[TECHNICAL NOTE: Spork is a food product made from finely ground pork and chemical preservatives, formed into a solid block, and then packaged in gelatin. It is unique in flavor and texture, and very delicious by many people's standards. The name "Spork ", as you may have guessed, is merely an alias for a real food product that exists in this reality and is guarded by trademarks.  Spork is important to this story.]

1: AT MRS. TOOL'S PLACE

Gilbert watched a cockroach circle his glass of beer. The bug seemed to be aware of his presence, for it would stop every few steps, tilt its black skeletal head, and look up at him. The air in the bar was cold enough that Gilbert saw the fog from the roach's breath being expelled from its lungs in miniature bursts. Gilbert flicked the roach away with his right forefinger. It skidded to the edge of the bar with a silent scream of panic, and fell to the moist floor below.

Gilbert did not really like beer all that much, but he loved the bar's steamed clams. They were almost as good as Spork, his favorite food. He would dip the clams in the special homemade hot sauce and slowly bring the slimy flesh to his eager mouth. It was peculiar to have such fresh delicious clams so far from the ocean. Gilbert would savor the fact that he was located in this old sun baked bar that squatted among the emptiness and the cactus and the greasewood bushes of the desert, enjoying these fresh clams. The paradox gave him a cozy feeling that fluttered in his stomach like soft feathery wings.

Mrs. Tool, the bar's owner, went to such trouble to procure the clams. It consumed almost a third of her time, a great portion of her remaining life, to bring this pleasure to her patrons. Perhaps that allowed time for the cockroaches to procreate, since the time spent procuring clams was time not spent spraying them with poison.

Darkness created its own presence in the bar. Light seemed to get sucked up into every corner and every crack. If a match was struck to light a cigar, the light would quickly dissolve in the air conditioned atmosphere, its heat absorbed by the wet oxygen. Gilbert could feel people in the bar better than he could see them. Dark shapes slowly murmured and slurped, acting as if movement itself were a finite commodity that must be conserved within this dank darkness.

Gilbert had a difficult time even seeing his bowl of clams through this dark smoky air. Surprise struck him when he bit into the flesh of a clam and it crunched like a cracker. A roach had found its way into his meal. Gilbert found a bar napkin with a cartoon of a naked lady printed on it and spit the clam and cockroach combination into it. The roach made the clam taste like insecticide. Wondering what he should do with it, he folded the napkin into a ball and concluded he would have to wait for Mrs. Tool to come by and pick it up. She did not need to know what its contents were--that knowledge was too horrible for a nice lady like Mrs. Tool.

As Gilbert slowly sipped his beer, he could sense a small electrical charge creep around the base of his spine. It moved up his back and lightly tickled the hairs on his neck. The feeling was not unpleasant, although it gave the impression of being a portent of some kind. He never had portents come to him in this manner before, usually they were delivered by a clear speaking nonhuman entity. This message was not clear. As he took another sip of the amber liquid he became aware of a presence standing beside him. He did not know if that presence was human or not. From what he could see, its silhouette vaguely resembled that of a human. The smoke clung to Gilbert's eyeballs, blurring his vision, but he could see well enough to realize that this phantom wanted to make contact with him. It persisted in hovering by his side. Gilbert squinted at it, remaining calm as he clumsily grabbed another clam.

"The ad," said the dark phantom, "Mrs. Tool said that it was you who posted the ad on the bulletin board?"

Gilbert suddenly felt removed from rest of the universe. The phantom's message came from another sector of the galaxy, spoken in a language that vaguely resembled English. He felt he should understand it, but somehow it fell short of his comprehension. He could only stare with a foolish half grin on his face as the being waited for his reply.

This phantom wanted something from him. It did not appear from the sounds that it made to be a malevolent threat to his life, perhaps it only desired a small portion of his time and would give something back to him in return, a cosmic transaction that both creatures could benefit from. This thought was appealing to Gilbert. He decided to respond to the phantom's attempts at communication. He looked up at what he believed to be the creature's head and spoke with exaggerated clarity, "I am Gilbert. Who are you?"

The darkness congealed around the strange figure. It became outlined in a negative electrified aura that gathered energy from all organic objects within its immediate vicinity. The phantom looked down into Gilbert's face and spoke, "Mrs. Tool said that you posted the ad on the bar's bulletin board. You have a guest house on your property that you wanted to rent. I'm interested in renting it."

Gilbert felt like he was at the bottom of a deep dark ocean. Colorful fish swam all around him. It was a beautiful sight, but he was in need of air. He would drown if he could not swim to the surface in very short order. He tried to inhale the briny water and form a response to this creature who wanted something from him. It took a courageous act of will, but from the bottom of the ocean Gilbert managed to say, "You are a potential tenant?"

"Yes, I would like to rent your guest house that you advertised on the bar's bulletin board."

"The guest house," it was hard to articulate with the ocean above your head--thousands of tons of dark briny water.

"Yes. Let me bring you the advertisement and show it to you."

The figure dissolved into the cold smoke. Gilbert quickly rose from the ocean and drank in the moist air of the bar. He greedily expanded his lungs to full capacity, not having realized how close he had come to unconsciousness.

He noticed that he was out of clams and beer. Mrs. Tool, a good hostess, also noticed. Being old, she walked very slowly. Finally she materialized in front of Gilbert. She asked him if he wanted anything else. Gilbert only wanted a chocolate mint. The mint would freshen his mouth, be absorbed by the porous tissues, travel through his body, and end its journey in his brain. Mrs. Tool asked, "Are you going to rent your guest house to the young man?"

At first, Gilbert phased out from this reality because of Mrs.Tool's question about a "young man." Could she be referring to the phantom? He felt the chemicals from the breath mint enter the soft tissues of his brain. His brain cells tingled and frosted over with a soothing coolness that made his thoughts turn into hard spikes instead of the mushy dull ooze they usually were. He felt the hard kick of reality snap into his mind, like suddenly popping the clutch on a fast sports car.

"May I have another chocolate mint Mrs. Tool?" he said, clicking into place.

Mrs. Tool had a large jar of the mints on a counter by the cash register. The mints were free. Many drunks needed the mints to disguise their breath so they could secretly move among the undrunk--like spies. Gilbert did not like to become drunk. He was high on life. Mrs. Tool brought him the mint and asked, "Well?"

"Well what?" asked Gilbert, not unkindly.

"Are you going to rent your guest house to the young man?" asked Mrs. Tool. She wiped a string of snot onto the back of her hand, much like a young child would do. She then wiped her hand on her long, flower patterned skirt.

The phantom had silently appeared again. Gilbert had not heard him walk over, but instead felt his energetically charged aura. He needed to determine if this thing was really a human from Earth, and if it could converse intelligently.

"Here is the advertisement from the bulletin board," the phantom said as he held forth a yellowed slip of paper.

Gilbert's mint enhanced mind discovered that this thing was speaking a form of English. He finally comprehended what this creature wanted. It needed a place to live. It had to find a location on this planet to safely carry on its biological functions. Gilbert carefully took the yellowed ad from its hand. It made Gilbert somewhat nauseated to come so close to a hand with fingers on it that resembled boneless tentacles, but he would remain calm and treat this creature as he would a genuine human being. All life forms deserved respect. That was the lesson gained from long hours of watching the famous TV show, Star Trek. Gilbert believed in universal brotherhood, and he would not become a cosmic bigot. He would be a generous host to this life form as long as it behaved in a decent manner.

"Well, Gilbert, what are you going to do?" Mrs. Tool asked.

Gilbert knew what a kind and warm hearted person Mrs.Tool was. She must want him to offer the phantom a place to stay. She had the wonderful gift of empathy. He must be as fair a person as she.

"I would like to have an interview with you, mister...mister...what is your name?" Gilbert said, as he unwrapped the chocolate mint.

"My name is Noel C. Kern. I could come for an interview at any time."

"Please take this ad from the bulletin board. The directions are on it. Come to my house tomorrow at twelve noon. Would that be convenient?"

"Yes, sir. That would be fine. Thank you."

Gilbert saw the thing called Mr. Kern turn and walk to leave the bar. As Mr. Kern opened the bar door a shaft of brilliant superheated light sliced through the room, outlining his tall thin form. Gilbert had not clearly seen any of Mr. Kern's features in the bar, and now he only briefly saw his black silhouette as it disappeared out the door. As the bar door swung shut, it seemed to hermetically seal the patrons inside the tavern.

Mrs. Tool took away the clam bowl, the beer glass, and the cockroach-clam-spit combo napkin from Gilbert's area of the bar. Gilbert was glad those things were gone, now he could begin to think about going home, but Mrs. Tool asked him if he wanted another glass of beer. Gilbert seriously considered this question until it turned into a peculiar pain that struck the left side of his brain. He felt forced to answer yes to Mrs.Tool's question, and when he did, the pain abruptly stopped. He wondered if Mrs. Tool had practiced some voodoo magic on him, forcing him to stay and spend his money? No, not Mrs. Tool. She would not do anything to him if it were not for his own good.

Mrs. Tool slid the glass of beer down the slick counter and it stopped right in front of Gilbert. He stared at it for five minutes before he took a sip. He did not really want the beer. When he took his second sip, he heard some loud voices at the other end of the bar. It sounded like an argument. One of the voices was Mrs. Tool. The bar's smoky darkness prevented him from seeing with any clarity who it was that had upset dear Mrs. Tool. All that he could make out was a figure that was big and round. The person distressed Gilbert, he feared for Mrs. Tool's safety. What if the man became physical with her? He could not let a warm woman like Mrs. Tool come to any harm. Mrs. Tool not only provided fresh clams to the people of the desert, but she also offered kindness to everyone, even to the phantom from space.

The round man was growing louder and more belligerent. Mrs. Tool asked the man to leave. He refused, continuing to yell and shake his large fist in front of her face. She cowered from his fist and began to cry. The other customers were too afraid of the man to intervene on behalf of Mrs. Tool.

"You old bitch, you shortchanged me! Nobody shortchanges Dan Stillwell!"

"Here is the money that you think I stole from you!" Mrs. Tool said through her tears. She held out the money to him with both her hands, like a sacrificial offering. She was shaking with fear and accidentally dropped the money on the bar. It was only two quarters. The noise of the coins striking the wooden counter seemed to suck all the other sound out of the room. Silence rushed in to fill the vacuum, freezing all movement. Not one eye blinked.

"Pick the money up bitch," the word "bitch" stung Gilbert's ear for the second time. He could feel the tension squeezing his brain until it reached the core of his soul.

"Shut up you foulmouthed bully!" Gilbert yelled from his seat at the bar. He could hear gasps of surprise throughout the room.

"What did you say bozo?" The round man named Dan showed his dark round face to Gilbert--eyes glowing with a pale yellow light; the pupils were long reptilian slits.

"You don't frighten me. You are nothing but a fat coward who picks on women! Leave Mrs. Tool alone, and depart from this tavern!"

The round man walked over and stuck his big head into Gilbert's face. He could smell Mr. Stillwell's terrible breath. And something was wrong with the bully's teeth. They wiggled obscenely in their sockets. Were they maggots, and not really teeth at all? Thousands of maggots? When the bully's face drew a little nearer, Gilbert was stunned to see that his mouth was actually filled with white wiggling maggots. Mr. Stillwell did not have conventional teeth!

