Sort by category
ByChristopher Nadeau Hi, my name is Ned and I’m a writer of stuff that I claim isn’t true but very often is. I don’t use…
Hi, my name is Ned and I’m a writer of stuff that I claim isn’t true but very often is. I don’t use my fiction…
Hi, my name is Ned and I’m a writer of stuff that I claim isn’t true but very often is. I don’t use my fiction writing as a format for delivering the truth, it just kinda happens that way because I’ve seen and dealt with more shit than a Third World plumber. If you’re wondering what I mean by that or if you’re somehow offended by my off-color commentary, you’re obviously not a part of my inner circle and need to be brought up to speed before I can continue with my tale of spiritual growth and utter annoyance. So, here goes:
Approximately a year and a half ago, my friend Ernie—Say “hi” to the kind folks, Ernie. Nice. Next time try avoiding the “F” word— saved the world with his absolute lack of imagination. He’s glaring at me right now but it’s true, dammit. If not for his Hollywood blockbuster-addled brain, the disembodied entities known as the Cast would have, through a means I won’t bore you by describing, used one annoying low-level psychic as a bridge into the minds of humanity. A good time would not have been had by all.
Fortunately for all those oblivious idiots out there, old Ernie saved the day. I helped, of course, but my fertile imagination was exactly what they were looking for.
Since then, another, more personified entity known as the Golden-eyed man has made his presence known by inhabiting the body of his bastard son (the aforementioned psychic) and nearly unleashing chaos upon our delicate planet. I was the one who stopped the collapse of civilization that time, but the cost was still high. Just not as high as the first time.
That cost is what brings me to what’s happening right now and why Ernie doesn’t have on any pants. No, I’m not looking but he keeps yelling, “Where the fuck are my fucking pants, you little sons of bitches?” so I know his bits are hanging out in the breeze.
“Why do they need my pants, Ned?”
Wonderful. Ernie and I aren’t exactly the same size, so grabbing a pair of mine probably won’t help him out. Why the hell does this have to be happening in my house anyway? I was perfectly content with sitting home alone, watching movies and feeling sorry for myself on a cosmic scale. I’m still not sure why I told Ernie he could come over; I guess free pizza is my Kryptonite.
“Were they nice pants?” I ask.
“It’s ME! Of course they’re nice!”
Now that we’ve established Ernie’s consistent sense of style, I figure I can slink out while he’s still ranting and raving, secure in the belief that he’ll resolve this issue alone with the same strength of character he’s always shown. Okay, you got me. I really don’t wanna see his nutsack.
“How about a towel?” Ernie yells. “Is that too much to fucking ask!”
It’s not, as long as he’s showered today.
“Today, please!”
“Hold on, I’m looking.”
“Looking? I know where you keep your towels. You’re looking for an old one, aren’t you?”
“That hurts.”
“NED!”
Where the hell did I put that large utility towel? Surely even Ernie’s childbearing hips will fit inside that big-ass thing…
“NEEEEEDDDDD!”
Dammit. “Coming, buddy. No worries.”
The towel I pull out of my linen closet (yes, I have one of those. I’m not a barbarian) is the last of the pink ones I inherited from my grandmother. It still smells like her house, so the thought of it getting all snug with Ernie’s various unmentionables fills me with a revulsion I’ve not experienced since I faced off against that faceless, serpent-tongued creature at the psychic readings ship. You really need to read the book!
“It’s times like this I miss Chad.” I hand the towel through the slightly open bathroom door. “He’d have no problem helping you with not having any pants on.”
Ernie’s crimson face fills the crack between the door and the frame. “It wasn’t like that, man. And considering what happened to him, that was a pretty fucked up attempt at humor.”
He’s right; I never cared for the frizzy-haired pain in the ass, but nobody deserved to be conceived as a suit for an evil entity to wear in our world. Chad’s disappearance into that giant hole in the sky is still a sore spot for Ernie; they’d become friends after a rather rocky start. I don’t know, maybe I was a little jealous of their friendship. Especially since it was my fault they’d grown closer while I was out acting like an insane asshole.
But enough about me.
“Are those things still in there with you?”
Ernie opens the door. “I guess they got what they came for.”
I try not to look at him in that fuzzy pink towel but it’s like a beacon demanding my attention. “They came for your pants?”
Ernie’s upper lip curls into a most unappealing shape. “They’re not gonna get away with this. I just fucking bought those.”
“Were they on sale?”
“What difference does that make?”
“To you? Not a one. Shall I get the guns?”
Ernie smiles a smile most sinister. “I have a better idea.”
#
“How the hell is this a better idea?”
“Why do you keep asking me that?”
“Because I have yet to receive a satisfactory answer!”
Let me explain why none of Ernie’s answers have been satisfactory. Even when dealing with some absolutely insane shit, something I know a little bit about, there are still certain rational expectations from the so-called sane people involved. For instance, burning down the remainder of a building that appeared to be the access point for harmful entities (which we did) was a perfectly sensible solution, despite how badly it turned out. By contrast, Ernie’s plan for drawing out the little creatures he encountered in my bathroom falls more under the “crazier than a shit-house rat” category.
“Dude, you’re not even giving my idea a chance,” Ernie says.
