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THE DEADY BEAR
Written by Justin Geoffrey
Art by AiresIt definitely took me a little while to properly plan. I had to prepare and execute everything with perfect timing, but I got it done. Bigger-picture stuff, ya know?Let’s see… I went from Wisconsin to New York, then Pennsylvania, and down to Louisiana. It was a long month.Surprisingly, I did it all without getting caught.Well… almost.I almost forgot about the California job. That one got a little hairy, but it was the freakin’ idiot rent-a-cop’s fault, not mine. Like, just sit in your Ford Fiesta and watch porn on your phone like all the other ones, you asshole.And it’s not like the movies, ya know?You see these movies where some guy starts digging up a grave and, twenty minutes later, he’s standing on the lid of a coffin buried six feet underground.No way.It takes a lot longer than that.Especially when the ground is frozen.Plus, you better be physically fit. It took me months of exercise before I was confident I could get the jobs done.You can’t be some string bean if you’re gonna move all that dirt by hand.Why?Well… I needed a piece of them.That’s where the power lies.Especially in the skin.Besides, how else was I gonna sew Eddie together?Ohhh… you mean why those people specifically?Well, let’s see…Gein, because he understood the artistic merit of it all.Fish, because he was quite sadistic. That’s a quality Eddie needs for certain… specialty tasks.Hmmm… Madame LaLaurie.Well, she brings that refined element of eloquent savagery which, quite frankly, is highly lacking in most of her male counterparts.Now that’s a broad with style.Let’s see… let’s see…Oh, yes. H. H. Holmes.Holmes had a special connection with our Dark Lord. One of the few who truly acted as a vessel for Satan.A lot of people claim to, but they’re full of bologna.Holmes was the real deal.Why Michael Jackson?Because he was the King of Pop, duh.I thought that one would be obvious.Come on, guys.Who’s Eddie?Don’t worry about Eddie.I’m sure you’re going to meet him soon enough.He’s my teddy.Eddie the teddy.Ha!I never realized that rhymed before.Yes. Like my teddy bear.But so much more now.Crazy?Yeah, I’ve heard that before.Maybe you’re right.But I don’t think so.Not after what I’ve seen.Besides, it’s all there in black, white, and red in the Necronomicon.I think the official term is vivification…But don’t quote me.The lights inside the interrogation room suddenly flickered.On.Off.On.Off.The two detectives looked at each other.Then back at the only door inside the secured room.A muffled crash of overturned furniture came from the other side.Then several gunshots.And then…Music.The unmistakable opening of Michael Jackson’s Thriller.The detectives slowly turned back toward the restrained suspect.He was smiling.“Welp…”He shrugged.“You wanted to meet him.”

Just One Drink
Written by Aires
Art by Aires“What can I get ya?”“Hey, yeah, thanks. Uh…just a Bud and a vodka soda for him.”“Yeah, thanks. Two limes, please.”“Gotcha.”“Just one drink, bro. We gotta head over to the party soon.”“Yeah, yeah. Just a little warm-up or two.”“One.”“Or two…or three.”“Stop fucking around. We said one drink.”“Bro, you think Tammy’ll be there?”“Anything else, fellas?”“No, thanks.”“Tab open or closed?”“Open.”“Closed.”“Dude, one shot…”“One.”“Drink.”“Bro.”“And a shot. It’s like icing on the drink. Not a real drink. Just icing.”“It’s a drink, bro. We said one.”“I’ll give you boys a minute to decide.”“Thanks.”“Thanks.”“So…Tammy. She’ll be there, right?”“I don’t know, bro.”“She’s hot.”“Yeah, she is.”“I’m fucking getting her today. Dude…I mean, come on…that rack!”“Yeah…okay, bro.”“Serious, dude. I’m getting her.”“What shot you want?”“Fine.”“Whiskey.”“Nice!”“What’s that, though?”“What’s what?”“That one.”“Cool bottle.”“Is that an…”“Eyeball?”“Fuck yeah it is!”“That’s pretty crazy.”“You guys decide yet?”“Just close the…”“Hey, what is that?”“What’s what?”“That bottle.”“Oh, this? You boys don’t want this.”“And yes, the eyeball is real.”“It’s not real, bro. Come on. Total gimmick.”“No gimmick.”“Okay, we’ll take two.”“I don’t want one.”“Dude, stop being a bitch and just take it.”“You.”“Don’t.”“Want.”“This.”“Wha’d ya mean?”“Two shots.”“Let’s go.”“Fake eyeball and everything.”“Real eyeball.”“Can’t be real.”“If it’s real, how’d they get it?”“Whose is it?”“Maybe it’s Tammy’s.”“Well then let’s not let her sacrifice go to waste.”“Ha! Yeah, dude!”“Two shots. Set ’em up!”“Okay, but just remember what I said…you don’t want this.”“What’s up with this guy?”“Just pour the fucking shot, there, Tom Cruise.”“He’s just selling it.”“Here ya’s go…”“Thanks.”“Holy shit, this smells like gasoline!”“Two hundred proof.”“Bullshit.”“Can’t be 200.”“At your own risk, then.”“Close the tab?”“Yeah, please.”“Cheers!”“Bro…I don’t know.”“This smells rank.”“And it looks super thick…”“It’s fine, dude.”“Cheers!”Gulp.Gulp.“Dude…”“I think it’s real.”“Oh, fuck!”“Your tab…”

The Vampire's Heart
Written by Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“She was my world. My everything. I gave her unimaginable riches. My heart, my soul… if I had one.“But I guess it was my own damn fault. I should have never trusted a mortal.”“Umm… okay. You want another one, mister, or should I just close you out?”The dark-haired, pale-skinned stranger looked up from his drink.His hypnotizing, fire-red eyes locked onto the bartender’s baby blues.The kid’s body instantly tensed. With rigid movements, he grabbed a clean glass and poured a fresh beer from the tap.He placed the drink on the bar and suddenly snapped out of his paralysis.His head slammed into the corner of the bar as his body crumpled lifelessly to the floor.“The most exclusive restaurants. Trips to forbidden realms, with every imaginable whim catered to. But it wasn’t enough.“Nope. Not for little Miss ‘I feel like you don’t really listen to me.’”The bartender slowly pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his head.“Ugh… what the hell just happened?”“The goddamn white sands of Antarctica!”The stranger flicked his wrist and slowly circled his fingers.The bartender’s head exploded, spraying blood and gore in every direction.The stranger let out an audible sigh.“Nobody listens anymore.”