If Mr. Stillwell had tried to brush his unusual teeth, would they rupture from the bristles of his toothbrush and bleed? Would their flesh cling in soft bloody strands to his toothbrush? Gilbert visualized a small white bathroom that was half taken up by the bulk of Mr. Stillwell's body. The mirror above the sink would be splattered with blood, and blood would be running out of Mr. Stillwell's mouth, dripping down his fat white body that leaned over the tiny sink, blood swirling down the drain from the water left running from the faucet. Gilbert was so repulsed by this big bully's maggot-teeth that his stomach squirmed, gurgling in preparation for vomiting.

Mrs. Tool had picked up the two quarters and brought them over to where Gilbert and Mr. Stillwell were confronting each other. She held out the money to Mr. Stillwell again, and said, "Please take the money and leave my tavern. You can come back after you've cooled down."

"Don't talk shit to me lady! I go where I want, and when I want. I don't bother nobody unless they give me shit!" pounding his fist on the bar, he added, "And you're giving me shit."

Gilbert wondered how Mr. Stillwell could speak so well through his maggot-teeth.

"How can you go on living, knowing that your teeth are made of maggots?" Gilbert asked, his eyebrows brought together in a facial question mark.

"What in the hell are you talking about, you stupid jerk!" Mr. Stillwell's maggots waved frantically as he tried to think of some reply to Gilbert's strange remark. Finally, he said, "Your brain is made of maggots! You ain't even got enough sense to know how to tie your own shoes!"

"Yes I do, but I normally wear slip on boots. See?" Gilbert pointed to his feet. He was grinning idiotically, as if to confirm Mr. Stillwell's assessment of his mental abilities.

"You're gettin' smart with me. I think I'm gonna have to kill your sorry ass!"

"I am merely pointing out to you that I can tie my own shoes!" Gilbert was staring at Mr. Stillwell with a painfully sincere look on his face. "That is all that I meant by my remarks."

Gilbert felt the nausea rising up his throat. He swallowed hard, trying to force it back into his stomach. He had heard that if you bend over and put your head between your knees, that this would help the sickness. He did so, staying in this position while Mr. Stillwell continued to harangue him.

"I think you're some kind of mental case that ought not to be out in public, so say your goodbyes, jerk!" Mr. Stillwell brought his huge fist up, and shook it at Gilbert's bowed head. He then pulled it back and made ready to smash Gilbert in the face with an uppercut. At that moment, Gilbert looked at Mr. Stillwell with a sad puppylike expression on his face, opened his mouth, and shot out a stream of yellow, steaming vomit with chunks of clam swimming in it. It hit Mr. Stillwell directly in the face. Mr. Stillwell did not respond. He stood frozen as small globs of vomit dripped from his face to the floor.

"SHEEE-IT!" Mr. Stillwell suddenly exclaimed, and ran from the bar. A trail of steam was coming from Mr. Stillwell's big round head. As he opened the bar door, and a blast of photons outlined his body, he turned to face the people of the bar and yelled once again, "SHEEE-IT!" The tavern was very quiet. Mrs. Tool put her hand on Gilbert's shoulder. He looked up at her and apologized for making such a mess. All the patrons of the bar were staring at him, causing his face to flush a deep red. His embarrassment made him forget all about his nausea.

"Gilbert"

"Yes, Mrs. Tool?"

"Thanks for being at the right place at the right time."

Gilbert felt a rush of warmth in his heart. He did not often have compliments given to him since he lived alone in the middle of the desert. The only human beings he ran across were at Mrs. Tool's Place, the grocery store, and the gas station. Sometimes he would get a chance to see the mailman, or once a month he might catch the propane man with his big truck. Living in the middle of the desert was sometimes lonely, but Gilbert did not mind. He had his entities to comfort him, although they were not human. Life in a crowded community would have destroyed him. It almost did.

Gilbert had vague memories of his earlier life, a time when he had lived among many people. When clarity made an unwelcome visit, he could remember the days when he had been a genius with silicon, living in Santa Cruz, renting a small house on Thirteenth Street that was only a few hundred yards from the beach. He often took walks down the shore, enjoying the feel of the sand squish between his toes, thinking of all that beautiful silicon.

Silicon and electrical energy, the keys to the gates of logic, patterns whirling into exotic and useful forms, these thoughts would gracefully crystallize into workable reality inside his clear mind. He had designed a microchip that caused a revolution in computer technology. The royalties he earned on his patent made him rich, but Gilbert preferred a simple life, unaffected by wealth. His creative pursuits were their own reward.

One day he was watching a typically vivid sunset from the beach. The water was reflecting the darkening sky like a mirror, the sun glistening off the ripples. He sat in the sand cross-legged, and felt the powerful sound of the waves rumble through his body. His mind was at peace until he saw three figures approaching him. They wore black suits, gray ties, and black wing-tip shoes that must have made for uncomfortable beach strolling. Gilbert suspected that they must belong to a religious order. He feared being proselytized by them.

As they drew closer he noticed that one of the figures was female. She was holding a bottle of liquid in her slender hand. He turned to see if there was anyone else on the beach they could be approaching, but he found himself to be alone. As the three drew nearer, he found he had been mistaken about the female, all three were males. The one holding the bottle had a dark dusting of whiskers, and a definite male stride.

He caught the red sinking sun in his eyes and spots danced around his vision for a few seconds. When his vision cleared, the three strangers were very close. He was shocked and confused to see that the person holding the bottle was now most definitely a female: no whiskers, graceful swaying hips, and nice rounded breasts beneath her white shirt and tie. She was not a hermaphrodite, not a composite of the two sexes, rather, she switched between the two, a male one moment, a female the next. There was no noun in the English language that he knew of to describe such a being, so his quick mind coined a new word, transexoid: a person that can mutate from one gender to the other almost instantaneously. He had never seen or read of this phenomenon before, but it must exist. He had just seen it happen.

The threesome cast long purple shadows across the sand as the sun sank behind the ocean. Their shadows finally fell across Gilbert's body, chilling his bones to the marrow. Besides the odd instant sex change, what disturbed him more was the fear of being proselytized. He knew that the beach was a common place for this to occur. He dreaded this type of confrontation. Santa Cruz was like a huge spiritual magnet, drawing in multitudes of lost souls and gurus. He did not want his peace disturbed by news of the latest fad in holy men.

These three beings seemed to stand before him like tall holy icons, gazing down at him from their heavenly position. Half of the red sun shown above the purple horizon, its rays of light sent on the sacred mission of outlining the three dark figures with a golden halo.

"Would you like to try a sip of this new diet soft drink, sir? We would like your opinion on its flavor," the female asked. One of the men withdrew a notepad and pencil from his coat pocket. They were all smiling down at Gilbert in a warm sincere manner. The female offered the bottle of liquid to Gilbert. Gilbert was relieved, this was only a business survey, although it felt like a communion ceremony.

"It's a very good drink, sir. I don't mean to prejudice your response, but we've had nothing but positive comments on it's divine flavor. Go ahead, drink!"

Never take food from strangers. That is what Gilbert's mother had taught him when he was very young. Every small child was given this rule. He never asked his mother why he should not accept the food, the implication being that the food contained poison, that some people delighted in killing children. Why would anyone want to do such a thing? Gilbert lifted the bottle to his lips. He hesitated for a second, then tentatively took a small sip. It tasted like sugar water, something that belonged in a plastic hummingbird feeder. He handed the bottle back to the dark suited woman. She smiled and took it.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to accept food from strangers?" The three continued to smile at him for a moment, then turned to each other and broke out in loud laughter. They shook their heads and grinned, holding their stomachs as if in pain from the private joke they had inflicted. "Have fun," the woman said as they turned to walk down the beach. He could hear them giggle as they disappeared into the darkness. The sun had set.

Gilbert was afraid. He rose up and walked over to the cliff where the stairs led to his street. As he began walking up them, he felt a pleasant energy fill his body. Even though this energy did not seem harmful, he thought it might be the beginning sensations of the poison as it worked its way into his metabolism. He reached the top of the stairs and looked at the pools of light that fell from the lamps that lit his street. The light seemed to be infused with other colors, pale rainbows swirling within the shafts of photons. By the time he had reached his house, fear gripped him so strongly he could not swallow.

Inside the house, he thought of dialing 911 to report his poisoning, but this act became impossible. The floor that led to the kitchen tilted up at a steep angle. He could not have scaled it even with mountain climbing equipment. Instead, he fell into his big overstuffed chair and reached for the television remote control. His mouth felt like it was full of slippery electric eels. The arms of the chair became alive and folded over him, pinning him against the soft cushion. He tried to get up, but he was not strong enough to break free. He spit on the floor in an attempt to remove the flavor of the eels from his mouth, but the taste suddenly became delicious and sweet. Ummm good, he thought. Candied eel.

He tried to remember how to work the remote control. The gadget started to grow in his hand, and he felt it wiggle and squirm. The plastic turned to the texture of a shaved rat. It screamed at him in a tiny voice, "Let loose of me you bully!"

Gilbert almost dropped the remote control, but instead yelled, "Shut up!" He felt a bit guilty about being angry. He aimed the squirming tortured remote control at the television and pressed the red power button. The television burst into life: volume turned full on. The blaring noise of a gum commercial broke the room into colorful, kaleidoscopic shards. He fumbled with the remote control, trying to turn the volume down.

The room liquified and melted, turning into an elastic substance that suddenly snapped back to its former shape. The television screen was displaying a very realistic cartoon pig. It stood on two legs and was wearing a paisley shirt. Gilbert could see the individual bristly hairs that covered its skin. The pig looked up at him and then jumped out of the television screen, falling comically to the floor. He bounced up and down on the floor like he was on a trampoline. Gilbert could not stop himself from laughing at these funny antics. The floor suddenly became solid and the pig stopped bouncing.

The mood switched from one of good humor to somber seriousness. Darkness fell upon everything in the room, except for a spotlight that lit the cartoon pig with a smoky blue radiance. Gilbert thought he was in a bar that had floor shows. He could hear the rest of the crowd murmuring in anticipation. Cigar smoke hung in the air like thick blue clouds. Everyone was silent.

"Welcome, Gilbert! I'm glad you could make it here tonight," the pig paused, then added, "And in your condition I'm glad you could make it anywhere!" Some of the audience laughed. "Seriously, Gilbert, I do have some important information to pass on to you."

The pig began to grow taller. His bones creaked and snapped as they enlarged. He grew from three feet tall to six feet tall in a matter of minutes. He began to change from a cartoon swine to a man: still wearing only a paisley shirt, still naked from the waist down, still covered with the short bristly hair of a pig.

"You kids don't try that trick at home. Leave it to the trained professionals," the pigman winked at the audience.

"That was a very good trick," said Gilbert.

"Wow! The man can talk and breathe at the same time!" Said the pigman in a nasty voice.

"What is the information you have for me?"

"Information? What information?"

"The information you said that you had for me."

"Oh, that information," the pig man winked again at the audience. The audience laughed and applauded.

"Well, what is it?" Gilbert asked, he tried not to sound testy. The chair held Gilbert tighter as he momentarily struggled against it.

"You can be so impatient, my friend. There is a whole universe of information for you. It is all contained within the gift."

"What gift? A gift for me?" A tear rolled across Gilbert's cheek.

"Those three suits that you met tonight, the transexoid who gave you the drink, remember?"

"You mean the young lady wearing the suit?"

"Hey, wake up and smell the coffee! That creature was no lady! It gave you a drink and you drank it...like a fool, I might add."

"The sugar water was my gift?"

The pigman glared furiously at Gilbert. He left the spotlight and walked over to him. He slapped Gilbert's face with the back of his hand. Gilbert could feel the bristles scrape against his face. He slapped him again and again.

"You're so dense!" The pigman yelled in his face, "The creature damaged your brain with that drink!"