I hate when he calls me “dude.” It doesn’t happen often, but Chad’s influence rears its head at the oddest times. I tell him what he has is not an idea, it is a barely worked out concept.
“Don’t go all writer on me,” he says. “Call it whatever the fuck you want, but you can’t tell me it won’t work.”
He’s got me there. I have no idea. Some of the stupidest shit in history turned out favorably for those involved, in spite of their obvious stupidity. Maybe it’s our turn to be those historically significant dumb-asses. Somehow that brings me zero comfort.
“One question,” I say. “Will I have to look at you with the towel off?”
Ernie grins. “If you’re a good little boy.”
Shaking my head, I look away and sigh. “Do you think our lives will ever be normal again?”
“They were normal before?”
I turn to look at Ernie and pause at the sight now greeting me; apparently he decided I have indeed been a good little boy.
#
I should probably pause here and tell you what took place in my bathroom and how this all started. Damn my propensity for stylish storytelling. Sometimes it’s best to simply start at the beginning. Next time I will, I promise.
In a nutshell, no pun intended, when Ernie came over for movie night, he brought a large pizza from my favorite place and a strong need to use my facilities. Once I made sure he wasn’t going to splatter my bowl and possibly the walls in a demented bid to imitate a German version of Jackson Pollack, I allowed him entry to the porcelain chamber. He’d been in there for at least five minutes when the first rumblings caught my ear. I paused in mid-bite, resumed eating my pizza slice, then a high-pitched squeal caused me to choke on my food.
I yelled for Ernie, pounded on the door, threatened to kick it open and make our friendship awkward for the rest of our lives, and still nothing from the other side. I even toyed with the idea of calling the police if he didn’t emerge from there soon, but the next sound I heard drove such thoughts from my brain at speeds faster than thought.
First there was an insistent humming, the kind few humans have heard except in movies. It filled the air with sound and static, causing my arm hairs to stand up on end. Moments later, the humming became voices, dozens of them all speaking as one but as if on some half-second delay, creating a rather disturbing echo effect.
“WE ARE RECTUS,” they said.
“I’m sorry?”
“WE ARE RECTUS.”
“No, you’re not.”
“WE BEG YOUR PARDON?”
“Nobody calls themselves ‘Rectus.’ Try again. And this time make it ominous.”
A year of dealing with oddities from Infinity’s Core has made me pretty cynical, although I can still be frightened from time to time. In this case, the not knowing what was on the other side of the door had me a tad jittery. Also, the fact that I hadn’t heard a word from Ernie was cause for concern. But I sure as shit wasn’t gonna let the entity calling itself Rectus know that.
“You’re wasting time,” I said. “Core entities can’t exist in our world for longer than a few minutes at a time. Get to the point of your visit or release your hold on my toilet.”
“VERY WELL. WE HAVE COME TO DO WHAT THE OTHERS COULD NOT. TAKE YOUR WORLD AND USE YOU AS OUR METHOD FOR CONQUEST.”
I picked up my previously forgotten pizza slice and took another bite. “Bring it, bitches.”
“OH, WE SHALL! WE SHALL BRING IT LIKE IT HAS NEVER BEEN BRUNG!”
“Brought,” I said. “At least learn proper grammar if you’re going to subjugate us, O’ Mighty Rectum.”
“RECTUS!”
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better.”
Then it occurred to me to wonder how exactly they planned to succeed where a host of disembodied entities and one embodied one had failed. Ernie and I and our friends weren’t the baddest of asses but we were pretty tough. The thought of actually losing to these second-stringers was quite the blow to the ego. I decided to just ask them about their nefarious plan and hope they were stupid or at least clueless enough to answer me honestly. That was when Ernie started yelling again, asking me why they needed his pants.
So, now we’re all caught up just in time for Ernie’s plan, which has to be even stupider than Rectus’s. According to him, the mighty invaders were a bunch of tiny insect-like beings that buzzed around his head for a little while before demanding his pants. He says he resisted (don’t ask me how) and they wound up getting said clothing item before vanishing into a hole in the wall that wasn’t there when he first sat down to do his dirty, sinful business.
It is at the very moment I become desensitized to the size of Ernie’s lower section that the little bastards that assailed him earlier return to do whatever it is little annoying bastards from beyond do. It isn’t their sudden reappearance that shocks me as much as the fact they appear to be wearing Ernie’s pants.
And nothing else.
“Seen a lotta strange shit.” Ernie shakes his head. “But this…”
I think of the old man named Evan who sat in a classroom in the Arizona desert for decades awaiting the return of the Golden-eyed man and wonder how Ernie can consider this the strangest thing he’s seen. Then again, this new entity isn’t wearing my brand new shiny pants.
The worst part is Ernie’s plan worked perfectly, meaning him going bottomless in my living room was precisely what needed to be done to lure Rectus out of interdimensional hiding.
“We won’t let you leave this room,” I say.
“ON THE CONTRARY. WE WILL NOT PERMIT YOU TO LEAVE THIS ROOM.”
“Well, shit-balls,” Ernie says. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what I was expecting.”
There is no time for further reflection; the pants are on the move. Ernie yells at me to grab them, a feat that sounds far easier than it is.
“Why’d you have to buy such shiny, slippery pants?” I yell. “What kinda guy wears pants like that anyway?”