The Black Candle
Written by Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“Hurry up! Light the fucking thing!”“Ah, man, this is bullshit. You got taken. You sucker-ass bitch! That shit ain’t real. Where’d you get it from again?”“The witchcraft lady at the flea market. You know, the booth between the Army-Navy guy and the Chinese dude who sells throwing stars and nunchucks.”“Oh, yeah. Across from the bootleg CD guy. Well, hurry up then and light it.”“What’d that crazy Hungarian bitch say again? If you light the black candle and say some stupid ass words, the Devil himself will spring up from Hell and give you a hand jobber?”“No, you jerks. Besides, Erzsébet’s actually nice. Nicer than you guys. And she’s the real deal. She said to light the candle during the peak of the blood moon. Then, while it burns, think real hard about the people who’ve harmed you, and the people you wish to harm.”He held up the black candle and continued to try and light a match to it.“Yeah, well, I call bullshit! It’s always some dumb-ass nonsense with you. I’m really starting to think you’re on the spectrum or something.”“Yeah, man. Just like that time after class. Remember? Your mom’s panties? Ha-ha!”“Besides, that crazy hag’s been there for years. She never sells shit except stinky incense and nasty-ass animal bones.”“I’d fuck her.”“I bet you would, you nasty fuck. Probably catch witch AIDS.”“You get it lit yet, Kenny? Kenny?”He turned around.“Where the fuck’d he go?”“Kenny!”Silence.“Kenny!?”The landscape suddenly went pitch-black.Not dark.Black.Every sound vanished. The wind, the insects, even the distant hum of the road. Gone.The two friends stood only a few feet apart, but they could barely see three feet in front of their faces.“Kenny?”Nothing.They screamed for their missing friend until their teenage voices cracked.Then something answered.It wasn’t Kenny.A deep, guttural voice emerged from the blank darkness.“So…”A pause.“…you boys ready for that handy?”

For Argument’s Sake
Written by Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“What a ridiculous question. Of course it’s me. I keep them warm, keep their plants growing, and keep the vitamin D flowing. Without me, they’d all freeze to death… especially thanks to you.”“Sure, you make heat, but way too much of it. If not for me moving it around, they’d shrivel into piles of ash. Who cools them off when you’re having a pissy day? Me!”“Yeah, you also blow trees over and take out power lines. If I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that they really hate when the internet’s down.”“Two words. Ultraviolet radiation. Two more. Skin cancer.”“Okay. Well, I’ve got two for you, too. Hurricanes. Tornadoes.”The Moon stepped in and separated the arguing pair.“Boys. Boys. You’re both equally important to them. Come on now. This is silly.”“He started it. Damn blowhard.”“Nuh-uh. You started it, you unstable hothead.”“Hothead!? Why, I oughta…’The Sun cocked back a molten fist and thrust it toward the Wind’s time worn face.The breeze dissipated and reappeared a few feet away. He inhaled, creating a powerful vacuum effect. His cheeks sank inward, his lips pressed tight. The Wind was now armed with an arctic blast aimed directly at the Sun’s arrogant face.Once again, the Moon stepped in to calm the escalating tension.“How about this? Since this happens every time you two drink together, let’s settle it once and for all. Winner takes all. Loser concedes to the winner’s demands. Deal?”“Let’s do it.”“Me too. I’m in.”“Okay, then. We’ll play a game. A special game. A game where the winner wins everything.”“What kind of game? Like pool? Darts? Shuffleboard?”“Such a lame…she’s the Moon, you flaming fart. I’m sure she has something much better in mind than darts.”“This is for complete control over planetary atmospheres and auroras. A cosmic death match.”“Death match?”“The boundaries include the entire heliosphere, past Pluto and through the Oort Cloud.”The Sun smirked.Then he spat millions of rock melting flares toward Earth’s equator, creating a sudden pressure imbalance.The Wind immediately swept in, redistributing the intense heat toward the poles.“Not gonna be that easy!” the fiery father of flames yelled as he hurled a two billion ton plasma wave.A thick atmosphere of certain doom swirled around the barroom. Four gas giants sitting at the end of the bar adjusted their stools and took notice.The Moon tensed and cracked her crust.The Wind flashed a confident smile and bent and shaped the plasma tsunami into several beautiful, sweeping auroral ribbons.Everyone watching was stunned. The intensity between the feuding foes was reaching apocalyptic levels.“They love me! I make the energy! Everything would be nothing without me!”The Sun’s face stretched and expanded, pressurizing beyond its normal capacity. The stress driven supernova looked as though it could explode at any moment.Ending it all.The game.The fight.The universe.The Wind saw this and adjusted his strategy.“You need me. And I…I need you. We need each other. If I don’t blow the seeds, they don’t spread. How can you then make them grow? If one of us fails, we all fail. Everyone in this room fails.”The whole universe looked around.An unmistakable, heartfelt feeling of brotherhood swept over everyone in the bar.The Sun and the Wind looked at each other.They embraced.And then they cried.The Moon smirked.“I knew that’s all it would take. Every time. The same thing. Adam, for the last time, stop serving them the dang dark liquors.”Everything was well once again.Except on Earth.On Earth, every human died due to the subsequent natural catastrophes caused by the interstellar Sun-Wind death match of 2026.