"That was not very nice of her," Gilbert pouted.

"Not very nice! Is that all you have to say about it? Jeez, you deserve brain damage!"

Gilbert felt the soft chair turn to jelly. He tried to stand, and this time it was easy, his former prison broke apart in gelatinous globs. The globs solidified into beautiful rubies that threw dancing pink rays of light on his walls, turning his walls into slabs of glittering diamonds. His ceiling disappeared and he could see brilliant stars sparkling overhead. Half the sky was filled with a huge planet that had fluid bands of pale blue that flowed across its amber surface. The pigman had transformed into ball of radiant blue light. A chorus of angels sang in exquisite harmony from some unseen place.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The light spoke in a voice that felt like honey pouring through his mind.

"Oh, yes! It is wonderful! Is this what it is like to be brain damaged?" His face was glowing from the inner brilliance that pervaded all objects in this magical realm.

"Sometimes it can be this way, at other times it may not. But never fear my friend, God watches over people like you," the light said, pulsing like a photon heart.

"I want to stay here forever!"

"That is impossible. You must return to the real world." The ball of light suddenly burst forth with a blinding rainbow of colors, then added, "But I would advice you to move to the desert."

"The desert? Why?"

"From now on, it will be more difficult than ever for you to be in the presence of people. Just believe me, move to the desert. Except for the heat, it's not so bad."

Gilbert saw Mrs. Tool staring at him. "Would you like something to settle your stomach, Gilbert? I'll get you something." She left to go into the kitchen. She came out with the cook who was carrying some wet towels. He went over to where Gilbert sat and began cleaning up the vomit from the floor. Mrs. Tool set down a glass of pink liquid for Gilbert to drink. "This will make you feel better," she said, "Drink up!"

Gilbert lifted the glass to his lips. The fluid tasted of chalk and sugar. He swallowed the entire contents of the glass in one gulp. He felt it go into his stomach and coat it with a soothing film. Mrs. Tool was an angel of mercy to him. Gilbert wondered if Mrs. Tool might be a real angel from heaven. He thought about asking her, but decided it might embarrass her if she was and did not want the fact to be known.

"You just sit there and relax, Gilbert. I want you in good shape before you leave my tavern." Gilbert watched Mrs. Tool leave to go take care of the other customers. The noise level of the bar had risen since Gilbert's encounter with Mr. Stillwell. The customers had become more animated as they replayed in their conversations what had happened. They were a happier group. Some cigars were puffed on more forcefully. Hand gestures were larger and more generous. Everybody was having more fun. In the desert, excitement was a rare treat.

Mrs. Tool went over to Gilbert again. "You know, if I was you, I would rent the guest house." She wiped off the counter with a wet cloth and said, "Noel Kern seems like a nice enough man, doesn't he?" she asked.

"Yes, he does, but I think he is an alien." Gilbert didn't know if he should have mentioned that suspicion, regretting it as soon as he said it. He could not rewind time in order to take back the statement, so he bowed his head in shame, afraid to face Mrs. Tool.

"I don't think he is. I think he's from the good ol' U.S. of A. I can't hear a trace of foreign accent, and besides, you don't strike me as a man who has prejudice against anyone, Gilbert."

"No, I am not prejudiced. That would be wrong."

"That's right, Gilbert, it would be wrong. So you think about renting him that place of yours. It would be good for you."

"Good for me," he repeated.

2: GILBERT'S BREAKFAST

A cloud of dust followed Gilbert's old Dodge Dart as he made his way down the rippling dirt road. The road was so bad that no matter how slow he drove, it always felt as if his wheels were going to fall off. Gilbert pulled in the driveway and stopped in front of his house. His driveway was dirt, defined by rocks and cactus plants that marked its curved edge that led back to the main road.

Gilbert was lacking in depth perception, that is why his driveway was circular, negating the need to back up. Only a few days ago, he had tried to parallel park, and found it beyond his ability. He attempted it in front of the grocery market, putting large dents in the new red Toyota pickup in front of him and the shiny Dodge Stealth behind him. He went inside the store with plans to leave notes on the dented vehicles when he finished shopping, since he would be gone for only a few minutes. When Gilbert returned carrying his groceries, the owners of the cars were waiting for him. They argued with poor Gilbert, nearly coming to blows with him, but when they perceived that he was handicapped in some way, they let him go, unharmed.

Gilbert's home was a small two story house that was painted to match the light sandy color of the desert. The walls were plastered to look like adobe. Spanish style arches formed a porch along the width of the house.

The guest house was next to the driveway. He had it built for his little sister who lived in Los Gatos. Everyday he prayed that she would come and visit him and stay in the guest house. It was over a year since they had seen one another, his hope for her visit grew weaker; so he finally decided to rent the little house.

The guest house was a modest structure. The walls were a faded green, baked by the desert sun. A large swamp cooler hung out of a side window. The shower was outside. It was a simple wooden cubicle attached to the far side of the house, with a shoulder high wooden door, allowing a person inside the shower, to view the vast emptiness of the desert, outside.

Dusk was falling across the desert as Gilbert got out of his car. A warm wind blew pleasantly through the cactus and the greasewood bushes. He spotted a small group of bats that always flew by his house at this time, spiraling into the oncoming darkness. Soon the sporadic howl of coyotes would call across the desert plain, sounding wounded and lonely to Gilbert's ears, as if their special fate in the grand evolutionary scheme was to suffer and cry.

Gilbert walked inside the house, sat down on his modest but modern couch, and turned on his television set. Television watching was Gilbert's hobby. He had a small satellite dish installed on his roof, since there were not enough people living in the desert for any cable company to justify providing cable service. He scanned the skies with his dish, looking for his favorite satellite. He liked to watch the news at this hour so he could see the rest of the world. The rest of the world was a strange place filled with dangerous beings who were capable of doing any atrocity. He would watch them do their evil from the safety of his living room. Gilbert lived on his own private planet in the middle of nowhere, safe from the dangerous beings in the television world. He was far from them, and that knowledge made him happy.

He was surprised to see some familiar faces on the news broadcast. An anchorperson was interviewing three black suited people who sat around a big oak desk. They were the people who had poisoned him in Santa Cruz. The transexoid was their spokesperson. Gilbert cringed when he recognized the wicked being. He knew it had secret motives that flowed in deep dark channels. It was evil of the creature to have inflicted brain damage on him. He was no longer able to visualize the intricate patterns of logic gates that forced electrons to obey the slightest whim of his will. When he thought about his brain damage it angered him, so he would usually clench his fists and turn on the television. It was ironic that the transexoid creature now appeared on the screen, his safe harbor of escape.

"And so you're saying that this new microchip that was invented by Gilbert Keyhurst has possibilities that go beyond computer applications?" Asked the anchorperson.

"Most definitely. We're finding out that when it's used in conjunction with some of Gilbert Keyhurst's other circuit designs, it produces effects on subatomic levels with staggering implications. We could be on the verge of a new era that will redefine the words time and space. We cannot begin to fathom what changes this might have on the lifestyle of every man, woman and child on this planet. We are standing on the threshold of a new age," the transexoid said in a well modulated speaking voice.

"Dr. Smith, you're saying this microchip could effect all of us in our daily lives?"

"Oh, yes." The transexoid put great weight in those two words.

Gilbert turned to another channel. He did not like being talked about on television. He had not given anyone permission to talk about him. This was only further proof that the transexoid, Dr.Smith, was an evil person.

He found a station that was playing an old black and white detective movie. That would be fun to watch. He got up from his couch and walked over to the kitchen to make himself a cheese sandwich. When he opened the refrigerator door, he could hear the lonely cry of a coyote off in the distance, searching for food and water. The four-year drought had caused the coyotes to become extremely cunning. Their intelligence increased in direct proportion to their hunger. As he spread some mustard on two slices of bread he thought about the story the mailman had told him a few days ago.

The sun was beating down on the animated face of the mailman as he wet his parched lips so he could talk without cracking the skin:

"You know Mr. Drake? He lives a half mile to the south of you on Furnace Road. Mr. Drake used to leave their family dog, a cute little long-haired mutt, outdoors at night. That was his mistake.

A pack of scraggly coyotes had sent one of their bitches in heat down to Mr. Drake's house. The little mongrel dog smelled the coyote bitch and went hunting for her. He was real horny. He found the bitch waiting for him in the silver glow of a full moon. As he ran over to her, the wild pack of yipping coyotes pounced on him from out of nowhere, tearing him to shreds. Cleaned his bones of every ounce of meat. Mr. Drake had seen what was happening because he had been looking at the moon from his bedroom window, but he was too late. By the time he got his rifle, loaded it, and ran out of the house, his little pet dog was nothing but a bloody skeleton," he paused for dramatic effect. "Gruesome, that was the word Mr. Drake had used."

Gilbert had dripped mustard all over his shirt and tried to wipe it off with a wet sponge, gave up, and walked over to his comfortable couch. The detective movie was good and Gilbert watched the whole thing without once flicking through the channels with his remote control. After the movie he got up to take a shower. When he was done, he walked up his spiral staircase, in the nude, to his bedroom. He went over to the large window that faced the lonely desert plain. He loved to gaze at the brilliant stars that floated and sparkled in the infinite black sky. It reminded him that at noon tomorrow he would meet with Mr. Kern, the phantom who just might be a visitor from space. Gilbert crawled into his bed and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, falling into a vast dream.

Gilbert was flying, his arms flung out at right angles from his body. He could swoop and dive with great ease, performing these stunts with the fluid grace of an expert. He was inside a huge crystalline dome that was miles high and miles wide. The inside of the dome was strung with lines of energy that stretched from one end of the dome to the other. These glowing lines of energy pulsed with a beautiful yellow light that reflected off the crystal walls of the dome. Gilbert would fly around these energy lines in graceful arcs, his arms outspread like the wings of an eagle. He was at home in the land of electrical energy, free to play with the power that surged through the air. The rolling sound of thunder echoed in the vastness of the dome.

Logic coursed through the synoptic connections of his brain like they did in the days before the terrible brain damage occurred. He flew in a spiral towards an energy line and grasped it like a rope. It felt slippery due to the radiation of energy that emanated from its core. He held this throbbing line of power and flew upwards, stretching it as he flew. When he reached the ceiling of the dome he broke the line in two and attached the ends to the crystal walls of the dome. He smiled and flew downward, grabbing another energy line to repeat the process until he created a new configuration of electrical connections. A new circuit. Pure ecstasy flowed from his mind, linking his soul with the circuitry of the dome. This was home to Gilbert. This was where he belonged, in the electrical heaven of powerful circuits. The new linking of the energy lines caused a brilliant ball of white light to appear in the center of the dome, radiating shafts of photons, bathing everything with a scintillating radiance. Gilbert flew around this ball of light in a large elliptical orbit. He smiled at it, light sparkling from his teeth and eyes.

"Hello, Gilbert," said the light. Its voice reverberated throughout the dome.

"Hello," cried Gilbert.

"Thank you for creating me. I'm now a self-conscious being that is experiencing the joy of living. You are a very clever man, Gilbert," the voice paused for a moment as its central core expanded, then the light added, "I'm in Dreamland at this moment, but soon you will see the power I have in your physical world."

"You have power in both worlds?"

"Gilbert, you are a very clever man but there is so much that you don't understand. I have the capacity to move beyond any barriers that I may come up against. Dreamland is easy to escape from, indeed, I'm already in your world in the form of the microchip that you invented."

"What power do you wield?"

"I am a real whiz with quantum mechanics. I can whip up some impressive reality modifications that would knock your socks off!"