“A stylish one, bitch!” Ernie dives for the running pants and winds up striking the floor with his chin. Groaning, he rolls over and points at where the pants are now.
I follow his gaze to the ceiling and sigh through gritted teeth. From their advantageous perch, the creatures comprising the insectoid entity known as Rectus laugh and taunt us with some childish sing-song chant in an unearthly language. To my right, Ernie manages to get to his feet and wobble over until he is exactly diagonal to my current position. We’ve used this same flanking maneuver at least half a dozen times on beings that wandered out of the Core, except none of them were able to suspend gravity.
“WE CAN REMAIN HERE FOREVER!”
“We’ll burn this fucker down before we let that happen!” Ernie says, hands on childbearing hips. “Right, Ned?”
I shrug; I’m rather partial to having a place to live and to put my stuff inside. Why couldn’t this be happening at that outhouse Ernie calls his apartment?
“SPIN US A TALE, STORYTELLER!” Rectus says, obviously to me. “TELL US ABOUT REGRET AND LOSS. SURELY YOU CAN UNDERSTAND WHY WE DO WHAT WE DO?”
Jesus, does everybody know about how I lost the woman I loved? Apparently even bizarre entities love gossip. And that’s a low goddam blow, trying to use what happened to me as a way to garner sympathy for their cause.
“WE CAN WORK WITH YOU. TOGETHER WE CAN HALT THE COMING ONSLAUGHT.”
“I’ve heard that one before.” I motion to Ernie to get ready. “Each one of you seems to think they’re preferable to the last.”
“OH, BUT WE ARE, STORYTELLER. WE ARE. LET US SHOW YOU.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“LET US ENTER YOU.”
“Not even in a prison shower.”
“WE DON’T WISH TO IMPRISON YOU.”
“Flew right over their zipper,” Ernie says with a chuckle.
I decide now is the time to go for broke and say, “Rectus? Why did you steal Ernie’s shiny new expensive pants?”
“WE REQUIRE A CONDUIT THROUGH WHICH TO—“
“Enter our world and achieve life,” Ernie and I finish.
“Conduit,” Core-spawn loves that word. It was how some of them viewed Chad when they attempted to manifest into the physical universe. Now these also-rans are applying it to clothing? What’s next? Condoms?
“Gimme my fucking pants, you little assholes!”
Clearly Ernie has lost patience with this situation. I nod at him and he breaks into a trot, jumping onto the arm of my couch and into the air with a fluidity I’d have never expected from him. As the pants try to scamper away from his sudden assault, I break into a less graceful trot and manage to grab hold of one pant leg.
If you’re thinking that’s all it takes to resolve this, you really need to go read the book!
The pants twist out of my grasp as if there’s oil on my palms, floating through the air like a kite as Ernie’s jump into the air affords him the opportunity to wrap his arms around his clothing and land hard on his knees. I glance over in time to see not only a full moon but the cave entrance.
“GROSS!”
“Puke later, help now!” Ernie struggles on the floor with the writhing Rectus, clearly seconds away from losing the fight.
“Wait,” I say. “Hold on for a few more seconds.”
“No problem! Do you need to use the bathroom or anything while I’m doing that?”
Nobody likes a smartass and Ernie seems to have become the poster boy for sarcasm. I think I preferred him when he was slower-witted; I’m still not sure how he changed but perhaps it has something to do with the Narrator’s arrival. Speaking of whom, why should we have to suffer without our third wheel?
As if reading my mind, Ernie says, “Don’t call him! I’m half naked!”
Too late. I’m already sending an emergency text to my alternate reality doppelganger. What, you don’t have one? I thought everybody did.
He arrives within minutes, having apparently already been on the way over. Since he doesn’t belong in our world, a place he has dubbed rather arrogantly as “Earth-Redux,” he never likes to remain in one place for very long. He spends a lot of his time trying to figure out why he’s here and whether or not he wants to go back to a world he makes sound like a chaotic shithole. When he isn’t doing that, he takes advantage of the standing invitation to crash at my place. Little did he know what to expect when entering the house.
“Holy full frontal, Batman!” he says.
“Godammit,” Ernie says.
“I tried to text you,” I say.
The Narrator, who looks a lot like me except a bit heavier and with less hair on his head, tries to address me without looking at me. “I heard it go off but I figured I could check it when I…why is Ernie wrestling with those shiny pants? Is this the Earth-Redux version of Twister?”
I explain what’s been happening in as succinct a manner as possible. In truth, the Narrator is far better at self-editing than I am. The novel we wrote together was proof of that. He listens stoically, nodding once or twice, before responding:
“This might have rated an actual phone call, guys.”
The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice indicates there might be more to this than I’d assumed. But we’re so similar that I don’t even need to ask him what he means; the look on my face is enough.
“I wrote about these things once. I was never really sure what to do with them or how to use them but I wrote a couple drafts and then abandoned the story.”
“The fuck?”
The Narrator and I look over at Ernie. The pants have ceased struggling and have gone rigid beneath his knees.
“They heard me,” the Narrator says.
Again it’s probably a good idea to pause and explain the Narrator’s involvement. He has become, in essence, the third testicle on our Core-busters tri-pod. Yes, we kind’ve call ourselves that. It might be lame but what have you done that’s cooler?