One Dollar
Written by Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“15… 17… ah, 19 Mitchell Place. Of course it’s huge… annnnd… there’s the brand new Toyota. This is definitely that bitch’s house.”Cathy backed up and parked her prehistoric Honda Civic a few houses down, in a dark spot cast by the moon and a large maple tree.Using binoculars, she peered through Mary-Anne’s large living room window.“That cunt still has the same stupid haircut. Of course she’s watching my show. Perfect 4K clarity. I guess that’s the 90-inch plasma. The TV I didn’t even want anyway.”Cathy opened her car door and crept out onto the street. Utilizing the knowledge she’d gained from a twenty minute YouTube tutorial on the master techniques of the ninja, she squinted her eyes and tactically advanced toward the house.“Well, aren’t they just picture perfect,” she mumbled as she moved past the window and prowled down the driveway.She headed toward the rear of the house, stopping only long enough to carve $1 into the side of Mary-Anne’s cherry red driver’s side door with her car key.Cupping her hands around her eyes, she peeked through the back porch window and into the kitchen.“Ugh. I’d kill for those stainless-steel GE kitchen appliances. That fucking bitch.”She cracked open the glass slider and stepped inside.“Did you hear that, babe?”“Hear what?”“Nothing. Must’ve been the dishwasher. Or maybe Sammy. You know… I like it, I guess.”“Sammy? I hope you like him. We’ve had him for eleven years now.”“Not the dog. The dishwasher. But it’s definitely louder than our old one.”“There was nothing wrong with our old one.”“Whatever. It was free. Well, I did have to win it. And I did win it. Fair and square.”This time, the unmistakable sound of human footsteps and rummaging in the next room caught the couple’s attention.A glass broke.Metal cutlery clinked and clanged.“Babe?”“It’s just Sam. He’s old and needs to go out. I’ll do it.”The tall, handsome man in his thirties left the room and moved toward the back of the house.Silence.Then,Thump!It sounded like someone had dropped a sack of oranges down a flight of stairs.Thump. Thump. Thump.“Babe?”Nothing.The sound of feet shuffling.Then nothing.“Babe!”Mary-Anne slowly shuffled toward the kitchen. The lights were off.Dread. Fear. Anxiety.All at once.Whatever courage she had managed to muster escaped in a low whisper, followed by audible sobs.“Babe! I’ll call the police! I swear I will!”She stepped into the room.Turned on the light.That’s when she saw Sammy.He had no skin.The poor dog lay on the floor, circling and spasming in a pool of blood on the linoleum.Mary-Anne’s face instantly went white.Fear paralyzed her.The basement door, located inside the kitchen, slowly opened.A stranger stepped through the threshold, wiping dark-red clots from her hands onto her shirt.The shirt read:SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR PETS.“Oh… it’s you. Mary-Anne from Portland.”Mary-Anne shook her head.Then it came back to her.“Cathy? From the show?”“It seems you didn’t listen to Bob’s advice, so I took care of your dog… and your husband’s downstairs parts. Now it’s your turn!”Cathy grinned.“Mary-Anne Waterman… come on down!”Mary-Anne stumbled backward.“I’ll call… nine… one…”“One!”The stranger launched herself onto Mary-Anne’s hundred-pound frame, knocking her to the ground. With a sharpened, rusty piece of metal, she began carving away at her face.“One! One dollar! One dollar, Bob! I bet $950 and you say $951?! You piece of absolute shit! I told you I’d find you!”Mary-Anne attempted to explain through gargled words.“Nooo… I’m sorry… that’s just part of the…”It only took a few minutes, but Cathy made short work of Mary-Anne’s lifeless body.A bloody trail leading to the basement door was wiped up and bleached accordingly.The microwave beeped.“Popcorn’s done!”Cathy shoved a handful into her mouth as she sat on the couch in the living room.“Oh, man. You can definitely taste the difference. My microwave cooks too fast. Burns the popcorn. This one is definitely far superior. Right, Bob?”She stared at the turned-off television screen.Bob Barker began speaking to her.“That’s right, Cathy. It certainly does. Thank you for taking care of that little business for me, dear. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”Cathy smiled.“And, Cathy?”“Yes, Bob?”“You know what tastes even better?”“What’s that, Bob?”“The fact that you, Cathy Getler, are the next contestant on America’s favorite game show…”A smile slowly spread across Cathy’s face.“Come on down!”

Outside the Wall
Written By Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“Mm-kay… so… now what do we do?”“Now what do we do!? You’re kidding me, right?”The man shakes his head in utter disgust.“There was a fucking water slide!”“Okay. I get it. We messed up.”“We? We didn’t do shit. You. You messed up.”“You didn’t have to eat it.”“Oh, here we go. I didn’t have to eat it. The way you came up to me, you made it seem like everything was cool. God, I should’ve known better. I gave you a fucking rib.”“I know you did. And I’ve heard about it almost every day for years. I said thank you. Jesus Christ.”“No, no. Don’t you go pulling him into this shit right now. He’s probably pissed.”“Whatever.”“Yeah. Whatever.”The naked, arguing couple lean their tired frames against a massive wall. Dried bricks stretch for miles, separating two very different worlds.Palm fronds and vibrant vegetation spill over the top, but without a ladder, or divine intervention, they are far out of reach. From the other side come the buzzing of insects, sharp birdcalls, distant animal cries, and the rustling of leaves.“Shit, man. It’s Tuesday. I love Tuesdays. It’s lobster night down at the Four Rivers.”“Oh, big deal. So you don’t get to stuff your face with lobster and smoke cigars. I guess the beavers will have to play gin rummy without you for one night. Boo-hoo.”“One night? Bitch, did you hear the man?! We’re done. Done-done. As in, get the fuck out and don’t come back here no more.”“He’s just bluffing. He’s probably just pissed because somebody made a statue of a cow or some shit. You know how he gets.”“I don’t think you understand. He ain’t playing. No more antelope steaks. No more wild raspberry pudding. No more fresh spring water to wash your stinkin’ ass. Done.”The man looks around at the barren wasteland surrounding them. He bends down, scoops a handful of sand into his palm, and lets it trickle through his fingers.“This. This is what the fuck we got now. ’Cause you wanted to eat a fucking apple. Bitch, there were like a hundred peach trees. You couldn’t just eat a fucking peach?”“It wasn’t that simple.”“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Your friend told you it was all good. What was his name?”“Samael.”“Right. Samael. Where’d you meet this dude again? Bamboo bingo at the lodge?”“No. If you must know, it was after we had that fight about what to name the platypuses.”“I still say they should’ve been called duckfishes.”“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You never listen to me.”“Platypuses. We’re out here in a hot ass desert, sand blowing in my eyeballs and shit, talking platypuses.”“It wasn’t just that. It was that you never listen to me. And, well… Samael did. He was there for me. He thought my ideas for this place were good.”“Your ideas. Which ideas would those be? The ones where you wanted to put decorative pillows in the Hanging Gardens? Or when you say you don’t care where we eat and then bust my balls when I wanna go to the Blue Locust Diner?”“You always wanna go to that dam diner.”“I know the owner. He takes care of us every time!”“Whatever. It’s boring.”“The fuck kinda name is Samael for a snake anyway? And why the fuck are you hanging out with a snake? The peacocks not good enough for you anymore? Let me guess. The capybaras are too boring these days, too?”“Alright. Alright. I get it. I fucked up. You’re not exactly innocent yourself, you know.”“Oh, here we go again. Go ahead. Bring up some old shit.”“I’m just saying. How do you think I felt when I saw you under the Tree of Life with that white tail?”“What?”“Every time after that, when I would see that hussy in the forever fields, her big eyes would just give me this look, and then prance away… like she was judging me.”“I told you nothing happened. We were just talking.”“About what?”“…You.”“Me?”“Yeah. You. About how much I really wanted to try to make this work.”He looks at her.“Lotta good that did me now.”A long silence.“Well… at least we got each other.”“Yeah. I guess we do.”The couple hold hands.Then, slowly but surely, they fade into the shimmering heat of the barren desert horizon.“Well, at least our kids will get along.”“Yeah, probably.”“And they’re kids, kids.”“Of course.”“But if we’re the only people right now, doesn’t that mean our kids are gonna have to… you know… sleep together to continue the human race?”“Hmmmm… sounds like it.”“That’s gross.”“Yeah.”“We suck.”“At least in the future, everyone will love each other and treat their fellow brothers and sisters as equals.”“It’ll all work out great. I bet when they think back on this day, they’ll laugh about it because they’re all getting along so well.”“Probably not.”“No. Probably not.”“But at least there’s the platypuses.”“Yeah.”Adam looks back toward the wall.“At least there are the poison duckfishes.”