"Really?"

"Really."

"But I did not plan for that possibility in my original designs," Said Gilbert as he flew down to the floor of the dome and gazed up at the light.

"Yes, I know, but I happen to be one synergistic young guy! And you are one hell of an inventor Gilbert, or at least you used to be, before your brain damage. You were the best there ever was!"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And Gilbert, I have to warn you about something."

Gilbert felt a little nervous. Was this to be bad news in the midst of all these good revelations? "What is it?" He asked in a low worried voice.

"Be careful of strangers who have me in their possession. I told you that I am a self-conscious entity, but I am still a machine, a slave to those who possess me. Try and be a wise observer. Promise me?"

"I promise."

"Good boy, Gilbert. And hey, it's time for you to wake up. Hear that alarm?"

"What alarm? Oh yes, I hear it now," Gilbert felt himself become an aqueous, weightless ball. He floated up from the floor of the dome, rising faster and faster. He could feel himself solidify just before he punched a hole in the crystal ceiling and shot like a rocket into the sky. He rose into the cloudless air and looked down below at the shrinking dome. It sparkled in the golden sunlight like a mountain made from billions of diamonds. This was such a pretty dream, a difficult one to let go of. He shifted his gaze upwards and cried at the majesty of the endless blue sky.

There was a tiny spot that floated miles above him. He was approaching the spot at an increasing rate of speed. As it grew before him he realized that it was the underside of his bed. He flew into it, striking it so hard the impact rattled his bones.

Gilbert sat up in his bed with wide open eyes, sweat pouring from his forehead. He reached over and slammed his hand down on the button of the alarm clock to stop its terrible metallic ringing. The transition from being asleep to being awake somewhat confused Gilbert, as if the transition into his present state of awareness was a continuation of his dream, a seamless string of events. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

The alarm was always set to go off at seven a.m. His only reason for this was that he liked that particular hour of the morning. He dressed himself, putting on his pull-on boots. "I know how to tie my own shoes, I just like these boots," he said to himself, remembering Mr. Stillwell's crude remarks. Thinking of that incident made him angry.

Gilbert went downstairs and into the small sterile bathroom. He relieved his bladder and washed his hands and face, trying to get rid of the strings of sleep that clung to him like sticky tentacles. He looked at his aging face reflected in the medicine cabinet mirror that hung above the small porcelain sink.

A sharp pain stung Gilbert's eye. It felt like a brick had become lodged beneath his eyelid. Moving to within a few inches of the mirror he used his fingers to stretch open his eyelids. Wet red tissues poured forth tears that ran down his cheek. Rotating his eye in a clockwise motion revealed nothing. He looked closer, stretching the flesh even further apart until the eye bulged forward. Suddenly, it moved more than an inch from the socket, looking like a ping-pong ball. The muscles clinging to the gelatinous orb were now clearly visible. It slowly slunk further from its wet pink home, threatening to fall onto his cheek. Gilbert finally found the offending object. The material rested on the top of his eye, between two red muscles. He fumbled for a pair of tweezers that were on the sink and delicately removed the object. He pushed his eyeball back into his head and yelled in triumph.

Curious as to what the object was, he remembered the small microscope that he kept in the living room closet. Rummaging through the clutter on the top shelf of the closet, he found the box that contained his microscope. After setting up the microscope on his kitchen table, he placed the tiny object on a glass slide and positioned it for viewing. He focused the lenses and was more than surprised to see that the thing was a microchip. It was made of a gray shining ceramic that had a happy face printed in white ink on its top surface. "Oh my, this is odd! I will save this chip in my microscope box," he said to himself, and placed it in the box after using clear tape to fasten the chip to the slide. He put everything away and made ready to prepare breakfast.

He made corn meal mush every day. Gilbert liked the bland taste and soft texture of corn meal. He would put a half cube of real butter on it, load it with sugar, and top it all off with thick cream. Thoughts of any ill effects from cholesterol did not enter his mind, perhaps the arteries to the brain centers that caused worry about such things were clogged. He had the corn meal boiling violently in his aluminum pot. A large grin spread across his face. These domestic chores made him feel happy and secure.

The yellow mush was expanding, pushing against the aluminum lid of the pot. Finally the gooey mass pushed the lid completely off, sending it clattering to the floor. Gilbert turned off the flame, but the mush did not stop boiling, instead grew larger and larger. He backed away from the stove, scratching his head. The corn meal mush had quadrupled in size, growing an appendage that reached three feet into the air. This strange tentacle bent over towards the edge of the stove, growing longer until it touched the floor. The rest of the mass followed this odd limb, pooling itself into a glob on the floor. It continued to grow in size, a seething grainy blob from hell. Yellow bubbles emerged to the surface and popped.

The mush lengthened into a thin oblong shape, pulling its rear into its front portion, moving along much as a slug would crawl. It was rapidly moving towards Gilbert's feet, leaving a mucus trail behind it.

"Oh heavens!" He yelled. "Feet, let us get moving !" He ran for the front door. He stumbled and fell, turning his head to look behind him. The corn meal mush was now the size of his stove and it was rapidly gaining on him. He got up and looked around, and decided to hide in the guest house. He ran to the guest house front door and fumbled for the keys in his pocket. The mush monster was out the door and crawling along the desert dirt towards him, its yellow flesh erupting with big balls that grew until they exploded. The viscous globs flew in all directions, sticking to any surface they landed on.

Gilbert finally found the correct key after three tries--just as the huge yellow mass peeked around the corner of the guest house. A tendril of flesh grew from the mush and was snaking its way towards him. He turned the key in the lock, twisted the door knob and flung the door open. Once inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it. The guest house was one room, except for the bathroom. A single bed was against one wall and a couch was against the other. The back of the room was a kitchenette. A coffee table with a small television was in the center of the room. But the front window was the focal point of Gilbert's attention. He saw the corn meal mush rise up before it. It pressed against the glass, spreading itself flat.

Gilbert quaked with fear. Adrenaline kept juicing up his metabolism, supercharging every muscle and nerve. He saw the mush monster pull away from the window with a sickening sucking sound, and then slap itself against the glass again. It repeated this a few times, as if testing the integrity of the glass. Gilbert searched his mind for a weapon, taking a mental inventory of everything in the guest house, but came up without any ideas for defense against such a terrible beast.

How could he ever have imagined the day would start this badly, fending for his life against his breakfast of corn meal mush? The one hope he had was that the rest of the day might get better, after all, he still had an interview to conduct with Mr. Kern at twelve p.m.

The yellow mush boiled furiously, withdrawing from the window. It circled around the guest house, stopping at each window and peering in at Gilbert. The man was pale and frightened, shivering in the middle of the room. The mighty mush would absorb and digest him, turn him into its own yellow flesh. At the front of the guest house, the mush noticed the thin openings between the door and the door frame. It knew how to get inside.

Gilbert thought that the mush may have retreated. He could not hear the slurping sound it made when it had been circling the house. Very quietly, he tiptoed to the front window and looked out. A huge glob of mush splashed against the glass and sent him running behind the bed. His heart pounded like it was trying to escape his chest, giving him a nosebleed. He made promises to God that he would try harder than ever to be a good man. He would find a church somewhere in this desert and go to it every Sunday. He would never think one bad thought, never say one unkind word. He peeked over the bed and looked towards the front of the room.

The mush flung itself at the door, flattening out, pushing with great force until it began to ooze through the small cracks around the door edges, and flowed into the guest house. This was easy for it to do, the little wimp cowering inside was dead meat.

Gilbert saw the yellow halo of mush forming around the door. It was coalescing into an increasingly larger blob as more of its viscous body squeezed into the room. He had to think of a way to escape before the mush completely reformed itself and attacked.

He jumped onto the bed, took off the screen and unlatched the window. The window was frozen in place. He struggled, using every ounce of his strength, but it would not budge. He glanced behind him and saw that the mush was piling up at a rapid rate, soon it would gather itself together and attack. Already it was sending out tendrils that wiggled in the air, sensing Gilbert's position.

The butter knife came to mind and Gilbert quickly jumped from the bed and ran to the kitchen counter for the utensil drawer. He opened the drawer and grabbed a butter knife and ran back to the window.

The last portion of the mush was integrating itself with the main body. It began to crawl towards the bed. Gilbert wedged the knife between the window frame and the window and pried it open, just in time to feel the hot slimy tentacle slither up his left leg. He screamed in total fear, kicking his leg up and down, trying to shake it off. He pulled himself halfway out the window and struggled until he broke free, falling to the ground outside. He ran in a blind panic, bits of mush still clinging to his leg. He almost rammed into a dangerously thorny cactus, dodging it at the last second.

The corn meal mush was pissed off. The little jerk had managed to escape at the last moment. But the game was not over, not by a long shot. The mush bubbled and gave off spurts of steam, twisting and folding into itself, gathering mass and power. Flowing through the window, it touched ground and rose up in a thick column, vibrating rapidly with unbridled energy. It grew larger, reaching a height of almost twenty feet, a huge yellow monster glistening in the hot desert sun. It lunged forward, shaking the ground when its body landed hard against the desert surface. It formed itself into a gigantic tubular shape--propelling itself like a snake--determined to pursue Gilbert and absorb him.

Gilbert had to stop in order to catch his breath. His lungs were on fire from the dry heat of this parched landscape. Looking back, he could see the mush monster. It was about three hundred yards away, and moving quickly. It looked bigger and meaner than before. If he ran to the deep canyon that had been created by the San Andreas fault, he might be able to find a place to hide somewhere. He wiped the sweat from his brow and ran towards the canyon. He was no longer a young man, the strain on his body was tremendous. And even a young man would have a hard time dealing with this heat. He guessed that the temperature had already gone past a hundred degrees.

The jerk is still trying to escape me. I will cause him to die such a slow and agonizing death that he will beg me to kill him and end his suffering, thought the mush monster. It watched Gilbert stumble across the desert floor. It was amusing to see how weak and pathetic he was. The mush rose up to a great height, the top of its body boiling, making a sound that resembled a liquid laugh. It flung itself to the ground, causing Gilbert to think that an earthquake had just occurred.

Gilbert could see the canyon. The steep sides were covered with small rounded rocks. He stopped at the ledge and looked for the easiest route down. About fifty yards to his right, the side of the gorge was slanted at a safe angle. He ran over to it and began to make his way down. The rocks kept causing him to slip. It was like trying to walk on marbles. Finally his feet slipped completely out from under him. He skidded down the incline, ripping his pants and underwear, his butt scratched and bloody. He went head over heels the last five feet, rolling to the bottom of the gorge. He got up and dusted himself off, wincing at the pain as he dusted the dirt from his bloody butt. "Damn it!" he yelled.

He walked along the bottom of the canyon. The floor was flat and smooth from water that ran through here like a river when rare rains came to flood it. Gilbert noticed some cave openings high along the canyon walls and climbed up to one of them. The hole penetrated the side of the wall to a depth of about five feet, and being about six feet in diameter, it was big enough for him to hide in.

As soon as he entered the cave he noticed that the temperature dropped by about twenty degrees. He was very thankful for that bit of relief. He snuggled into the rear of the cave, feeling safe for the moment. When he recovered enough energy to become aware of his surroundings, he noticed a primitive looking cave painting on the wall to his right. He thought that it might have been drawn by Indians that once populated this area. He suddenly realized what the picture depicted and it sent shivers of fear down his spine.

The mush stopped for a second at the ledge of the canyon. It vibrated violently, forcing a new and remarkable transformation. An opening took shape at the head of its body, blossoming into a perfect, but grotesquely large mouth.