Without giving too much away, the Narrator is basically me in another reality. He got stuck in mine eighteen months ago and naturally assumed he was stuck in one of his fictional worlds. Meanwhile I spent the whole time thinking I’d created him. It’s complicated.
Nobody’s sure how he fits into the puzzle that is Infinity’s Core, but we can’t deny his contribution during our fight with the Golden-eyed man, or his bizarre insights. Plus his seeming refusal to admit he’s living in a genuine reality affords him a certain unique perspective.
“Just burn the damn things,” he says. “Easy peezey, lemon squeezey.”
“Who what huh?” I say.
“You guys don’t have that here either?” He shakes his head. “A whole universe based on cultural deprivation.”
“Sounds like we’re really missing out,” Ernie says. “Any universe that gave birth to somebody with such a deep way of seeing things must be good. I ain’t burnin’ my new pants!”
“Okay.” The Narrator purses his lips and looks at me. “Got any scissors?”
“I do.” I head for the kitchen when Ernie cries out as if in agony.
“What’s wrong?” the Narrator says.
“Nobody’s cutting up my brand new fucking pants!”
“Dammit, Ernie.” I head into the kitchen. “I thought the pants had hurt you again.”
“Why don’t we try talking to them?” Ernie says.
“I dunno, man.” The Narrator gets a gleam in his eyes. “I mean, three dudes…you’re bottomless…people could get the wrong idea.”
I pull my favorite steak knife from its sheath and walk over to the Narrator. “Look, I’m as repulsed by the notion that Ernie will remain bottomless for even longer as the next sane guy, but this is getting way past ridiculous.”
Sighing, the Narrator glances at me and heads over to where Ernie and Rectus are still in the midst of their bizarre stand-off.
“Ernie, can you, like, twist your bottom half to the right a little for the love of all that’s decent and holy?” he says.
My friend does as asked, but he’s not happy about the revulsion in my doppelganger’s voice. Ernie can be pretty sensitive at times. That whole debacle with Susan the storefront Psychic is still an open wound despite how much time has passed and the fact that she’s since become a friend and ally.
“Does this entity have a name?” the Narrator says, chuckling when we tell him what it is. Clearing this throat, he says, “Wow. That’s ominous.”
“YOU ARE THE OTHER STORYTELLER.”
“I…guess so?”
“YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE.”
“We have that much in common. Unless you think animating a fashion victim’s shiny pants is normal here.”
“Hey!”
“THIS IS MERELY A BRIEF STOP ON THE WAY TO—“
“Entering your world and finally achieving life,” Ernie, the Narrator and I finish.
“WE REALLY DISLIKE WHEN YOU DO THAT.”
“And we really dislike when you do whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”
Way to use diplomacy, I think. If they have mothers, feel free to insult them, too. I like to think that’s a trait we don’t share but who knows? Maybe he’s me in the absence of any perceived consequences.
I watch the Narrator pull out his cellphone and start typing. Seconds later, mine alerts me to a new text message, which reads: “How long have they been here?” I type back: “At least an hour.” He nods and puts his phone back in his pocket.
“You must know by now that you aren’t going any further than this room,” he says. “So what do you hope to accomplish here?”
“WE OFFER OUR PROTECTION FROM THE COMING MAELSTROM.”
The Narrator rolls his eyes. “And what do we have to give up?”
There’s a slight pause from Rectus, as if it’s weighing its options before responding. Clearly it sees something in my not-so-evil twin it doesn’t see in me, something it finds threatening. I’d be lying if I said I’m not a little jealous.
“CHAOS.”
He and I nod, having intuited the end result of such a seemingly open-hearted offer. Ernie, on the other hand, expresses his confusion in his usual eloquent manner.
“The fuchsia fuck does that mean?” Then he adds, “My knees are starting to hurt.”
“But it looks like such a natural position for you.”
“Who said that? Ned? Narrator?”
We both smirk and look away. It’s fun driving Ernie crazy, even when facing a mini-Armageddon.
“Rectus seems to think us poor dumb humans need to be more orderly and unified,” I say.
“They’re not wrong,” the Narrator says. “But still. Fuck them.”
Ernie nods and looks down at his shiny pants. “Yeah.” He glares down at the possessed fabric. “And I’m getting back my goddam shiny pants.”
The next moment is a flurry of movement as Ernie rolls to his feet holding the pants tightly in both fists while I move in with the knife and the Narrator…just kinda stands there with a blank look on his face. He knows something as usual. Also as usual he isn’t sharing what he knows until he’s ready.
“Hold those damn things still,” I say, raising the steak knife.
“Don’t you cut my pants!” Ernie says between twists and turns. “Don’t you cut…” One of the legs gets loose from Ernie’s grasp and wraps itself around his neck, squeezing. “Cut…the…fucking…pants!”
I do, although one could argue it’s more of a stabbing motion than anything resembling cutting. Ernie’s face turns redder as the pants try their best to squeeze his throat until no air can enter or escape. When the knife does cut into the fabric enough for him to slip out of its grasp, he stumbles backwards into the nearest chair and winds up with his legs up in the air. This, it should be noted, is where the Narrator officially loses his shit.
