. “Well Brad, my name is Ifreeta and I have a feeling that I am very pleased to meet you.”

Even though Brad was not the conversational type, he and Ifreeta spoke for hours. She was mesmerizing to say the least. Far more interesting than any other woman he ever had met. In the few short hours of conversation he had learned that she was from a small mining village in Jordan, which was entirely subterranean. She explained how she was raised Sunni by her people and had studied the Quran diligently during her entire childhood. As she grew older however, she began to become more and more curious about life outside of her village. Eventually she began to rebel against her elders, feeling stifled and repressed. Ifreeta told Brad of how she gave up on the old ways all together; she abandoned the orthodox practices her people had taught her and was immediately shunned and cast out into the desert to die alone.

After just two days, Ifreeta neared death. She had lost all sense of direction when a small team of American archaeologists, who were digging for lost cultural treasures and relics of the ancient Arabic civilizations, stumbled across her twisted form. They nursed her back to health and took her in as an apprentice where she repaid the team by showing them abandoned mines to use as dig sites. With her help the team was able to procure countless artifacts for museums around the world. The experience inspired her to come to America with the team to study Archaeology and Anthropology under them. This was when Brad discovered that she was still in college and was about 2 years shy of getting her masters in both fields.

Thoroughly impressed, Brad bought them both drink after drink and before long they had moved past the back stories and innocent flirting and headed steadily onward, suggestively touching one another with every opportunity. She would put her hand on his thigh while laughing at a joke and he would brush his hand against hers while reaching for his glass. Call it what you will, they were both doing their part to seduce the other.

It was about 1:30 in the morning when the tall female bartender came over to Brad and Ifreeta and asked if they wanted to order anything else before last call. They took a shot of grain alcohol each and Brad paid the tab, over-tipping in a moment of drunken generosity. They slowly walked to the arching entrance way, clearing not wanting to leave each other, where Brad finally made a move.

Looking deep into Ifreeta’s large, soulful, brown eyes he asked her gently if she would like to accompany him home. Ifreeta looked around nervously and bit her lip in a smile. “How about we go back to my apartment instead? I have a feeling it’s a lot closer.” She said, smiling coyly. Brad smiled too; he always enjoyed having a one night stand at someone else’s place. It made it that much easier to get out of the awkward morning on the following day. “That sounds perfect. Where do you live? I’m not really sure where we are anyway; I just sort of stumbled across this place.” Ifreeta smiled again and looked up at the ceiling. “Right here. This building has offices, a market, and apartments too.” Brad laughed loudly and drunkenly, “Well I’ll be damned, lead on my desert angel.” Ifreeta turned around and smiled devilishly at him “I wouldn’t go that far.” She said as she took his hand and led him to the elevators.

The Ifrit - Page 5

As Brad ascended the stairwell to the balcony bar he noticed something profoundly wonderful. Every single bartender was a woman; implacably foreign and unbelievably beautiful. A thought occurred to him then as he scanned the dance floor from the balcony, “Everyone in this entire building is gorgeous. What the hell is with this place?” Not thinking about it too much, Brad smiled with a massive shit-eating grin, like a kid in a candy store, as he sized up every woman dancing below. Eventually, he was able to get a hold of his priorities and wander over to the bar for a drink.

The bartender who caught Brad’s wave, as he eagerly leaned over the cherry wood bar, was a tall woman with black hair, a pale complexion, big lips, and voluptuous breasts which were squeezed into a small black tank top. Brad ordered a double gin and tonic and asked the woman how long the place had been open and how come he had never seen it before. The bartender placed his drink down on the bar with little interest in conversation and answered him in the same bored accent as the doorman. “Vee have been around veddy veddy long tyme but Management has recently had some renovazions to attract a…deefferent crowd, so to speak.” Brad thanked the woman, grabbed his drink and headed towards a barstool by the edge of the balcony. The bartender’s gaze never left the back of Brad’s head and slowly, a small smile began to form on her gaunt face in the cool darkness of the bar.

Brad had decided to sit down on the side of the bar which faced the balcony so that he could easily look down onto the dance floor if he wanted to. He reasoned that it was the perfect angle to spot prime cleavage and a very fine place to spot his next victim. For the women Brad slept with often truly did become his victims. You see, although he was very wealthy and got whatever it was he wanted; Brad had a temper. It was a nasty thing and it very rarely remained in check, especially with women.

For all his observing of the dance floor below, Brad was overwhelmed. With so many beautiful women in one place at one time, how could any man choose? After a few more drinks Brad finally looked down the bar. Just a few seats from him, Brad spotted a very intriguing young woman with jet black shoulder-length hair and light brown skin. She had big almond-shaped eyes with brown pupils fringed with orange and red flecks. Her face was soft yet slim, with slightly raised cheek bones and full pouting lips. She wore a very tight and very dark red dress speckled with black sequins that pushed her breasts up and showed off every flowing curve of her body, accentuating her hips and breasts.
As Brad looked the beautiful woman over, he thought he saw a shimmer of color, like a tinted wave of heat passing over her entire body. As his mind began to wander and he started to think whether he had drank too much or not, the young woman turned, catching Brad’s stare. She returned it with a slight smile from the corner of her mouth as she bashfully played with the napkin under her martini glass. This was all the invitation Brad would need as he got off of his stool and walked over to her with his practically patented smile.