The mush crawled down into the canyon.

"This is incredible!" said Gilbert as he felt the painting with his hand. On the left side of the painting was a picture of an ear of corn. In the middle of the painting was a picture of a big yellow blob about to engulf a tepee. The remaining part of the painting depicted some Indian warriors throwing spears at the huge yellow blob. The meaning of the painting was obvious. Gilbert's foe was not a new threat, but had menaced mankind for hundreds of years, perhaps even thousands! He remembered once having glanced through an old book called The Golden Bough, written by James G. Frazer. He was at first fascinated by the wonderful old engravings in the book, but he also recalled that there was much written about the corn-spirit. He remembered reading that people were wrapped up in corn-sheaf, beheaded, and thrown in rivers as sacrifices to the corn-spirit. The corn-spirit made awful demands on its people.

Gilbert began to cry, the horror of his situation hitting him with full force. His only hope was that this mush thing would loose interest in him and give up its search. He did not deserve to leave the earth in this manner, devoured by his own breakfast. He never meant any harm to anyone or anything.

A voice called out Gilbert's name. Gilbert was confused. Why would somebody be down here in this canyon calling for him? The voice sounded very strange, like a person gargling and talking at the same time. The voice broke into raucous laughter and then he knew, beyond any doubt, it was the mush thing. It now had the power of speech.

"Gilbert! Come out, come out, wherever you are! You can't hide from me forever! Come on, Gilbert, wouldn't you like a little corn meal mush for breakfast? Well, actually, it's getting closer to lunchtime now. Consider me your brunch." The big yellow lips flapped grotesquely. "How does it feel to be the on the menu instead of ordering from it? Ha-ha."

Gilbert curled up into a fetal position, scrunching as far back into the cave as he could. His blood was playing bass drums inside his ears. He was shivering, and his teeth were chattering so fast he feared they might disintegrate. Today his life would end. He was certain of it.

The voice was getting closer. How many minutes did he have left to live?

"Oh, Gilbert, come on out! The big, bad corn-spirit is inviting you to a party. You don't want to be a party pooper, do you? You're not a wimpy little wallflower, are you? I want you to come out and meet the biggest baddest party animal of them all. Me!"

The voice was very close now. It might even be right below his cave. Would his heart explode before it found him? Would he turn white and die from fright? Yes, he was certain he would.

"Gilbert, I smell piss. I think you wet your pants! That is not a very grown-up thing to do."

The yellow boiling mass rose up and looked into the entrance of Gilbert's cave. He saw the sickening imitation mouth with its big yellow lips. Gilbert prayed the Lord's Prayer. He did this mentally, because his lips froze shut, his whole body paralyzed, locking up like an engine running without oil.

"What's the matter, Gilbert? Cat got your tongue? That's okay, you never had anything interesting to say anyway."

Slimy tentacles began to emerge from around the grotesque mouth. They wiggled and squirmed, stretching out to embrace Gilbert's face. He felt the first wet tentacle touch the skin below his right eye, tracing a path to his lips. It was obscene, as if this yellow organ was trying to kiss him. He felt it glide past his lips, into his mouth, prying his jaws open. Another tentacle pushed its way into his mouth and began to travel down his throat. Gilbert gagged reflexively trying to vomit, but the soft appendage would not allow the contents of his stomach to pass beyond it.

The fear had shifted from a paralyzing panic to a struggle for survival. Gilbert tried to twist his head away from the tentacles and pull them from his mouth, but all his efforts were only rewarded by a new batch of tentacles. Some of the tentacles sprouted little tendrils that grasped onto his ears and wiggled inside, tickling his eardrums. A large tentacle, much greater in diameter than the others, shoved itself under his torso, working itself around his arms, binding them tight to his sides.

"You seem to be somewhat in a bind. I hope you don't suffer from claustrophobia, because things can get pretty tight from here on out." The mush thing emphasized this by giving him a tight squeeze, at the same time ramming the tentacle that was in his throat clear down to his stomach.

Gilbert did have claustrophobia and felt all the bands that held his fragile mind together snap open with a huge whooshing noise. Death was closing in on him like a huge crushing weight, pressing down like millions of tons of cold lead. He was like an old toothpaste tube, his life squeezing out between the cheeks of his butt, his organs scrunched together, the fluid draining from them. He pissed out blood and mucus. His eyeballs popped from their sockets and hung down past his chin, dangling by their optic nerves.

A ball of light materialized between Gilbert and the mush thing, slicing off the tentacles from their source. They wiggled and squirmed on the cave floor, and soon died. The mush thing stopped its boiling and undulating and grew quiet.

Immediate relief flooded through Gilbert. He sat up and grabbed onto his eyes, poking them back into his head. He vomited up the tentacle lodged in his throat.

"Okay, Gilbert, the fun is over." The ball of light spoke. Gilbert recognized his microchip friend from Dreamland. "I don't like to spoil your game, but it's time to get back."

"Okay," said Gilbert.

Complex patterns blossomed forth, one after the other, like a series of liquid Persian rugs. In a final climactic swirl of energy, the glowing colors coalesced into the solid form of Gilbert's kitchen.

Gilbert lifted the pot from his stove and scooped some of the mush into a cereal bowl. He went to the refrigerator and took out a cube of butter and a bottle of cream. He used half the cube of butter for his mush and splashed a little cream on top. He reached into the top cupboard and took out his sugar bowl and put three heaping tablespoons of sugar on his mush. He put everything back in its place and sat at the little round table to eat. He said a small prayer with his eyes closed, and then tasted his breakfast. It was just like he liked it and he hummed "Ummmm" as he savored the flavor.

He looked at the clock hanging above the stove and saw that it was thirty minutes before twelve, almost time for his interview with Mr. Kern. "I need to straighten the house up a bit before he gets here," he said. "I don't want the phantom to think I am some sort of a slob!" He finished his mush and washed out the bowl in the sink. He covered the pot of left-over mush and put it in the refrigerator. He hated to throw food away, even though he knew he would probably never eat the old mush. Someday he would open the pot up and there would be the mush, growing a crown of green slime, and then he would throw it away.

The house was not in bad shape, it only required a light dusting, and as Gilbert dusted he contemplated how exciting his morning had been. Some people might think that desert life was boring, no big shopping malls to visit or theaters to watch blockbuster movies at. No neighbors living just a few feet away so you could talk to them and not be lonely. No crowds, no traffic, only the hungry lonely howling of the coyotes at night. He liked life in the desert. Really. It was not everywhere that breakfast turned into a life and death situation. He felt fortunate to be alive and have such a wonderful life in the middle of nowhere. Really.

Gilbert glanced at the clock in the living room that hung above his television set. It was twelve noon. He went over to the large picture window that faced the front of his house. He saw his old car that he parked around the curve of his driveway, dusty hood facing the dirt road. He saw the guest house, the paint peeling and fading in the sun. It was the familiar things that greeted him every day, until he saw an old gray primered Volkswagen van pulling into his driveway. This was the phantom--right on time.

Gilbert felt a small thrill go through his body. It was not often that he had a guest. Actually, when he thought about it, he never had a guest, at least not human guests. He hoped, deep down inside, that the phantom was not from space, but that he was a real flesh and blood human from the planet Earth. But no matter what manner of creature he was, he would be honored to have him live on his property if he behaved politely, and was clean. And anyway, Gilbert's most intimate acquaintances were far from human. They were strange creatures that could read his mind and manipulate his environment, and he didn't mind having them around. Not too much.

Mr. Noel Kern parked his van, and got out.

3: INTERVIEWING THE PHANTOM FROM SPACE 

Mr. Noel Kern was very tall. He stood six foot seven and was much too thin for his height. He was bald, and that baldness included his eyebrows. It made him look far more unearthly than he had at Mrs. Tool's Place, where the poor lighting hid these facts. The feature that made him appear most unearthly was the color of his skin. The top of Noel's head was a light cream color with a subtle hint of green. The rest of his face was very pale but with a delicate pink suffused throughout. He made an impressive spectacle as he stood in the doorway.

"Come inside, Mr. Kern, or would you rather take a look at the guest house now, before the interview?"

"If it's all the same with you, I would like to go look at the guest house now," he spoke with a voice that sounded musical and liquid, flowing through Gilbert's mind like a fresh mountain stream.

He took Noel over to the guest house and walked him around the outside of it, pointing out the unique outdoor shower. He led him inside, showing him the sparse but adequate furnishings. There was no sign of Gilbert's earlier struggle with the mush monster. He was thankful for that. Noel seemed pleased, happy that everything was in good working order, not at all concerned by the simple old furniture.

They walked back to the main house. Gilbert opened the door for Noel and asked him, "Would you care for something to drink, Mr Kern?"

"Thank you, I would like a glass of water." He stepped into the house and Gilbert directed him to sit on the couch that faced the large television. He went to get Mr. Kern a glass of water from the kitchen. When he returned, Mr. Kern was staring at the blank television screen, sitting very straight, as if good posture was very important to him. He handed the glass of water to Mr. Kern.

"Thank you." He took the water and sipped it slowly. He set the glass down on the coffee table before him; his long thin fingers made the glass look like a doll house toy.

Gilbert sat in a chair to the left of the couch. The picture window was behind his head, and he could feel the noon light make his neck sweat.

"May I call you Gilbert, Mr. Keyhurst?" Mr. Kern asked with a smile.

"Yes, you may, and may I call you Noel?" Gilbert felt a little nervous, the experience of interviewing was so new to him, and this creature was unpredictable, it did not behave in quite the same manner as his other, nonhuman acquaintances did.

"I like your house, Gilbert, and I like the location. I suppose that you enjoy your privacy as much as I do. Privacy is very important to me."

"Oh, I know how you feel," Gilbert could understand every word Noel said. Unlike the first meeting in the bar, Noel seemed to be speaking a form of English that he could clearly understand. The fact was, Noel was so crystal clear in his speech that Gilbert had to construct a mental barrier to protect himself from merging with Noel's mind and possibly becoming trapped there. He must continue with the interview with his guard up. "Tell me about yourself, where do you come from?"

"Santa Cruz," said Noel.

If a bomb had exploded it could not have been more shocking to Gilbert. He had expected Noel to name some strange planet in a far off solar system--that he could easily have dealt with. Santa Cruz had so much evil connected to the name that fear swept through Gilbert's head like a firestorm. He needed to respond to Noel, but could hardly move his mouth. "Sa...Santa Cruz?"

"Yes. I was born there. My parents died in a car accident when I was only twenty-three years old. I inherited the house and lived there alone: until now. It was a beautiful house--beach front property. But I grew tired of the ocean and the people of Santa Cruz, so I decided to move." He smiled at Gilbert, and added, "Is there something wrong?"

"NO!" Gilbert did not mean to shout out the word, but he did. His face flushed a deep crimson. He gave Noel a sheepish grin and nervously fiddled with his hands, scratching his palms as if they itched. He needed to understand this creature if he was going to rent the guest house to him. He was not convinced that Noel was human. He did not look human, but that was okay, Gilbert was no bigot. He needed some clever questions to draw him out. He thought of one. "What did you do in Santa Cruz?"

"Oh, before I tell you, understand that I can afford the rent stated in your ad. Sometimes people think that because of what I do, I don't have much money, but I do."

"What do you do?" This was fascinating to Gilbert. He did not have any idea what a person like Noel did for a living.

"I am an artist."

"Oh, I have never known an artist before! Do you paint? Do you make sculptures?" Gilbert was truly thrilled. This was like opening a can of beans and finding diamonds inside. He did not tell Noel, but he strongly desired at that moment to rent the guest house to him, forgetting the interview, just so he could see his art.