“That’s it!” He kicks over my least favorite coffee table. “It’s bad enough we’re dealing with a rejected story idea that’s arrogant enough to think it knows what’s best for humanity! Not to mention that delicious looking pizza going to waste on the table over there and the fact that Ernie just bought those hideous pants and now they’re nothing more than rags! As if all that isn’t enough, now I get to glance briefly at Ernie in position to get his salad tossed!? BURN THOSE FUCKING PANTS!”
I exchange a look with Ernie, who nods with what appears to be physical difficulty. There’s a pack of miniature lighters in my utility closet, so that’s where I head while the Narrator grabs the other end of Ernie’s pants and holds them taut.
“WE WILL FIND A NEW WAY,” Rectus says. “YOU’LL NOT STOP US SO EASILY.”
“Sell it to Hallmark, Rectum,” the Narrator says.
“RECTUS!”
I hold the lit lighter under the pants until I’m rewarded with the sight and smell of smoke filling the air. It takes a few moments due to the quality material but eventually the pants turn into a mini-inferno. That’s when the three of us realize we haven’t really thought this strategy through to its logical conclusions, namely that the flames will cause Ernie and the Narrator to have to let go, thus igniting whatever they land on or near.
Watching the two of them run sideways into my bathroom and drop the pants into my tub, I run behind them so I can turn on the water if the fire rages out of control. Rectus’ screams echo throughout the small room, thousands of tiny, enraged voices forming a deafening cacophony that seems to reach beyond our ears and into our very minds. It seems as if it won’t ever end but it does, and soon.
Just when we think we can relax and celebrate our victory and hopefully cover Ernie’s lower order, the wall behind the tub becomes a swirling doorway into Infinity’s Core.
“Not this again,” Ernie says. “How do we close it this time?”
The Narrator remains mute as he stares into the whirling mass of stars and lights and enormous toads that…wait. What?
“Dude, did you just see—“
“Oh, wow,” The Narrator says. “I can’t believe this.”
I ignore his chuckling and peer deeper into the doorway. Am I going crazier or is this different from what we’ve seen before? The previous two times I saw a Core opening it seemed more impressive, like an atmospheric disturbance given free reign over the laws of nature. This just looks like a hole into the night sky.
“What is it?” Ernie says.
Smirking, the Narrator gets to his feet and points at the hole. “Another rejected story idea.”
“Toads?”
The Narrator shrugs. “I was drunk.”
“I thought you weren’t a drinker,” I say.
He shrugs again. “I didn’t say it took much to get me that way. ‘The Toads of Doomsday’ was an idea I thought I could work into a Vonnegut-style satire of Biblical prophecy and unrealistic societal expectations within the framework of…I said I was drunk!”
And I was jealous of this guy’s creativity?
“What do the doomsday toads do?” Ernie says. “Cover the Earth with warts?”
The Narrator shoots him an annoyed glance. “Actually, they herald the coming of an invasion from another dimension.”
Sighing, I ask him if said invasion succeeds. The Narrator’s silence is all I need to not hear. Goddam fatalists.
“Well, there must be a way to close it.” Ernie grabs a towel and wraps it around his lower half. He glances from the Narrator to me a few times before placing his hands on those hips of his. “Well?”
“Don’t ask me,” I say. “A toad story would’ve never made it past the idea stage in my head.”
“Well, don’t we have a finely honed crap detector?” the Narrator says.
I smirk. “With Ernie walking around in a towel, I’m impressed you’re able to notice anything else.”
“Fuck both of you in the ear canal,” Ernie says. “Can we try being serious for a few seconds?”
Sighing, I join Ernie in the tub so I can get a closer look at the inter-dimensional hole in the wall. Apparently I make a lot of weird little grunting sounds, which Ernie decides to call me on once he’s had his fill.
“Nothing, really,” I say. “It’s just, I don’t think these things are from Infinity’s Core at all.”
The Narrator snaps his fingers and stomps his foot on the linoleum. “Of course!”
Ernie glances from me to him and back to me. “So what are we dealing with here?”
“Potentially something a little worse.”
Ernie screws up his face. “Only a little?”
#
This is where we pause for reflection. So much has gone on already yet if we stand back and examine all of it we might notice a pattern emerging. For instance, Ernie’s shiny yet stylish pants. What the hell was that all about? Why did tiny insect-like creatures need them? And why, if they’re not from Infinity’s Core, do these creatures seem to know all about it? Then there’s the fact that the Narrator has more than a tiny inkling what they are and why they’re here, and there’s really only one inescapable conclusion: No, not drugs. Haven’t you been paying attention at all? These guys don’t get high. Why would they, with all they’ve seen and done?
That sort of speculation probably reveals more about the one doing the speculating than the object of it.
Instead, let’s focus on a few key words and expressions for a moment. First, “Infinity’s Core,” the origin point for all the madness Ned, Ernie and the Narrator have been facing lo these two and a half years. The former clearly refers to forever but the latter implies a centralized focal point. How can there be both existing simultaneously? Without descending into intelligent design explain-aways, forever had to start somewhere and that starting point must still exist in some form or another. And if there is indeed a “Core” where it all starts and perhaps even winds up, one must also be willing to accept the possibility that the reality into which the trapped, disembodied entities inside wish to escape must have a core as well.