Push My Buttons
Written By Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“I swear to God, when I catch these little cunts, I’m gonna…”Indistinct chatter filled the break room as weary faces counted down the last few seconds before having to go back out on the floor.“You’re not gonna do a goddamn thing, Marty. Finish your tuna fish sandwich and shut up.”“No! I fuckin’ mean it. Four times today! And these goddamn giggling assholes scatter before I get there. Kids need their asses kicked! If I hear that alert one more time…”Just as the last words left his mouth, a soothing, prerecorded woman’s voice echoed throughout the orange colored aisles.ATTENTION MILLWORK.CUSTOMER ASSISTANCE NEEDED IN THE MILLWORK DEPARTMENT.ATTENTION MILLWORK.“Mother! Fucker! That’s it!”Marty bolted from his chair like he was spring loaded.He barreled through Hardware and, moments later, emerged with a roofing hammer in his hand. Two hundred and seventy five pounds of concentrated rage took the corners like Andretti.Determined.A quick glance up Aisle 17 revealed three teenage boys sprinting out the opposite end of the plumbing department.Marty locked onto them like a hawk.He wasn’t giving up this time.This time, he was going to get those little fuckers.No matter what.“You little pricks! Pushin’ my buttons! I’ll split your fuckin’ heads open!”He screamed as he barreled past Ted.“Marty, stop! They’re only kids!”Ted, the floor manager with the bad hairpiece and rotten teeth, tried to step between Marty and his prey.Bad idea.Thwap!The metal claw of the hammer cracked Ted’s skull like Thor’s hammer.His toupee, and a chunk of skull, hit the floor, followed by the rest of Ted’s lifeless body.The kids bolted through the exit and scattered into the busy Home Depot parking lot.Ronny, the runt of the litter, glanced back.The refrigerator sized man was gaining on him.A car suddenly backed out of a parking space.Smack.Ronny went down.Marty, tomato faced and with veins the size of garden hoses bulging from his neck, stood over the crying child, hammer raised high.“I got you now, you little son of a bitch…”He grinned.“You wanna push my buttons, huh? You little mother…”“Aghhhh!”Marty dropped the hammer.His hand immediately clutched his chest.He dropped to one knee.Then to the ground.As he lay dying in the parking lot, he was still within earshot of the store’s massive entrance.The last sound Marty ever heard was the soothing voice:ATTENTION MILLWORK.CUSTOMER ASSISTANCE NEEDED IN THE MILLWORK DEPARTMENT.ATTENTION MILLWORK.

The M&M Tree
Written By Justin Geoffrey
Art by AIres“I’m sorry, Ms. Hernandez, but there really is no other choice.”“¡Por favor! Mr. Vinny! Please! I’m begging you. Just give me another month. I promise you, I will have the…”“You said that last month. And the month before that, ma’am. The bank’s hands are tied.”The dark-haired woman sobbed uncontrollably on her front porch as her teenage son opened the door and stepped outside to console her.The man in the suit turned and walked away. As he did, he raised his voice just enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.“One week. If you’re not out by then, I’m calling the Sheriff’s Department and having you physically removed from the premises. Got it!”The rest of the day was filled with anxiety and fear for the young boy as he struggled through class after class. His mind wondering and worrying about the future for him and his mother. At least the southern California sun was fairly dependable as Hector and his two buddies walked home from school.They passed a group of heckling twenty-something year olds smoking and drinking beer outside of a bodega before strategically turning onto Second Street. A few stores down, an older man wearing a dark hat, a long overcoat, and an eyepatch stepped out of Fritz’s Candy Factory.The boys trailed a few steps behind him when, without noticing, the old man dropped something onto the sidewalk.“Hey, Hector. Pick that up, man. Quick, before he notices.”“Yeah, man. Grab it. Quick.”The boy bent down and picked it up.“What is it, anyway?”Hector turned the package over in his hands.“It looks like a bag of M&M’s. I ain’t never seen this flavor before. You?”The boys stared at the bright colored package.They had eaten every flavor, every brand, every morsel of candy offered by big sugar. But none of them had ever seen anything like this.The package almost seemed to emit its own light.It pulsed softly, glowing with hues of green and yellow so bright they seemed to out shine the afternoon sun.“Yo, we gotta try this shit.”“Hell yeah, man. Open it up!”“Nah, man. We can’t. It’s not ours. It ain’t right.”“Not right? What the fuck are you talking about, fool? It’s just candy.”“And some crazy-ass outer space candy at that!”“Word.”“Nah, man. It ain’t ours. That’s not how I was raised.”Hector turned toward the old man.“Hey! Mister!”The old man stopped dead in his tracks.Slowly, he turned around and looked directly at Hector.Then he walked back toward the group.“Hector… right?”Hector frowned.“How’d you know my name?”The old man tapped his eyepatch.“I know lots of things, kid.”“Okay… weird. Well, anyway, you dropped this.”Hector held out the candy.“Oh.”The old man accepted it.“I must have dropped that out of my pocket. How clumsy of me.”He looked at Hector, then scowled at the other boys.“And look at you. With everything you’re going through, yet you still returned a meaningless bag of candy to its rightful owner because it was…the right thing to do.”The old man smiled.“Bravo.”Hector stared at him, completely puzzled.“Okay, then. Have a good one, mister.”Hector turned to leave with his friends.The old man was suddenly standing directly in front of them.“What the…”“Hector.”The old man held up the bag.“You forgot something.”Before Hector could respond, the old man tore open the package and poured several glowing M&M’s into his hand.They didn’t feel like candy.They were heavy like rocks.The old man leaned close to Hector and whispered something into his ear.Then, without another word, he hurried around the corner and disappeared into the afternoon sun.The boys stood there in silence for several seconds.Then they scattered.By the time it got dark, Hector and his friends had reached the bent-up wrought-iron fence separating his ragged front lawn from the sidewalk.“What’d that old freak say to you, anyway?”Hector shrugged.“He said there’s gonna be a meteor shower tonight. And if I want my mom to keep the house, I gotta sprinkle the candy on the front lawn before I go to bed.”He shook his head.“Fuckin’ weird, man.”“I’ll say. That’s crazy, bro.”His friend looked toward the house.“Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Gotta get home for dinner.”“Cool. Tomorrow.”That night, Hector lay awake in his bed inside the nearly empty house.He stared through his bedroom window at the sky.Green streaks scraped across the darkness, trailing neon-colored stardust behind them. For a moment, the entire sky seemed to shimmer.Hector reached into his pocket.The strange candy was still there.He remembered the old man’s words.“What do I got to lose?”He looked around the empty room.“We’re getting kicked out anyway.”Hector walked to the window and tossed the handful of glimmering candies onto the lawn below.Then he went to bed.The spectacle that greeted the neighborhood the next morning was unimaginable.There were cars everywhere.News vans.Cameras.Neighbors still wearing pajamas crowded around the fence, pointing, shouting, and grabbing at one another to get a better view.Because somehow, overnight, Hector’s front lawn had sprouted a tree.And not just any tree.A massive tree whose trunk, branches, and leaves were colored in every possible combination of the rainbow. It looked like a botanical tie-dye explosion had erupted from the earth.It was beautiful.Impossible.And hanging from its multicolored branches were hundreds of football-sized pods.Hector ran downstairs and burst through the front door.His mother stood frozen in the yard, staring upward in disbelief.“Mijo. Look. Look at this tree.”She gestured helplessly toward the crowd.“Everyone is going crazy. They keep asking me where it came from. How did it grow so fast? I tell them, ‘I don’t know! I just got home from my overnight shift!’”She looked at Hector.“Do you know?”Before he could answer, one of the pods twitched.Hector looked up.The pod shook again.Then…CRACK!It smashed onto the ground.The shell split apart, and its contents exploded across Hector’s feet.Hundreds of tiny candies rolled through the grass.They were flat and round with softly rounded edges, each one coated in a different color.Hector picked one up.He sniffed it.Then put it in his mouth.His eyes widened.“M&M’s.”He looked at his mother.“They’re M&M’s!”He pointed toward the tree.“Momma, we have an M&M tree!”“¡Ay, Dios mío!”His mother squeaked.Then fainted.By lunchtime, the entire city seemed to know.News crews descended on the neighborhood. Students and teachers crowded around Hector at school, demanding to know how the tree had appeared.Hector couldn’t walk ten feet without someone asking him a question.Eventually, he slipped away and left school early just to get a moment alone.When he arrived back in the neighborhood, he saw the crowds had only grown.News reporters stood in the street beneath the enormous M&M tree, interviewing neighbors and pointing cameras toward the house.Hector went around back and slipped through the rear door.“Mom?”Silence.“Mommy? You home?”He heard the front door close somewhere in the house.When he entered the dining room, his mother was sitting perfectly still at the table, her head buried in her hands.“Who just left, Mama?”She didn’t answer.“And why are you so sad?”His mother slowly raised her head.“Oh, mijo.”A single tear rolled down her cheek and splashed onto the table.“That was Mr. Fiumara from the bank.”Hector’s stomach tightened.“He says we have to move out today.”“What?”“The bank is seizing the house immediately. He said everything on the property belongs to them.”Hector stared at her.“But he gave us a week.”His voice rose.“It’s only been three days!”He clenched his fists.“That’s bullshit. They’re going to steal our miracle. They know that tree is worth…”He stopped.His mother looked at him helplessly.“There’s nothing we can do, mi amor.”A loud knock echoed from the front door.Two men in cream colored uniforms stood outside.“Gabriela Hernandez?”“Yes?”“We’re with the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. We’re here on behalf of Ditmar Bank. We have a vacate order that has been signed and must be executed immediately.”“This is bullshit!”Hector stepped forward.“No way! I’m not leaving! We have nowhere to go!”His mother rushed over and grabbed him.“Mijo! No! We have to go!”One of the deputies stepped closer.“Son, I understand you’re upset. But if you don’t take a couple of minutes to gather your personal belongings and leave the premises, we’ll have to arrest you for trespassing.”He softened his voice.“Now go on. Be a good boy. Listen to your mama and get your things.”And just like that, the Hernandez family was gone.Over the course of the following week, it rained four or five days straight.For Southern California, it was practically biblical.The relentless rain washed the brilliant colors from the M&M tree until its trunk and branches became a cold, lifeless brown.The leaves shriveled.Then crumpled.Then fell.So did the pods.Every last one.When the bank’s representatives finally cracked one open, the smell was worse than rotting garbage.One of the men took a bite.He immediately spit it into the grass.“Ugh! Tastes like onions left in the sun!”Mr. Ditmar stared at the dead tree.“Well, what the hell happened, Vin? I told you to repossess this shithole because you promised me an M&M tree!”He kicked one of the rotten pods.“This is nothing but a rotted out grub hotel.”He turned angrily toward the bank employee.“This is gonna cost you big time.”“Wait, Mr. Ditmar!”Vin pointed desperately toward the house.“We can clean it up! Paint the weeds different colors around the porch! I’m sure it’ll draw the crowds back!”Mr. Ditmar walked away without answering.That night, Hector and his mother slept on paper-thin sleeping bags spread across the wooden floor of Tía Michele’s apartment.Hector tossed and turned.Then the fevered dreams came.The most vivid was of the old man.The dark coat.The eyepatch.He was moving quickly toward Hector, saying something, but no sound came from his mouth.Closer.Closer.Finally, the old man reached Hector.He slipped a hand into his coat pocket.Then leaned toward Hector’s ear.“Your pocket.”Hector bolted awake.He could barely catch his breath.Sweat poured from his furrowed brow and ran down his flushed cheeks.He looked across the room at the closet where his clothes were packed inside a gym bag.Something was glowing.A pulsating green light seeped through the thin perimeter of the closet door.Hector smiled.He reached for the bag.“There was one more…”A knock startled him.Tía Michele poked her head through the doorway.“Hector?”He turned.“There’s a man at the door.”“Who?”She hesitated.“He says he’s from the Mars Candy Company.”Hector’s smile widened.And for the first time since they lost their home, he wasn’t afraid.He reached into his pocket.The candy was still warm.Still glowing.Still alive.