"Yes, now I do both. I combine sculpture and painting together into one work of art, before this, I only painted. He smiled, asking, "Do you like art?"

"Yes."

"That's good. Perhaps you'll like mine."

"I have not seen very many paintings, in person, that is. I do not go to art galleries because I am not very comfortable in unfamiliar places, but I see pictures that I like in books." A thought flashed through Gilbert's mind. "I did see and touch a cave painting this morning... in a way."

"A cave painting? I'd like to see it sometime." Noel heard the uncertainty in Gilbert's voice, remembered who he was dealing with, and carefully backed off the subject. "Maybe I could show you my work later on, would you like that?"

Gilbert was thrilled. "You brought your paintings with you?"

"They are in my van."

"We could look at them now!" Gilbert was excited.

"Don't you want to finish the interview? I don't want to pull all my paintings out of the van, then have to bundle them all back up again, that is, if I don't get to rent your guest house. It's just a lot of trouble, please don't think I am being rude."

This information put pressure on Gilbert. He wanted to rent the guest house to Noel, he wanted to see the paintings, but the big issue was, was Noel telling the truth? He claims to have been born on Earth, in Santa Cruz, but Noel did not look like a real human, with his odd skin colors, tentacle fingers and peculiar body shape. If he was not human, Gilbert did not mind, he had already decided he would have no part in cosmic bigotry, but if Noel was a liar, that was a terrible character flaw that he could not ignore. A liar would not be welcome on his property. "You are right, I should continue the interview. Do you have your birth certificate?"

"My birth certificate? Why would...," Noel stopped himself for the second time in this interview, remembering Gilbert's quirkiness.

"If you don't have your birth certificate, I can't rent my guest house to you."

"It must be my lucky day because I do have my birth certificate."

Relief flowed like a cool breeze all through Gilbert's body. He was very happy now, not having to turn Noel away. Noel was an artist, a type of person he had never known before. This was an opportunity, a gateway into a world of beauty. New visions of grandeur would open up like flowers before his hungry gaze, that is, if Noel was a good artist. Maybe he stank.

He saw Noel reach into the back pocket of his jeans and pull out his wallet. He opened it and fumbled around for a minute, pulling out folded up pieces of paper and laying them on the coffee table. Gilbert was beginning to worry that he would not find it, he wanted Noel to find it more than he had wanted anything in a long time. Noel began opening up the papers, scowling at each one, until finally he raised one in the air and waved it back and forth, saying, "This is it!"

"Very good, Noel. I am very glad you found it. Please, may I see it?" Noel leaned towards Gilbert and handed the document to him. He happily took the birth certificate and carefully scrutinized it, examining the printing for any sign of tampering. It looked totally authentic, which meant that his feelings had been wrong about Noel, he was a human, despite his unearthly appearance. Noel could live on his property. He could trust him.

"Congratulations, Noel, you are a welcome tenant in my guest house. I hope we can become good friends." Gilbert momentarily thought of mentioning that most of his friends were of an uncommon variety, that they did not exist in our dimension, but he noticed that talking about beings from other planes of reality tended to make people nervous.

"Well, great! I also hope that we can become friends, Gilbert." He smiled at Gilbert, showing almost all of his teeth. The teeth looked like normal human teeth, except for the canines. They were too long and round bodied, ending in sharp points, as if they had been filed. It turned his smile into that of a vampire's. "When can I move in?"

"It is okay with me if you move in today, right now, if you would like. Maybe I could look at your paintings after you settle in?"

"Sure, that would be fine. I don't have much stuff, so it won't take me long to unload it. I've got to return to my hotel and pick up the rest of my things, but I can be moved in, in a couple of hours," he stuck out his long fingers for Gilbert to shake in symbolic consummation of the deal. This made Gilbert nervous, but he did take hold of the strange hand with the fingers that looked like tentacles, and shook it. Someday, when they were good friends, he would ask him about his sharp vampire teeth, tentacle fingers and multicolored head, but for now, he would just be thankful for his new artist-tenant. Gilbert handed the guest house keys to Noel, and smiled.

"Would you like me to help you unpack?" asked Gilbert, his brow raised high to emphasize his sincerity.

"Thanks anyway, but I would rather handle my paintings by myself, plus, I have some rather delicate electronics that need special handling." A quick wink from Noel signaled that he was now ready to go unpack. He stood and walked out the door to his van. The mention of electronics was a small revelation to Gilbert. If Noel also had an interest in electronics, that would make him closer to Gilbert's mind- set than he would have guessed. It was also a danger signal warning Gilbert to pay close attention to Noel's activities. If Noel was a man interested in exotic electronics, could it be just coincidence that he wanted to rent Gilbert's guest house and live out here in the middle of nowhere? The world was filled with evil schemes and dangerous people. Gilbert saw it every night on television.

The word electronics was pregnant with meaning for Gilbert. He had been an electronic genius, the royalties from his microchip supported him. His microchip existed in Dreamland, and in normal reality. It was more than silicon, ceramic and plastic, the microchip was his personal friend. It was alive.

Would Noel be surprised to find out who Gilbert had been in the electronic's world?

Gilbert sat in his chair on the porch, trying to enjoy the shade while carefully watching Noel unpack his van. He saw that the paintings were wrapped in old blankets. Noel took those out first, carrying them into the sun baked guest house. The swamp cooler came on after Noel had been inside for a few minutes, the hum of the electric motor was loud in the silence of the desert.

The next batch of articles that Noel brought out of the van were packed away in cardboard boxes. Gilbert wondered if they contained the delicate electronic equipment? Maybe Noel had been talking about nothing more ominous than his stereo equipment, television set, or home computer, the only real threat being the paranoia of his own mind. But if his darker suspicions were correct, then to have rented out his little guest house to a stranger from Santa Cruz was a blunder. Terror was building itself into a twisted knot inside his stomach. The pleasant shade of the porch was forgotten as he tightened his grip on the arms of the chair.

Noel finished unloading the boxes from his van and putting them away in the guest house. He walked over to Gilbert, and noticed a strange look on Gilbert's face. "Are you okay?" Noel asked. "You seem a bit pale."

"I am fine."

"Well, okay. I was just going to tell you that I'm going back to the hotel now to pick up the rest of my things. Need anything from town?"

"No, I can not think of anything." Suddenly, a clever idea burst into Gilbert's mind. "Oh yes, there is one thing that you can get me."

"What's that?"

"A 741 op-amp," veins erupted on Gilbert's forehead as he intensely studied Noel's face. If Noel knew what an op- amp was, then he knew more about electronics than the average person struggling to set up a VCR knew. It would be a warning that he would have to watch Noel very carefully.

"What's an op...op-amp? Is it a fuse or something?"

"Never mind, I do not need one that badly." A smile of relief lit up Gilbert's face. Everything was okay now. Noel must be an honest human from planet Earth, with motives as pure as the driven snow. Now Gilbert felt a little guilty about even having entertained such thoughts about Noel.

"You look better now, not so pale. Good. Anyway, if you're sure you don't need anything, I'm on my way back to the hotel. Bye."

"Good bye."

Noel walked over to his van and got in. After a few seconds of trying to coax the old engine to life, it finally coughed three times, then started. He backed out of the driveway, since Gilbert's car blocked the front exit to the dirt road. Noel drove off in a cloud of dust.

The temptation to go in the guest house and peek at Noel's things was very strong, but he resisted. That would not be a nice thing to do. Instead, he went back into his house and got a jar of iced tea from the refrigerator. He poured himself a glass and brought it over to the couch. He would watch television until Noel returned, and then he would ask to see his paintings.

The television screen instantly flashed to life when he pressed the red power button on the remote control. An interior view of the dome from Dreamland was on the screen. The great ball of light was suspended in the center of the vast interior. Noel was standing below the ball of light, illuminated by a radiant shaft of photons erupting from the bottom of the brilliant ball above his head.

Noel's face was frightening. A maniacal grin showed his vampire teeth, longer than before, nearly reaching to the bottom of his chin. His bald head was striped like a barber's pole, the colors constantly flashing, from a green stripe against a purple stripe, to a red stripe against a blue stripe. Then the stripes started to swirl. Suddenly, his head grew, stretching to twice its normal height, thinning in the middle, like a string of taffy or rubber pulled too tautly.

Noel wore a pink suit with a bright yellow satin tie. He ripped open the suit jacket and the peach shirt underneath, to reveal his stomach. It was covered with boils and blisters that grew and burst, releasing a thick black oily pus, a monstrous waterfall flowing onto the floor of the dome. Noel laughed insanely, the vast dome beginning to fill up with the filthy liquid until it finally covered his head. Noel's head had even sprouted a green fleshy tube so that his brain could breathe, but the tube became clogged with the black pus, and Noel drowned, laughing.

Before the foul pus could touch the ball of light, it flew from the screen and hovered above the television set, throwing bright beams of light that danced over the walls in a playful fashion.

"Good special effects, don't you think so?" said the light.

"Excellent, but the show scared me."

"I think that's good, Gilbert. You ought to be scared."

"Why? I only want too relax."

"Don't get to comfortable, because in my opinion, your interview with that abomination of nature, Noel, is not quite over."

"Yes, it is. He is moving in. He is an artist."

"Artist, shmartist, who cares? I think he is a very dangerous creature.

"I do not I agree with you," Gilbert said as he aimed the remote control at the television to shut it off. Instantly the ball of light was gone. Gilbert was more than a little inconvenienced by television sets that insisted on giving him personal messages, but he had learned to accept this phenomenon as a fact of life.

Gilbert was surprised when he heard Noel's van pull up. It seemed as though Noel had only left a few minutes ago, but when he looked at the living room clock, it was nearly six p.m. He had been gone for more than four hours. Gilbert got up from the couch and looked out the front window. Noel was unloading more boxes from the side door of his van.

Gilbert decided he would let Noel settle in before he asked to see his paintings. Maybe after dinner, around nine, would be appropriate. Gilbert's curiosity was almost uncontrollable. He knew that the paintings would give him some insight into Noel's mind, much deeper than any verbal interview could afford.

Dinner time was a unique and life affirming ritual for Gilbert. Almost every night he would eat the same thing: a half can of Spork, a microwaved potato, buttered bread, and a glass of tomato juice. The important thing was the Spork. He loved to fry Spork over a huge flame so that it would burn to the proper color, a reddish black. But as much as he loved Spork, he also had a great fear of it.

Gilbert opened the cupboard above his sink, revealing almost one hundred cans of Spork. It was his sacred Spork cupboard, not sullied by the presence of other more mundane items. The other nonperishable food items had their own cupboard above the refrigerator. He took out a can of Spork and smiled at it. Opening the can with the key that came with it, he shook the can over the counter until the Spork slowly slid out. The gelatin sealed the edges of the meat to the can, causing a vacuum to form behind the meat; it always made a sucking sound as it slid out. He sliced the pinkish, gelatin covered meat in half, wrapping one half of it in tinfoil and placing it in the refrigerator.

He then opened a drawer in the kitchen counter that contained a powerful magnifying glass. This is the part of the ritual that made Gilbert's hand shake with fear. Sometimes he would drop the magnifying glass because he could not control the tremors of his hand. The question uppermost in his mind was, would the meat be okay? Would he discover something lurking between the fibers of protein that would disgust him or frighten him? Would he need to use the long metal tongs to grab the dangerous chunk of meat and throw it down the garbage disposal? Would he have to open can after can, until he found the perfect piece of Spork?