The Ifrit - Page 4

As Brad continued down the hall a familiar sound truly put his mind at ease. A dull, thumping bass line was getting louder and louder with each step he took. Finally, after he could feel the bass in his chest and after what seemed to Brad like he had walked the length of two city blocks (which was impossible given the size of the building) he had arrived at the belly of the beast.
From the dark entranceway Brad Pitzer emerged wide-eyed and positively grinning. In front of him was a massive room filled with people, most of them were all crowded onto a vast dance floor in the middle of the room and most of them were women; beautiful, exotic-looking women. Around the sides of the dance floor were little niches with long couches which wrapped around small tables with slate-gray surfaces. Over-stuffed ashtrays and half empty bottles of whatever the occupants had been drinking covered many of the tables in each niche.

At one of the more reclusive tables in the far corner, Brad noticed a man wrapped from head to toe in what looked like Persian silks. Only a small bit of flesh was showing from an opening around his eyes and for a moment Brad swore the man’s skin was blue and his eyes purple but he quickly dismissed it once he realized that the entire room had been lit up with different colored lights. But still, the man seemed out of place and strangely unnoticed by anyone else.
At the far end of the room, opposite to Brad, there was a large stage where three DJs were set up. Each DJ was identical, three young women with platinum-blond hair and faces so beautiful they could only be described as ethereal. Glowing and soft, their features were calming to look at. “Triplets!” Thought Brad excitedly.

Behind them was an enormous projection screen displaying a mash-up of Japanese animation and various action sequences from a number of 80’s movies, all choreographed to the music. Far across the room, in front of the booth, Brad noticed a small group of men staring up at the three DJs, dancing slowly and without much purpose…All of their attention seemed to be on the DJs as if nothing else in the universe existed at all. Brad himself found it difficult to turn his gaze; the longer he looked at the three women the more unconcerned he felt towards anything but the music and their beauty.
With a great effort Brad turned his eyes away from the DJ booth and shook his head violently. It felt fuzzy, like he had spent the morning drinking and had just woken up from a resulting nap. Looking around the room, slightly confused but highly intrigued, Brad noticed two steel framed spiral stairwells with black and red marble-patterned steps on either side of the room, close to the arching entrance he now stood in. At the top of each stairwell was a shallow balcony.

He could see that most of the floor space on the balcony had been taken up by a long U-shaped bar. The incredible piece of furniture had a base completely made of a dark gray stone with a highly polished surface. The bar stretched around the entire balcony and had tiny fluorescent lights dangling above it from thin metal cords, just barely illuminating the dark red and heavily veneered cherry wood countertop. Steel barstools sat all along the front of the bar and almost every spot was taken. “Now how in the hell have I not heard of this place?” Brad said to himself as he put on his biggest salesman smile and walked over to the closest stairwell. “Well, first things first…I need a drink.”

The Ifrit - Page 3

There were no visible architectural features to distinguish between each floor of the building apart from what looked like a large doorway in the base of the structure. Aside from that, the strange building was completely smooth on all sides. The volcanic looking shard was standing alone; the only structure on the entire block. Brad walked to the front entrance in awe. To him standing at the base and looking up made the building appear as if it rose on and on, to an infinite height. The doors in front of him were similar in that they seemed larger than was possible. Brad guessed that each door was about twenty feet tall and that they were fashioned from some sort of wood which had been painted with a thick coat of black. Upon a closer look however he realized that the doors were charred, black from flame and soot. Nailed crudely to each door was an archaic looking handle of wrought iron; twisted in form as though they were in constant agony.

Brad, inexplicably drawn to the building, took a deep breath and was about to grab one of the handles when he felt a tug at his pant leg. There, standing at about 3 and a half feet tall was a very muscular little man sporting John Lennon glasses with purple-tinted lenses and a grisly goatee that had been poorly dyed in electric blue patches. Brad swore he had not seen this man just a moment ago as he was approaching the door but did as we all do when things seem unexplainable, he reasoned. Clearly he hadn’t really been paying much attention anyway and besides, “He is pretty damn short.” Brad thought to himself.