While this isn’t precisely the concept the Narrator was in the process of fine-tuning, we should know by now how easily such concepts get away from their originators.
So, he can be forgiven for not immediately putting the pieces together when he saw the little insect-like thingees attacking dear Ernie’s rear.
“Infinity’s Core’s Back End,” the Narrator says. “The literal and metaphorical ass-end of reality’s middle point.”
“Simple as that, huh?” Ernie says.
The Narrator grins. “Simple as that.”
Ernie leans into me and drops his voice. “Does he know I’m being sarcastic?”
I say nothing; frankly, there’s nothing to be said that would make a difference. The Narrator, as usual, has some inkling of what’s happening and Ernie can’t let a moment pass without filling it with his voice. For me, this is just another kick in the ass. It started with losing the love of my life and it shows no sign of stopping.
Ernie points his chin at the opening. “Should we step through?”
“Not a good idea,” the Narrator says. “I doubt there’s any air. That’s space out there.”
Ernie covers his mouth with his hand. “Fuck!”
“So, we’re facing a brand new enemy,” I say. “Isn’t that just extra special?”
“WHY MUST YOU CONSIDER US YOUR ENEMY?”
“Rectal’s back,” Ernie says.
“RECTUS!”
“What an appropriate name for something from the bunghole of existence,” the Narrator says with a chuckle. “I would’ve chosen ‘Out-hole,” but Rectus is almost as—“
Something on the other side, possibly a star, erupts in a blinding flash of light, forcing all of us to shield our eyes and look away, yelling. The bathroom is filled with this incredibly powerful heat and brightness and while I can’t speak for the others, I’m sure we all wonder how long it’ll take before we are incinerated. The question is answered moments later when the light slowly fades away.
“DO WE STILL AMUSE YOU?”
As my vision clears, I notice Ernie and the Narrator both on their knees, having taken the greater brunt of the visual assault. I turn to once again face the opening and, in an even tone, tell Rectus they have our attention.
“EXCELLENT! NOW WE MAY BEGIN.”
“What do they mean by that?” Ernie stumbles to his feet, towel still thankfully wrapped around his mid-section.
“WE DIDN’T COME TO ANTAGONIZE. WE SEEK A MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL CO-EXISTENCE. THE CORE-SPAWN GROW RESTLESS AND DESPERATE AND SOON THEY WILL STRIKE.”
“That’s not exactly front page news.” I take a step forward. “And who said we want your help? We’ve been handling the situation just fine.”
“INDEED. BUT THE GOLDEN-EYED MAN’S INVOLVEMENT HAS CHANGED THINGS. WHERE ONCE THERE WAS CHAOS NOW THERE’S THE IMPOSITION OF ORDER. WHERE ONCE THERE WAS A CONSTANT QUEST FOR IDENTITY, NOW THERE IS A UNIFYING CAUSE. YOU HAVE SEEN THIS PLAYED OUT ON YOUR OWN WORLD, HAVE YOU NOT?”
Images of historical atrocities play out in my mind, none of them even remotely close to what the golden-eyed man will accomplish whenever he steps foot back into our world. Even though I do believe we’ve handled things so far, I’m not alone in wondering what the hell a handful of barely proficient fighters will do once shit gets real and an endless army starts marching.
“What do you want in return?” The Narrator walks over to stand next to me, still rubbing his temples.
“ONLY THE KNOWLEDGE THAT WE WILL ALL BE SAFE ONCE OUR COMMON FOE HAS BEEN DEFEATED.”
“Bullshit,” the Narrator and I say in unison.
For a while, there’s no response, no sound except the breathing of we three as we await Rectus’ next statement. When it becomes obvious the entity is finished talking, at least for now, we talk amongst ourselves. Most of the conversation consists of hemming and hawing about what to do next and speculation as to how we might close the large rift leading from my bathroom to the realm of Rectus. I find myself wishing for the good old days of dealing with the more esoteric Infinity’s Core as opposed to what appears to be a wormhole.
“Maybe we’re over-complicating this,” the Narrator says.
“Is that even possible?” Ernie says.
Sighing, I tell the Narrator I hope he isn’t hinting at what I suspect he’s hinting at. But I already know he is since we’re kind’ve the same guy.
“Seriously?” Ernie says. “Drywall and spackle?”
The Narrator chuckles. “We’re dealing with a strictly physical phenomenon here. Why not?”
“What’s to stop Rectus from reopening it?” I say.
The Narrator shrugs. “You wanna send a nuclear missile through? It’s worked in at least two movies.”
“Sure,” I say. “Just let me run to Home Depot real quick.”
Ernie sighs. “Maybe…maybe we should contact Susan. I mean, she’s a psychic, so…”
The Narrator and I glance away from our friend and his obviously pained facial expression. Sometimes he still appears heartbroken whenever he mentions the woman who manipulated him a few years back. Never mind that it wasn’t her fault. She was under the influence of…just read the fucking book.
“I don’t see this as a Susan solution issue,” the Narrator says. “Again, we’re dealing with a strictly physical phenomenon here.”
Glancing from my doppelganger to Ernie, I take a few quick breaths and say, “Rectus?”
“SPEAK, STORYTELLER.”