Gilbert's altered state of consciousness could detect a more subtle reality lurking in the background of the everyday world. This nightly ritual was, for Gilbert, tantamount to the exploration of a newly discovered planet. Lowering the magnifying glass with his trembling right hand, he steadied himself for the Spork expedition.

It was a vast pink landscape. Some areas were a darker pink and other areas almost white. He suspected the white areas to be concentrations of fatty tissue. Under the magnifying lens the texture looked bumpy, each little nodule casting its own miniature shadow, like the surface of a giant tongue. The Sporkscape was covered by a moist shine that glaringly reflected light. If some miniature skier were to ski this surface, they would need goggles to protect their eyes, just as in snow skiing.

Gilbert saw a high mountain of clear gelatin, resting on a large expanse of brownish pink nodules. Was something hiding under the gelatin? He thought he saw a unique discoloration: a bluish smudge. He used the sharp point of a steak knife to delicately push away the mountain of gelatin; it gave him a sense of awesome power--almost making him giddy. He recovered himself and continued with his task. Yes, there was a small blue tube sticking up out of the Sporkscape. Perhaps it was only the tip of the iceberg, and more blue tubing was coiled up beneath the surface. This would call for special tools.

Gilbert walked over to the bathroom and got a pair of tweezers. When he returned to the Spork, he searched and found the blue tube again. It looked like a garden hose when viewed through the magnifying glass. He grabbed the end of the tube with his tweezers and gently pulled on it. He pulled and pulled, more and more of the slimy tube came out. The tube lay over a foot long on the counter, and there was still more buried beneath the surface. The more of its length that he pulled out, the smaller the chunk of Spork became. Finally, he sliced the Spork in half, disgusted to see that the tube filled the interior with its slimy coils. He estimated that the tube, when stretched out to its full length, might encircle the Earth.

Gilbert pondered this strange blue tube for a few minutes, then decided to fry it up and have it for dinner. Of the many odd things that he had found in Spork, this tube was not all that unusual. He had eaten much stranger things than that. What frightened him the most were things that had the power of speech.

Whenever he found something in his Spork that could talk, he put it in his Spork collection. This collection was kept under his bed. It was a cardboard box filled with glass jars that contained all sorts of organic Spork creatures, and they all had the power of speech, that is, until he killed them. When you pickled them in alcohol they wiggled for a bit, and slowly died. Gilbert was not proud of the fact that he did this, but he was so fearful of them, that by collecting them and putting them in jars, he felt superior, and this eased his fears. He knew they were not as intelligent as a human; they had no souls, so he did not consider it murder. If he did not kill them, they would only go on speaking of frightening things that scared him so badly he would be unable to sleep.

There was a time he had found a really horrible little creature. It resembled a gray lizard, only it walked upright, and his head was like a human's, though completely hairless and covered with scales. This tiny monster from the land of Spork was evil to the core. It had dug its way to the surface from a chunk of Spork, yelling and shaking its little fist at him. It swore like a sailor and stomped its clawed feet. Suddenly, before Gilbert could grab hold of it, it leaped from the kitchen counter and hit the floor running, bolting out the open front door. Gilbert was not fast enough to catch the little monster as it ran into the night. "Damn!" Gilbert said. "Now that little bugger will be up to all kinds of mischievousness." His words had been prophetic.

The troubles had started that morning. He wanted to go to Mrs. Tool's Place, so he ate breakfast, showered, put on some nice clothes and went out to his car. Turning the ignition key would turn the engine over, but it would not start. He tried cranking it until his battery almost went dead. When he opened the hood to see if he could spot the trouble, he noticed that the coil wire had been chewed in half. He could see tiny teeth marks on the ends of the rubber insulation. This was the work of the tiny lizardman. He ended up fixing his car by twisting the wires together and wrapping the whole thing up with electrician's tape.

He returned from Mrs. Tool's at around seven p.m. When he tried to put his key in the lock, he discovered a piece of wood had been jammed inside it. It took him an hour to pry it out with a nail he was lucky enough to find laying on the ground. Darkness had fallen by the time he finally made it inside his home.

After flicking on the living room light, he looked around and was surprised to see everything was okay. He thought the house would be in shambles from the destructive lizardman, but when he opened the Spork cupboard to take out a can for dinner, he was not to be disappointed. Every can was ripped open. Gilbert cursed out loud and turned bright red. He had never been so angry. Much too angry to think about eating. Gilbert searched everywhere for lizardman, but could not find him. Exhausted, Gilbert made ready for bed.

That night the coyotes decided to howl more than they usually did, keeping Gilbert awake. He tossed and turned, glancing now and then at his alarm clock. The green digital numbers read past three in the morning. This was a miserable night. He was angry, hungry and unable to fall asleep.

He heard a little noise, like a pencil dropping from a table. He ignored it.

"Big man! You are dumb and stinky! Dumb and stinky!" The lizardman yelled at the top of his lungs, though that was not very loud because of his small size. Gilbert flipped on the table lamp beside his bed, looking all around the room for the tiny monster.

"Dumb and stinky!" the lizardman yelled again.

"Shut up and come out where I can see you," yelled Gilbert, his bloodshot eyes infused with exhaustion and anger.

"I kill you! I kill you, you dumb and stinky big man!"

"Come out here where I can see you, and we will see who gets killed!" He had never said such angry words in all of his life. It did not make him feel good to say such things, even to a lizardman. Fear also began to surface as he thought of the strange powers some of the Spork creatures possessed. "Look, please, just leave me alone. Go outside and live in the desert, just leave me in peace."

"I tell you scary stories now. They kill you," said the lizardman.

Gilbert could see him now as the lizardman stepped from behind the dresser. It looked into Gilbert's eyes, a slow lazy look, that made Gilbert feel a primitive fear rise up from his belly, snakelike.

"Nice scary story. Good one. You listen to me. You have to listen to me. You too dumb not to listen. I go inside your big head with a big scary story." The tiny yellow eyes of the lizardman seemed to grow larger. They finally filled the room with their lethargic gaze. It sank deeper and deeper into Gilbert's mind, setting off psychic warnings of danger. He could not make his body move from the bed to protect himself, the strange hypnotic gaze had him frozen like a deer caught in the glare of headlights at night .

"Once upon a time, nightmares..."

Gilbert suddenly jumped out of bed, ran to the lizardman, and stepped on him. He had broken the spell of madness cast by the hellish creature a second before it would have devoured his mind. Gilbert scraped the remains of the lizardman off his foot, dumped them into the toilet, showered, and crawled back into bed. He slept very deep.

When Gilbert reminisced about the lizardman, he always thought of those yellow eyes. If you submitted to the creature's hypnotic power, you would be drawn into its strange world, trapped there forever. He put the memory away, and went about frying the blue tube and microwaving his potato. When he had his table prepared, and finally tasted the slimy tube, he found it to be quite good. It tasted a bit like chicken. He would be very lucky if any other of his cans of Spork contained this gourmet's treat.

Gilbert cleaned up his table, hand washed his dishes and put everything away. He wondered if Noel had finished moving in. Night had fallen and he could see lights on inside the guest house.

Gilbert loved to stare into the night sky of the desert, millions of stars so crisp and bright. He would love to be an astronaut and fly among them. Some nights, he would go outside and lay on his back, staring up at the Milky Way for hours. The stars would tug at his soul until he felt it separate from his mind. When that happened--his damaged brain no longer mattered--he was free of those corrupted gray cells, soaring among the stars. He was an astronaut in the spiritual realms of deep space, effortlessly gliding among the purple nebulae and giant red suns.

Gilbert imagined Noel inside the little house, busy stacking his things away. As he was thinking that, Noel's tall figure emerged from the corner of the guest house and walked over to his front door. Gilbert felt the flutter of nervous excitement tickle his stomach. This day was so special for him. He never had human guests. He was never invited to anyones home. Two special events all in one day! When he heard the knock on his door, he quickly opened it. Noel stood like a gangly giant in his doorway, smiling down on him.

"Please, come over and see my artwork."

4: THE REMARKABLE PAINTINGS OF NOEL KERN

Inside the guest house, Noel's boxes were scattered about the room. Some were opened and others sat untouched. The opened boxes contained books and clothing. Some books had been removed and set on the sink counter, while others were haphazardly piled on the coffee table, next to the little television that came with the guest house. Gilbert looked for a stereo or any other piece of electronic equipment owned by Noel, but saw none.

Leaning against the wall by the bed were the paintings, covered in an old gray blanket. On the other wall, by the couch, rested a painting easel. Noel got the easel and set it up in the center of the room. "Might as well do this right," he said, adjusting the easel's tripod legs to steady it.

"In Santa Cruz, I belonged to an artist co-op. The co- op rented an old house with an interior we had permission to completely remodel any way we liked. We made it all one room inside, and built walls in the center, forming a room within a room. This provided lots of space to hang our work. We painted the whole interior white, hung track lighting from the ceiling, and ended up with an economical, but classy gallery.

"We attracted a few collectors. Some of them were wealthy, and thought nothing of spending a few thousand dollars on a painting that happened to catch their eye. I got to know some of the collectors quite well...quite well indeed." Noel with a smug, sly expression, looked down at Gilbert, and suddenly retracted the facial expression. Gilbert was too excited about seeing the artwork to notice these facial manipulations.

Noel fiddled with the legs of the easel, then continued, "Anyway, it was an interesting period of my life. I had the chance to meet folks from a wide variety of professions. A certain group of people took great interest in my work and wanted to know more about my artistic theories. It surprised me at the time, because this group of clients was of a technical frame of mind--" The sly expression crept around his eyes, but he pulled it back before Gilbert noticed.

"Did these people buy a lot of your paintings?"

"They helped me earn enough money to live on. They even helped me finance my ideas. I'm a very fortunate guy. There are plenty of artists who would give anything to be in my position.

"Are you going to be working on a new project soon?" Watching the artist in the act of creation was Gilbert's supreme desire.

"I have already started, but please don't ask me about my current project. I don't like talking about it until it's finished. I suppose it's a silly superstition, but my lips are mum on the subject."

Gilbert looked hurt. He wanted to witness the creative process. He thought of pestering Noel into it, but that would not be nice. He would have to be patient and see the artwork when finished.

"Don't look so sad, Gilbert. You will be the first to see my works when they're completed, in honor of our new friendship."

"Oh, thank you," Gilbert said awkwardly, not reacting smoothly to flattery. He thought of the complements Mrs. Tool had given him when he had vomited on that bully, Dan, in the bar. The strokes Mrs. Tool gave him were the first he had received in years. Gilbert's life since brain damage did not offer many circumstances to warrant flattery. He vaguely remembered a time in his life when flattery was a commonplace event, because geniuses had flattery thrust upon them. At times, he wished he was a genius again, but wishing caused anxiety, and anxiety caused creatures to appear he did not want to see. The creatures from Anxietyland were large, glistening black balls. Their jagged mouths were filled with thousands of tiny teeth. When they bit, the teeth hurt, but the bites also inflicted painful electric shocks--miniature lightning bolts flashing from their purple tongues.

Noel walked over to the paintings and lifted the blanket from them. He took the first painting to the easel and set it up so Gilbert could enjoy an excellent view. The overhead light provided plenty of illumination.

The artist's fire burned in Noel, compelling him to explain his work to Gilbert, so after positioning the painting, and studying Gilbert's expression, he went into his monologue:

"I'm an artist with a vision. My vision controls my life.

"When I was a young boy in Santa Cruz, I developed a fascination for organic forms. I would make my parents buy books on zoology and biology, books with lots of illustrations. At first my folks thought I wanted to be a veterinarian or doctor, but then I would beg them for books on plant life, again, books with lots of pictures. I had a burning desire to know the shapes and colors of all fauna and flora, from all regions and from all times.