“It is feefty dollahrs if you vant to get in vithout membersheep. You do not have membersheep.” The little man spoke in a thick eastern European accent; Brad thought he might be from Estonia or Russia as he glared at the small man, “How do you know I don’t have a membership?” The man snorted and held out his hand. “Fair enough.” Said Brad. “So then, what is this place,a bar or a brothel or what, a tiny gentleman’s club?” Brad laughed lamely at his own joke but the little man stood impassive until Brad felt awkward. “This eesn’t yuppie club for vull streets meester. Feefty dollahrs or go now vile you can steel vulk.” Said the stoic man as he continued to hold out his tiny hand in anticipation of the 50 dollars. Brad sighed heavily and went for his wallet. “Yeah yeah, welcome to America you pint-sized communist.” The man did not react at all; he simply remained still with his hand held out, staring into Brad Pitzer’s baby blue eyes from behind the impenetrable purple lenses. Brad put a fifty dollar bill into the man’s hand being very careful not to actually touch him. As soon as the bill was in his hand the small man shoved it into the pocket of his slacks and reached up, grabbing the wrought iron handle and pulling the door open for Brad without saying a word. Brad casually raised his eyebrows and walked through the tall arching doorway, into an atmosphere that he was not expecting.

As he took his first step beyond the archway the heavy door behind him slammed shut and Brad was left in total darkness. Suddenly the fact that no one knew where he was, including himself, over took his mind. Panic began to surge through his body, his heartbeat pulsed heavily in his neck and his breath became shallow and quick. Just as Brad was about to start pounding on the doors to be let out, a trail of pulsating purple light lit up in the ceiling above him and tiny LEDs lead him down a long and dark hallway. Brad swallowed hard pushing the wave of panic away as he began to strut down the hallway. “Well, don’t I look like Alice in the rabbit hole?” said Brad to no one in particular.

The Ifrit - Page 2

The first place Brad visited was Club 295 which was his usual hang out; he had seen these girls and had slept with most of them. Brad let out a heavy sigh as he turned around and walked back out to the street feeling let down. For some reason, while looking around the club, he had felt an unknown expectation in the back of his mind as though he were looking for someone specific but had no idea who. All he did know, was that she wasn’t here.

Stepping out into the cool night air was refreshing and inviting. Brad felt the energy rising in him and threw his hand up to hail a cab that he would have take him to Element, a rooftop bar a few blocks away. It was a little better there; some new faces but still the same types of women that Brad was so tired of; tall, skinny, blonde or brunette. He knew he was being picky when he shouldn’t be, but he was also feeling that undeniable desire in the back of his mind; the same feeling he had in 295.
Something was telling him to keep looking, to keep searching for someone he couldn’t even describe. After downing the single malt he had ordered when he first walked in, Brad shoved his hands deeply into his pockets and decided he would roll the dice and go some place he had never been to.

Brad left Element on foot, deciding to head towards the eastern side of the city which he knew was host to a few new clubs that were just opening and which he hadn’t had the chance to check out yet. As he rounded the northeastern corner of the block, Brad decided he would take a short cut by way of a more northern route. As he walked on he became more and more distracted by the sights and sounds that slowly began to surround him. Walking past an alley he noticed a small group of men with thick mustaches and beards, wearing long flowing robes and red and white checkered headdresses. Most of the men were crouched low to the ground and speaking quietly around a trashcan full of burning refuse. A few others stood nearby with a watchful eye as though they were look outs.

As he walked on Brad began to smell a medley of mint, garlic, cumin, saffron and sumac wafting from a local street vendor selling strange looking foods. A small hand painted sign with swirling characters Brad couldn’t recognize hung above the stall and the short fat man who ran it called out to him, “Fresh Kibbeh, fresh Shawarma!”. Brad smiled uneasily and crossed the street while strange and beautiful music slowly crept into his ears like a thousand stringed instruments rising to a crescendo. Steadily, a dull rhythmic chanting, low and guttural, began to fill his head and Brad’s eyes began to swim with tears as the strong smells of countless herbs and spices continually swirled up his nose. The eerie music grew louder and louder, compounding his feeling of being overwhelmed and swarming his senses like a plague of locusts.

Suddenly Brad grabbed his head with both hands as he felt a powerful urge to look down at his feet. There was nothing he could do about it. As hard as he thought about the mysterious foreign men and the sweet scents swirling around in his head, and no matter how badly he wanted to clear his mind of the deafening music and focus, he could only look down. He was locked in this state, observing the sidewalk under his feet with each seemingly involuntary step he took. In a moment he knew why, the sidewalk had grown less familiar. Instead of cement he saw a blackish red marble which seemed to be alive under his feet, moving like dark clouds below a thin sheet of glass. “This is too much. I must be drunk.” Brad reasoned with himself as he continued to walk on, mystified as to how he became inebriated after one scotch.

Occasionally Brad would think about looking around to check for street signs and get his bearings but as the thoughts would come to his mind they were quickly lost in the symphony of sounds and smells that had invaded his senses. Finally and suddenly, after what seemed like hours, the music died and the smells drifted away. The will to look around returned and overtook his curious stare downward. Brad broke from his trance, looking up from his feet for the first time since lowering his gaze and there in front of him stood a building he had never seen before. A tall blackish-red building that Brad guessed was about 20 stories high. It was shaped like a broken shard of obsidian and looked as though it were growing straight out of the ground instead of being built on top of it. As he walked closer Brad realized why the thought of obsidian came to mind. “It’s completely made of glass.” Brad said slowly. “Black glass…Like the sidewalk.”