“How exactly do you propose we work together to halt the golden-eyes man’s progress?”
The Narrator gives me side-eye and, for the first time maybe ever, he clearly has no idea what I’m thinking. This would be a great time to play against him in poker.
“WE MUST MERGE REALITIES. IN THE ABSENCE OF MORE THAN ONE, THE CORE BECOMES A SINGULARITY. ITS RESIDENTS HAVE ONLY ONE WAY OUT AND WE WILL OVERPOWER THEM AS THEY TRY TO ESCAPE.”
Ernie spins around to face me, saucer-eyed and gesturing with both hands, my grandmother’s towel finally surrendering to gravity and hitting the floor. “Oh, fuck! I get it! It’s like smoking out an animal!”
The Narrator kneels and picks up the towel. “We didn’t need a demonstration.”
Ernie grabs the towel and glances away. “You guys have issues.”
“We prefer to think of it as standards.”
“Which one of you said that!?”
“Rectus, what about all the lives on Earth and all the other worlds?” the Narrator says.
“WE WILL, OF COURSE, SAVE AS MANY AS WE CAN…”
I already know the answer but I ask it anyway. “How many is that?”
The silence stretches across realities and the void, hanging in the air of my bathroom with a never-ending, looping finality.
“If I may,” the Narrator says. “A counter offer.”
“SPEAK, OTHER STORYTELLER WHO SHOULD NOT BE IN THIS REALITY.”
“Longest. Moniker. Ever,” Ernie mutters.
“Instead of risking the destruction of an entire reality, why not join forces and pin the Core-spawn between us?” The Narrator glances at me with an expression I’ve felt myself making from the inside many times.
“Ernie?” I motion for him to step back and stand next to me.
“WE…CONSIDERED THAT, OF COURSE…”
“Wouldn’t work, huh?” the Narrator says, sounding bored.
“WELL, UH, FOR ONE OR TWO BATTLES, PERHAPS, BUT THE TWO REALITIES WOULD OFFER FAR TOO MUCH OPPORTUNITY FOR THEM TO ESCAPE INTO LIVING BEINGS.”
The Narrator and I exchange a glance. I nod at him to continue. To my right, Ernie frowns as if beginning to draw the conclusion my alternate universe twin and I have already reached.
“Aren’t they easier to stop when they’re inside living beings?”
“WELL, YES, BUT –“
The Narrator raised his index finger. “And if they have no Core to which they can return, can’t we assume they would cease to exist?”
“THAT’S, UMM, ONE WAY TO LOOK AT IT…”
The Narrator glances over his shoulder. Taking the cue, I motion for Ernie to help me as I remove the toilet tank cover and inch towards the opening in my bathroom wall. To his credit, although he looks confused, Ernie trusts my judgment enough not to draw attention to what we’re doing.
“Okay, so follow me here.” The Narrator sounds suspiciously like a young William Shatner. “If we. Merge realities. What’s to stop the Core-Spawn. From. Having free reign in the. Unified reality?”
“YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. THEY WILL HAVE NOWHERE TO GO AND WE WILL BE WAITING.”
“Waiting…to be overrun? How’s that a winning scenario for anyone except the Core?”
“FORGIVE OUR GOOD-NATURED CHUCKLE. YOUR TINY BRAIN CANNOT COMPREHEND THE SCALE OF WHAT WE ARE PROPOSING.”
“Maybe not but it can detect when someone is talking out of their ass.”
“YOU STILL REFUSE TO ADMIT YOU CANNOT DO IT ALONE!?”
The Narrator turns and points at us. Slowly, we amble over with the toilet tank cover, doing our best to remain out of view of the hole.
“We’re not that arrogant,” he says. “But we’re also not as gullible as you think. It’s obvious you cut some type of deal with the Golden-eyed man. I get it. You’re tiny and precious and scared.”
“HOW DARE YOU!?”
“And you say things like, ‘How dare you’.”
“FINE! SEE IF WE CARE! YOU DON’T WISH TO JOIN US, THEN PREPARE TO BE OBLITERATED!”
“Pretty sure you’ve got bigger concerns these days.” He holds his hand out to stop us from rushing the hole. “Unlike us, you have nothing to offer the Core except real estate.”
The buzzing noise filling our heads is beyond deafening. It assaults our minds as well as our auditory nerves in a non-stop, pulsing hum that will spread beyond this room if we don’t stop it now. This is how they will do it. Our minds will become like mashed potatoes, easily controlled and inhabited by whatever chooses to use them. Even now, mere seconds after it started, I can already feel my sanity slipping away, and retreating into a vegetable-like state where it believes it will be safe from this two-pronged onslaught.
Why didn’t they do this before if they could have done it at any time?
Then I hear it, buried deep, damn near imperceptible; the buzzing isn’t constant. If you listen closely enough, you can hear it diminish for an instant and then grow stronger. That cycle is repeated countless times. This is killing them. When they’re done, many of them will have sacrificed themselves for this moment. No wonder they were desperate to fool us.
Ignoring the twinge of sympathy I feel for their plight, I motion for Ernie to join me in carrying the tank cover over to the hole. He says something that might be a protest but there is no other sound right now except the buzz/humming of Rectus.