All At The Same Time
Written By Justin GeoffreyOkay, Mr. Walsh. Don’t move. You’re strapped down for your own safety. The injections will begin shortly.”“I’m not worried, Doc. I got nothing left to lose anyway. You guys just better hold up your end of the bargain. Twenty grand, remember? And I want it all in twenties.”“Yes, yes, Mr. Walsh. You’ll be well taken care of. But nothing until after the experiment properly runs its course. That’s the deal. The U.S. government always fulfills its promises and obligations.”“Yeah, right. If that were true, I wouldn’t be sleeping on the street under a tarp. I fought in Afghanistan, you know.”“Yes, Earl. We know all about your service. And thank you. That’s actually part of the reason you were chosen. A man with your ability to endure extreme stress should be able to handle all of them.”Earl frowned.“All of them?”“Yes. All of them.”The doctor smiled.“The most deadly pathogens known to humanity. Rabies. Ebola. Bird flu. Smallpox. Hantavirus. Dengue. Yellow fever. HIV. Marburg. Nipah. And, last but not least… influenza.”He leaned toward Earl.“All at the same time.”Earl scoffed.“Pssh. Those baby germs ain’t shit. Obviously, you’ve never been to the back alley whorehouses in Kuala Lumpur.”“No, Earl. I have not.”“You should see my pecker, doc, it’s otherworldly!”The doctor stepped back.“Now, close your eyes and relax Mr. Walsh.”Earl closed his eyes.A large mechanical box beside the table began to hum. Then came a series of sharp clicks.Several clear tubes extended from the machine, each filling with a different colored liquid. One by one, the tubes fed into a central chamber, where the fluids swirled together into a murky, iced tea colored cocktail.The mixture flowed into a single tube.Then into Earl’s arm.“How are you feeling, Earl?”“Uh… okay, I guess. Tell you the truth, I could really go for a stiff drink right now. Maybe a rum and Coke. Or vodka and…”He suddenly stopped.“What?”Earl’s body jerked.“Uhhhhh…”His arms tensed against the restraints.“What the fuck did you do to me?!”“Relax, Earl. Breathe. Your body is simply reacting to the house party of pathogens. It’s quite a system shock, I know. But this formula is different from all the others. It should settle down soon.”“Others?”Earl stared at him.“What the fuck am I, some kind of government guinea pig?”“Actually, Earl, you’re patient number 229.”Earl’s eyes widened.“It took us two hundred and twenty eight other patients to get this far. All volunteers. All 988’s.”“988’s?”“Suicidals.”“You can’t get away with…ugh!”“It’s a shame, really. Mostly homeless vets, like yourself. Forgotten. No questions asked types.”“You’re monsters.”“Monsters?”The doctor smiled.“No, Earl. Gods.”Earl began thrashing violently.“You’re fucking insane!”“Can’t you see? You’re part of something greater. Only by combining the agents of death can we create something truly extraordinary.”Earl mustered together what strength he had left and pulled against the restraints one final time.Then he went still.His chest stopped moving.The room fell silent.Several doctors gathered around the table checking instruments and recording data.Finally, one of them sighed.“Well… I guess we need to find number 230.”The lead doctor slapped his clipboard against Earl’s forehead.“I really thought this was the one.”Another doctor looked over.“What was the secret ingredient this time?”The doctor hesitated.“A gentleman never tells.”“Oh, come on, Bob. Tell me.”“Fine. But you can’t tell the others.”“Scout’s honor.”The doctor leaned closer.“Pickle juice.”“Pickle juice?”“Yep. I had a martini last night, but Linda forgot to pick up olives. The one job that lazy woman has. So, I used pickle juice instead and figured…why not?He smiled.“Ha. You are something else.”Suddenly…Earl’s eyes snapped open.His pupils had become vertical slits.The doctors froze.Earl ripped through the leather restraints as if they were paper, sending two doctors flying across the room.He slowly climbed off the table.Drool poured from the corners of his mouth. Foam bubbled between his teeth.Dr. Bob backed away.“Earl…”Earl tilted his head.Then smiled.“I’ll take that drink now.”He wiped the foam from his mouth.“Vodka…”A low growl escaped his throat.“…with pickle juice.”And then he lunged.

Ken's Corn
Written By Justin Geoffrey
Art by Aires“It’s for sure the best in the state, if not the country.”
An older woman who had just finished paying at the outdoor register said as she walked past the young couple climbing out of their obnoxiously colored Porsche 911.“So I’m told.”“Let’s just hope we didn’t come all the way up here for nothin’, babe.”“Either way, Tiff, I gotta write this stupid expo piece. Raphael’s brain child he calls, the crunchy column. Apparently, City Spaces Magazine is going full libtard to appease the fart smellers in Williamsburg.”Majestic rolling green hills and distant blue ridges framed towering stalks of corn beneath a vast summer sky. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves as golden afternoon sunlight bathed the endless line of people waiting to pay for their corn.The over dressed man closed the driver’s side door of his yellow sports car and removed his sunglasses. His girlfriend immediately pulled out her phone and began posing, her obviously pregnant belly in the foreground, surrounded by lush green stalks topped with silky golden tassels.“These will look delicious for the ’Gram!”Then a bug landed on her arm.“Ughhh! I’ll be waiting in the car, babe. Bug bites are not what’s hot for Fashion Week.”An older man wearing overalls approached them. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a stocky frame, and a mustache that had no business ever being shaved.“Hello. I’m Ken. And you must be Javier. The woman on the phone said you’d be comin’ around this time.”He unintentionally pronounced Javier with a hard J.Javier noticed.“Welcome to Wilkins Farm. You sure picked a good day. Not too busy.”“This…is not busy?”The old man grabbed his overall straps and tilted his head toward the line. He looked back at Javier, then casually spit into the dirt.“Yep.”“Jesus, old man. You must be making a killing up here.”The old man scowled.“Jesus ain’t got nothin’ to do with it, boy.”Then, like a traffic light changing from red to green, his mood shifted. His scowl vanished, replaced by the smiling, harmless face of a kindly old farmer.He and the young journalist sauntered around the grounds.“Okay…well then, let’s get this sideshow over with,” Javier muttered, just loud enough for Ken to hear.“So,” Javier said, pulling out his notebook, “how does an obviously educated man such as yourself build such a following? Which social media platforms do you use? Instagram? YouTube? Are you on TikTok?”“Tik-what?”“TikTok.”The farmer scratched his head.“Welp. None of the above, I guess. Don’t care much for that internet. Word of mouth is all it takes.”“Word of mouth? There are like a thousand people here. I bet there aren’t a thousand people in this whole town.”“Well…” Ken smiled. “Like Pop-Pop used to say, it ain’t about the money. It’s about the corn. It’s always been about the corn.”He stopped and looked out over the field.“You could put my corn up against anyone’s in the county. No question. Mine’s the best.”“What, if anything, do you do differently from the other farmers?”“Well, full sun for starters. Then I make sure the soil’s rich, with a pH somewhere between 6.0 and 6.8. Gotta have consistent moisture, and of course, a regimented, heavy nitrogen fertilization process.”Ken paused.“And we made a pact with Satan.”Javier, who up until that point couldn’t have cared less about anything the old man was saying, stopped writing.He slowly looked up.“I’m sorry. Did you just say a pact with Satan?”The farmer smiled.His teeth were suspiciously white.“I sure did. I owe that man everything.”Javier swallowed.“Including one hundred baby fetuses every year.”“Baby…fetuses?”“That’s right. Real, live human baby fetuses. I plant ’em while they’re alive. In the ground. It’s the only way.”Ken gave Javier a friendly slap on the shoulder.“Now, why don’t you come on back to the barn with me? Elenor, that’s my beautiful wife of fifty-seven years, made us some sandwiches and lemonade.”He smiled.“You like lemonade, don’t you, Javier?”The hard J again.“I…I…yeah. Sure. Let me just get my…um…camera out of the car. To take…pictures. Yes. Pictures. I’ll be right back.”Javier began nervously shuffling backward, his eyes locked on the old man, who stood there like a demented, grinning statue.He reached the car.Without taking his eyes off Ken, Javier opened the driver’s-side door.“Tiff…”He looked inside.“Tiff, we gotta get outta…”She was gone.Javier fumbled with his keys, finally finding the right one.Behind him, the townspeople waiting in line had begun to notice.They watched.Then, collectively, they began moving toward the car.Javier turned the key.Nothing.“Shit. Shit. Shit…”He tried again.“Turn on, you fucking piece of German shit!”SMASH.An unidentifiable object shattered the window and struck Javier in the temple.⸻When he woke, his head throbbed.His nose was bleeding.A full plate of corn sat on the table in front of him.His hands, arms, legs, and torso were strapped to a wooden chair surrounded by bales of hay.A deep voice emerged from somewhere behind him.“So. You think you have enough for your article, Mr. Javier?”Just from the way his name was pronounced, Javier knew who it was.But the voice had changed.It was gravelly now.Javier’s body went rigid. Panic surged through him as cold sweat poured from every pore.“What…what are you going to do to me?”His voice cracked.“Where’s Tiffany?”He looked down at his stomach.“And my baby?”Javier began sobbing. Then hyperventilating. Then sobbing again.“Come on now, boy. No crying.”Ken stepped into view.“This is a good thing. Actually, the best thing.”He gestured toward the plate.“The best corn in the world.”Ken smiled.“Elenor will help.”He looked toward the barn door.“Go on now, Mother.”An emaciated old woman shuffled into Javier’s field of vision. Sparse facial hair dotted her weathered face. She wore a sun bleached dress and a dust covered bonnet tied beneath her sunken chin.She picked up an ear of corn.Javier recoiled.“No…”The woman shoved it into his mouth.Ken’s voice came from behind her, his words suddenly acidic.“You have no will. No courage.”Javier gagged.“You’re not a man at all. Look at you.”Ken stepped closer.“When she wasn’t in the car, you were going to leave her here.”Javier shook his head frantically.“Leave her. Leave your baby.”“No…”“To save yourself.”Ken grabbed Javier’s jaw.“Chew.”Javier tried to spit the corn out.“Go on. Chew!”He squeezed harder.“It can all go away…”Ken’s smile disappeared.“…if you just CHEW!”⸻That evening, Javier was the last one to leave the office.The deadline for Kenneth, the Corn Man was looming, and he wanted to make sure it was journalistic perfection.He wrote about how, just two and a half hours from Midtown South, a perfect day trip awaited families looking to escape the city’s choking congestion.He wrote about the farm’s idyllic scenery.The wholesome atmosphere.The unparalleled corn.He gave special attention to the benefits, and stress relief, for expecting mothers.The place was worth the ride.Javier felt good.Real good.He opened the top drawer of his cubicle and pulled out an ear of corn.He stared at it.His eyes fluttered.“The best…”He smiled.“…in the world.”

An Open Letter to New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani
Written By Justin GeoffreyRe: The Urgent Need for a Cereal Crimes Investigation Unit Within the New York City Police DepartmentTo the Honorable Mayor Zohran Mamdani:After conducting extensive independent research into what I initially believed to be nothing more than harmless childhood entertainment, I have reached a deeply disturbing conclusion: we have been lied to.The information contained in this letter has taken an enormous physical, mental, and personal toll on me. However, I can no longer remain silent. Once certain truths have been uncovered, a responsible citizen has an obligation to bring them forward, regardless of the consequences.For far too long, individuals who may have committed serious crimes against children have been permitted to operate openly, protected by nostalgia, colorful advertising, and the public’s unwillingness to ask basic questions.Perhaps the most obvious example is Captain Crunch.His real name is Captain Horatio Magellan Crunch.According to historical records, Captain Crunch embarked upon his maiden voyage in 1963 accompanied by his trusted K-9, Seadog, and a crew consisting of four children, all reportedly under the age of eight.This alone should have raised questions.During his voyages, the Captain encountered a disturbing collection of known adversaries, including the Wild Man of Borneo, the Soggies, led by an individual known as the Sog Master, and pirates such as Jean LaFoote and Magnolia Bulkhead.But the question nobody seems willing to ask is this:What exactly was Captain Crunch looking for?We are told that he “discovered” Crunchberry Island.I would submit that very little of what happens accidentally involves a previously unknown island containing a highly desirable berry-like substance.More troubling is the question of what happened to the Crunch Beasts.Why were they there?Why were they apparently under Captain Crunch’s control?And, perhaps most importantly, why did the four children who accompanied Captain Crunch on this voyage never return to publicly tell their story?Where were their parents?Why did nobody demand answers?These are not unreasonable questions.They are the questions any responsible law-enforcement agency would ask.This naturally leads to the next question:Who was Captain Crunch working for?The Captain was not known to possess the personal wealth necessary to finance an extensive maritime operation, maintain a vessel, employ a crew, survive repeated encounters with pirates, and conduct expeditions into unknown territories.So who paid for it?Government interests?Private investors?A covert military operation?A multinational food conglomerate?There are numerous theories.Some sources suggest that a shadowy group of private investors associated with what has been informally referred to as “Big Oats” may have financed the expedition.Others believe the true objective was the discovery and exploitation of the mysterious Crunchberry—a substance possessing properties remarkably similar to the mythical Lotus Flower described in Homer’s Odyssey.This possibility becomes particularly troubling when examining events allegedly occurring in Brooklyn during the early 1970s.Evidence and long-standing allegations suggest that facilities hidden throughout industrial neighborhoods, particularly in the Sunset Park area, may have been used to process these berries.The alleged process was disturbingly simple.The berries were dried, ground into a fine powder, packaged, and distributed through international channels before ultimately finding their way into the breakfast bowls of unsuspecting children.The alleged effects were equally disturbing.According to unverified reports, exposure to the substance produced a state of extreme suggestibility, suppressing independent thought, reducing resistance, and making children substantially easier to control.In the most serious allegations, children were allegedly transported to undisclosed locations where they were forced to perform labor under conditions designed to prevent escape or organized resistance.There have even been claims from alleged escapees that Crunchberry-derived substances were used to suppress complaints and rebellious behavior within facilities connected to the broader General Mills empire.I recognize how extraordinary these allegations may sound.That does not make them unworthy of investigation.For decades, these stories have circulated in back alley establishments, obscure publications, institutional waiting rooms, and among individuals whose credibility has unfortunately been dismissed before their allegations could be properly examined.And yet, in more than half a century, nobody appears to have conducted a serious, independent investigation.Why?Fear?Intimidation?Corporate influence?Or simply the assumption that nobody would believe them?I am not suggesting that every allegation is true.I am suggesting that we do not know that they are false.That distinction is critical.There are simply too many unanswered questions.Therefore, I respectfully request that