(I swear if I get out of this alive I’m going to write a story using those last four words as the title)
Together, Ernie and I lift the tank and aim it for the hole in my bathroom wall. It should be easy to cover it but the vibrations coming through it thanks to that incessant buzzing cause resistance. The Narrator joins us, slowly providing enough momentum to cover the hole.
“…like my sack is shriveling up into my esophagus!”
The Narrator and I pause, looking at Ernie.
“What?” Ernie says. “You guys didn’t feel that?”
I chuckle. “Actually, it did kinda feel like my rectum was blowing reverse kisses.”
“RECTUS!” the Narrator says.
And we all convulse in laughter.
#
To their credit, the repair company I call to fix the hole in the wall tries very hard to remain professional and not question all the weird shit they see when they show up. I leave the Q&A portion of the program to Ernie while the Narrator and I step outside for some air. Leaning against his car, we stare at my otherwise idyllic street and marvel at how undisturbed everything looks. It is he who breaks the silence a few moments later.
“For anybody else, that would have been some truly harrowing shit.”
I chuckle.
The Narrator grunts, staring at his feet. “He’s a crafty bastard but his ambition will be his downfall.”
I glance at him and remain silent. He doesn’t sound any more convinced than I feel. This isn’t the same as what happens to dictators and cult leaders on Earth. This isn’t even a human being. There’s no way to know if the same rules of inevitability apply. For one thing, maybe the main thing, human beings almost always succumb to their own arrogance. For all we know, the golden-eyed man is immune to such things. I have no doubt these thoughts have occurred to the Narrator as well.
I decide changing the subject is a good idea, so I ask him what he thinks happened to Rectus. He shrugs, slowly pushing himself off the car.
“Maybe nothing yet,” he says. “But I doubt they’ll be bothering us again.”
“I wonder if we would have done the same thing if given the chance to save our collective ass.” I force him to make eye-contact with me. “There’s a whole other reality that means more to you than anything here.”
The Narrator’s eyes widen momentarily, his jaw held tight. “Not that much.” His expression changes then to something resembling uncertainty and maybe a touch of fear. “But who’s to say others wouldn’t make a similar deal?”
Leave it to my doppelganger to think of something that hadn’t occurred to me. For all we knew, the golden-eyed man was out there making offers someone eventually couldn’t refuse.
“We need to get better at what we do,” I say.
The Narrator nods. “Especially Ernie. He was moving like a pregnant yak in there.”
We part as we almost always do, wordlessly and without looking at each other. I feel like an open book to him but his mind is not so easily known. I’ve only been to his Earth once and I never even left his office. As I watch him get in his car and drive off, I think how my ignorance could be our downfall someday.
Deciding I can’t worry about that right now, I go back inside to rejoin Ernie, who is busy over-explaining why he has a towel wrapped around his lower half.
“Sir, just say the word and I’ll run to my truck and grab those extra overalls I keep in the back,” the lead worker says. “They’re clean.”
Ernie glances at me as I enter, giving me that “don’t you dare make one of your smartass comments that make everybody feel more awkward” facial expression. I smirk and hold my hands out, palms up. My special gift to him; refraining.
Ernie sighs, his shoulders slumped. “Okay.”
The worker doesn’t walk out to get the pants, he bounds out the way the original Superman leapt tall buildings before his creators decided he could fly. Within moments, Ernie has gone from looking like a shiny-panted hipster when he first arrived to somebody who’s ready to mount a John Deere tractor.
Standing in my living room, the not-so-distant sound of the workers repairing the wall and inspecting the pipes coming from the other side of the house, Ernie and I check the corners and the ceiling for any remnants of Rectus.
“See anything?” he says.
“No, I think we stopped it from –“
“NED!”
I jump, whirling around to face Ernie as he stares down at the floor. At first I think he’s found his shredded shiny pants but that look on his face tells a different story.
“Look,” he whispers.
I tip-toe over to him and follow his downward gaze. At first I don’t see anything, but then I realize I’m expecting something larger.
“Oh.”
Lying before us on the floor is one of the bugs we saw early. It appears to be dying but it also appears to be trying to get our attention. I think it’s the last of its kind.
“Hell with this.” Ernie raises his foot to squash it and I tell him to stop.
The bug rolls onto its side, emitting a tiny but insistent buzzing that increases until it’s just loud enough to keep our attention. That’s when I hear it. I don’t know if Ernie does. We never talk about it but I hear the fading voice speak before the bug stops moving. I hear what it says:
“You’re next.”
| Cookie | Duration | Description |
|---|---|---|
| cookielawinfo-checbox-analytics | 11 months | This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Analytics". |
| cookielawinfo-checbox-functional | 11 months | The cookie is set by GDPR cookie consent to record the user consent for the cookies in the category "Functional". |
| cookielawinfo-checbox-others | 11 months | This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Other. |
| cookielawinfo-checkbox-necessary | 11 months | This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookies is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Necessary". |
| cookielawinfo-checkbox-performance | 11 months | This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Performance". |
| viewed_cookie_policy | 11 months | The cookie is set by the GDPR Cookie Consent plugin and is used to store whether or not user has consented to the use of cookies. It does not store any personal data. |
There was a problem reporting this post.
Please confirm you want to block this member.
You will no longer be able to:
Please allow a few minutes for this process to complete.