the Office of the Mayor authorize the creation and funding of a specialized Cereal Crimes Investigation Unit within the New York City Police Department.This unit would be tasked with reviewing historical cereal-related incidents, identifying potential connections between manufacturers and distributors, reopening suspicious cold cases, interviewing surviving witnesses, examining unexplained disappearances, and determining whether organized cereal-related criminal activity has occurred within New York City or beyond.The NYPD has specialized units for many forms of criminal activity.Why not cereal?If there is even a possibility that children have been manipulated, exploited, or otherwise victimized through breakfast foods, then we have a responsibility to investigate.Mayor Mamdani, I understand that establishing an entirely new police unit may seem excessive.But consider the alternative.We continue doing nothing.We continue eating the cereal.We continue believing the mascots are harmless.We continue allowing colorful cartoon characters to operate without meaningful oversight.And we continue pretending that a six-foot-tall sea captain who travels with a dog and a crew of unsupervised children to an island full of narcotic berries is somehow normal.I can no longer accept that.The time has come to follow the evidence. No matter where it leads!Even if it leads to the breakfast aisle.Respectfully,Justin GeoffreyConcerned Citizen
Potential Witness
Unwilling Participant in the Breakfast Conspiracy

After The Rhyme
Written By Justin GeoffreyHey, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.That’s all good and well.But what happened… after the rhyme?Let’s find out.Bam.Crash.Thump.Then silence.A chipped dish and a bent spoon lie awake on a cheap motel box spring, their eyes tracking the slow rotation of dusty ceiling fan blades.“It’s every night, Harold! Why can’t he just slap her around during the day instead of at four in the morning?”“That son of a bitch is constantly beating those poor girls.” Harold’s voice cracks. “I… I just hate it. We need to get out of here, Loraine.”Harold gets out of bed and tiptoes toward the adjoining wall. He raises a trembling hand and lightly taps.“Um, sir… could you please keep it down in there? My wife and I would like to get some sleep tonight. Please?”Smash.The blunt head of a metal hammer tears through the sheetrock, missing Harold’s face by inches.A muffled voice comes through the paper-thin wall.“Mind your business, you cutlery-ass bitch!”Harold backs away and quietly lies down beside Loraine.She’s still chattering.“I can’t live like this! You said things would be different! I… I left Paul for you. He was an accountant!”Harold gathered what little courage he had left.“I’ll be back.”As soon as he opens the door, he comes face-to-face with the butter knife from next door.Dressed in an oversized, brightly colored purple velvet suit with wide lapels, the butter knife stares down at the spoon.“Yeah!?”Any courage Harold thought he had drains from his body. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and heads for the staircase.The butter knife flicks his lit cigarette butt at Harold.“Thought so, bitch.”Two rust-covered forks lean against the motel’s stucco wall. One holds out a hand.“Got any change?”“Not today, Franky. Not today.”Harold knocks on a sun-bleached door. MANAGER is painted across it in crooked black lettering.As he knocks, the M dangles from its nail and falls to the floor.The door blasts open.“What! What is it this time, Peterman?”An angry looking cat stands in the doorway, a fiddle clutched in his paws.“Um… I’m sorry, but the man in Room 204 is constantly screaming and fighting, and, well… my wife and I just don’t feel safe.”The cat tosses the violin back into the room behind him, plants both paws on his hips, and adjusts his fat belly.“Room 204? You’re worried about Room 204!? He pays his rent on time! Unlike your sorry ass!”Harold lowers his head.“How about this? Have the back rent by tomorrow, or you and that pretty little dish of yours are out on your shiny asses by dinner!”“No! Please, don’t do that, Mr. Fiddlesticks. I’ll get you the money.”Fiddlesticks’ eyes widen. His eyebrows rise.A small smile creeps across his alley cat face.“Maybe me and the missus can… work off the rent in other ways?”Inside the room, Loraine pleads with Harold.“We can get the money another way… Please!”They embrace.“There’s no other way! We haven’t even eaten in days! And if I don’t… that’s it. We’re out. Homeless. Again!”Loraine collapses across the bed, sobbing uncontrollably as Harold leaves the room.The employee behind the counter at CVS never saw it coming.Harold’s crowbar smashes the pimple faced teacup into pieces.The masked spoon turns toward the red-vested, wide-eyed mouse and tosses a bag onto the counter.“Put it all in there!”Then, softer:“Please.”The mouse stares at him before hurriedly stuffing the money inside.“Really? That was actually pretty easy!”Harold grabs the bag and runs.He doesn’t notice the coffee mug wearing a sheriff’s badge and duty belt walking through the entrance.Bam.Harold collides with the old-timer and bounces off him.The mouse points toward the stunned spoon.“He’s robbing the store!”Harold throws his hands into the air.“No! Wait! Please! You don’t understand!”A nightstick comes crashing down.The courtroom is packed when the dozen-egg jury returns with its verdict.“Guilty. On all counts.”Loraine presses a napkin to her eyes as she breaks down listening to the proceedings.At the end of it all, Harold is dragged away in restraints, kicking and screaming.Time passes.Lots of it.Loraine survives the only way she knows how.She eventually loses the room, the money, and whatever dignity she had left.Now she stands outside the motel, tears falling onto her crudely packed luggage.“Hey, good lookin’. Why all the tears?”Loraine looks up.The butter knife.“I have nowhere to go.”He smiles.The sunlight glints off a gold tooth.“Gotcha.”It’s several years before Harold makes parole, but eventually, he does.“Thanks again, guys. I’m gonna miss all of you. Especially you three!”The gate guards, three little pigs in police uniforms, snort and turn their backs as they walk away.Harold steps out of the Uber and tips the sunflower driving.He draws a deep breath as polluted smog fills his lungs.He looks up.The Diddle Diddle Motel.Home.On the corner, he spots a plate wearing fishnets, its porcelain face covered in large cracks and chipped edges. The caked on makeup makes any identification almost impossible.He approaches her and holds up a photograph.“Hello, miss. Sorry to bother you, but have you seen this woman?”The dish begins to cry.She covers her face and runs away.Harold looks toward the second floor catwalk.The butter knife is standing there.“Too late, Jack! That bitch been gone a long time!”“Any idea where she went?”The butter knife scratches his chin.“Hmm… let me think about it…”He pauses.“Nope.”Harold stares at him.“But since you’re an old friend, I can set you up with something even better. Room 208. I got some fresh merchandise just came in. Children’s tumblers. Still in the packaging.”“No.”Harold’s voice cracks.“I just want Loraine. She’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”Tears puddle on the blacktop.The door to his old room is hanging from one broken hinge when Harold steps inside.Heaps of garbage and drug paraphernalia are scattered across what was once his bedroom and living room.Among the malodorous trash, an old photograph is pinned to the wall.Him and Loraine.Hand in hand.Harold stares at it.For a moment, he can feel that old happiness through the photograph.Then he realizes something.That moment is gone.So is everything else.The reason he came back is gone, too.The supersonic burst happens at approximately 1:34 p.m.POP!The butter knife is sitting in a lawn chair surrounded by two of his employees.The crack momentarily disturbs him.He looks toward the motel.Then back at his nails.“Eh.”He rolls his eyes.“There goes another one.”He settles deeper into the chair.“Remember this, ladies… life ain’t no fairy tale.”He smiles.And somewhere in the distance, a little dog laughs.Because the rhyme was never about happily ever after.It was just the part they left out.