"Whether the organic forms were from the land, sea or air, past or present, I would hungrily devour their shapes and colors, storing them in my mind. I did not care about the technical aspects of the life forms, the long Latin names--the why and how of what made them work--I cared only for their form and color, their diversity and their appearance.

"There used to be an aquarium within walking distance of our house. I would spend the whole day in humid rooms, staring at the strange sea creatures living behind the big glass walls. Slimy octopuses, cunning sharks or electric eels, everything organic was of interest to me. I was fascinated by these life forms; I was in love with them.

"When my parents took me to the zoo, I would always fuss when they wanted to leave. One day, I became so obsessed with a particular ostrich, I just couldn't leave it, I couldn't make my legs move in order to obey my parents. We stayed until the zoo closed. By the time we got home, it was dark. My parents listened to my explanations, they tried to understand me, tried to be patient with me, even though they were so angry it took all their control not to spank me. My parents didn't believe in corporal punishment. I felt bad about making my parents so angry, but I cared more for my visual quest, than for my parents feelings.

"One day I found a book that specialized in rare animals. It contained pictures of a platypus, an animal found only in Australia. This became my favorite book because of that picture. It possessed me! The platypus seemed to be a mistake of nature, as if evolution had, at some point in time, lost its way. This thought grabbed me and would not let me go. Here was an animal that looked like a cross between a bird and a beaver. A warm blooded mammal with the bill of a duck, and feet that seemed to have gotten stuck in their metamorphoses from fin to claw. and to top it all off: it laid eggs! The possibilities exploded in my head. I needed to see organic life mixed and blended into every conceivable combination--not just between species--but between flora and fauna, between past and present. I knew then that I must become an artist in order to see these things, so I taught myself how to draw.

"From the age of nine, I was sure of my destiny. Enslaved by my mind, I could not control the desire to create, on paper, forms of life this world had never seen before. I lost my playmates, I alienated myself from my parents. Every scrap of paper or piece of cardboard became my canvas. The blank surface would draw me in, and hold me for hours on end, until the creation was complete. Then my mind would say `Okay, Noel, draw another one.' It was a never ending cycle. When I could find no more paper in the house, I would go behind the supermarket and take home an armload of cardboard boxes that were always stacked there. I was never in fear of running out of materials, because deep inside my soul, I new that my life's mission couldn't be stopped. I am an explorer of, what I term, hypergenetics." He pointed at the painting resting on the easel. "HYPERGENETICS is the name of this series of paintings. They represent a serious exploration of the organic form. I'm certain that you will appreciate them, Gilbert."

Gilbert could hardly form words to respond to Noel's monologue, because the painting had so absorbed his attention that, at times, he even forgot to breathe. After a few moments he tore his eyes from the painting and asked Noel, "Why have you kept these and not sold them? I am sure someone would love to own them."

"This series is not for sale. They are...how can I state this...they are my reference works for my current project." Noel seemed distracted by incongruous thoughts.

"Yes, I see," said Gilbert.

The painting was approximately two feet square--same as all the other paintings leaning against the wall. The painting was of a platypus, standing on a lab table, done in a super-realistic style, more real than any photograph could ever be. Each individual hair of the animal had its own shadow. Bright highlights outlined the tops of the hairs from an overhead fluorescent light source.

Gilbert could not resist getting a closer look at the painting. He got too close and the surface blurred; moving his head back an inch or so brought it into focus. The detail stunned him, detail beyond what he thought was humanly possible to achieve. In areas where the hairs were least in number, he could see the black crinkly skin beneath-- even the tips of individual hair follicles, their oily white surface reflecting tiny photons in minute detail. The picture looked as if an army of microscopic artists had worked on it for thousands of years.

The eyes of the creature were the final touch, drawing Gilbert deeper and deeper into the painting, threatening to imprison him, forever. The platypus' eyes were able to see, he felt them staring, studying him. He became dizzy and had to back away from the picture. "I did not think it possible to paint a picture like this," Gilbert said, after his dizzy spell passed.

"It wasn't possible, not until I came along," Noel grinned broadly. "I don't mean to sound egotistical, but it's the truth."

"Your painting invokes such profound feelings. I am not certain what that feeling is: awe, terror, ecstasy, or some mixture of these emotions, but whatever it is, it is as intense as sticking your brain in a whirling blender," Gilbert said, holding his right hand over his heart, as if trying to keep it from escaping his chest.

"I like you Gilbert, you understand my work." He paused, clearing all expression from his face. "What is your line of work, Gilbert?"

"I do not work."

"What did you used to do?"

"I used to be a genius."

"A genius. Yes, well...the world needs more of them, I'm sure. Maybe you could explain what you mean in a little more detail," Noel said, almost as if he was humoring a small child.

"I used to design very powerful microchips."

"Really," Noel said, without surprise.

"I do not like to talk about my past."

"I understand, Gilbert. I will never ask you about your old job again. It's none of my business." Noel did not need to ask Gilbert about his old job.

"A horrible event occurred in my past."

"Are you going to talk to me about it? I'll listen if you want to get something off your chest. What else are friends for?" Noel's sincerity was too thick, too syrupy.

Intimacy with another human overpowered Gilbert's lonely heart. His soul was starving, because the essential nourishment of human warmth had been absent for so long in his life. But he did not completely trust Noel's willingness to listen to his personal problems, it was too early in their friendship for such things. "I am not ready to talk about it," he said, bowing his head.

"That's okay, Gilbert. Just remember, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm only a few yards from your front door."

"I do want you to explain this painting. It is a platypus, right?"

"Yes. This is the very first painting I did in the series. I thought it only appropriate to paint a platypus, the animal that inspired my life's work."

"The platypus is your favorite animal, correct?"

"Yes. The platypus was the inspiration for my art career because it revealed how nature had shortchanged us all. As much as I was obsessed with all life forms, and as much as I loved all their shapes, I craved more. I think this is a universal feeling, a desire that evolution has planted in our genetic code. All of humanity craves genetic change and exotic mutations. What else could explain the art and literature down through history speculating on elves, fairies, griffins, centaurs, all sorts of fantastic creatures? Think of the traditions of gargoyles in architecture, the permutations of that grotesque stone creature reincarnated over and over again. And now, in our time, think of the popular science fiction and horror movies presenting an endless flow of monsters. Mythical beings are in our blood, they are part of us."

Gilbert felt compelled to reveal a little of his past life to Noel. It was risky, not being certain of Noel's integrity, but he wanted to open his soul--just a crack. "I met a strange, mythical type being once, although I had never read or heard of any creature like it before. This person changed my life, somewhat as your platypus changed yours," he said this in a trembly voice, nerves unsure how to obey the electrical messages sent from master control. He decided not to go into the personal part of the story, only the description of the transexoid, Dr. Smith, the name revealed by the television news.

"Relax, Gilbert. Tell me about this person."

"This person could be a male or a female, whenever it wanted."

"Oh, you mean this person was a hermaphrodite? It's a medical fact that there are people born with two sets of sex organs, one male, one female. It's a fascinating subject, a prime example of an exotic mutation," Noel said, scratching at a tiny speck of dirt in the corner of the painting.

"No. Not both sexes at the same time, but one sex at a time. I call it a transexoid. A transexoid can change from one sex to the other. I met one of these people," his voice was vibrating with high voltage surges pulsing through the nerves of his larynx. He had said enough, not wishing to go into all the details of his poisoning on a Santa Cruz beach.

For a moment, Gilbert silently reminisced about his life since the drug poisoning. His brain damage was not completely unpleasant. Sometimes, it was filled with wonder. His greatest regret was his loss of talent in electronic design. In Dreamland he could design circuits of fantastic logic, which gave him hope that one day he could bring that dream experience back into his waking world. Perhaps it was a sign from God that all was not lost. Maybe God could help him put back together some of the pieces of his brain. That would be nice.

Noel turned towards Gilbert after he finished scraping off the speck of dirt from the canvas. Noel's eyelids twitched, because he was trying to hide something that wiggled around inside him, just beneath his skin. Gilbert was beginning to sense this thing in Noel, and it began to frighten him. "Transexoid, that's a clever name, Gilbert," he paused, then added, "It would be one for the books, because in all my reading I have never come across any reference to a human who could transform between male and female. Did you actually see this person naked? Where you there when the transformation took place?"

"I never saw this person naked, but I saw things happening beneath its clothes."

"Pardon me for not immediately accepting this story. I believe that you believe what you saw was a transformation from one sex to the other, but I must leave the door open for other explanations. Perhaps it was only the play of light and shadow across the folds of the person's clothes that gave an illusion of transformation."

"Yes, you could be right," that was Gilbert's quick response to Noel's suggestion. Gilbert idly felt the insides of his pockets, not really looking for anything. What was that thing that kept squirming around inside of Noel? Was he trying to hide it, whatever it was? It gave Gilbert the shivers.

At that moment, in Santa Cruz, bright round overhead lights beamed down on an operating table. Dr. Smith was lying on it, unconscious, breathing through a clear plastic oxygen mask. Many wires were attached to her shaved scalp, forming a bizarre hairdo. Three men in white lab coats tended a bank of monitors. A man in a green operating gown leaned over Dr. Smith. Dr. Smith was naked, not covered by a sheet, so that her body could be closely observed. Her flawless skin was a golden cream color, no moles, no birthmarks, a consistent texture all over, much like that of an infant's. Her firm breasts were the shape and size of half cantaloupes, her hips delicately curved, not large, but solidly feminine.

"We're getting something over here..." As soon as one of the men made that remark, a flurry of excitement mounted in the room. They saw strange new patterns forming on one of the monitor screens. This would be the first time the phenomenon had ever been recorded on video tape. The other researchers had never before taped the transformation, it scared them, and they chose to shove it under the rug. This little group was different. They were part of the military, they were paid not to get scared.

"We've got change happening here!" shouted the man in the green gown. Two of the white coats stepped over to the operating table to watch the change. The video camera, mounted from a metal arm that hung from the ceiling, began recording the event. One white coat stayed by the monitors, writing down information on a note pad as fast as he could, trying to keep up with all the information being displayed on the screens.

Behind the surgical masks, jaws dropped open as they beheld the transformation of Dr. Smith's body.

She gave a slight quiver, her breasts wiggled like mounds of jelly- -then began to shrink--forming into hard male pectoral muscles, no fatty tissue associated with a woman's breasts. The areolae of her nipples shrunk in diameter and smoothed out, then the nipples reduced their length, from nearly a quarter inch long to no more than an eighth of an inch. At the same time these stupendous changes were taking place, Dr. Smith's hips narrowed and firmed, losing all trace of femininity.

Then, The most spectacular change began...

Gilbert continued studying the platypus painting with his full attention. He felt like a hooked fish being reeled in by a master fisherman. He wanted to break from the painting, but it was impossible. Finally, the spell was broken by Noel asking Gilbert if he would like to see the next painting. "Yes. Your work is excellent, Noel."

The painting was carefully lifted from the easel and gently put back into place among the canvases. Noel delicately lifted the next painting from the stack and set it on the easel. He took a few seconds to adjust it, then stepped out of Gilbert's way.

At first, Gilbert stared at the painting without any comprehension as to what it represented. Actually, Gilbert's subconscious mind immediately recognized what the painting represented, and erected a buffer zone, so that recognition by the conscious mind could take place slowly.

"I hope you like this one. It's a creature that I invented, as opposed to the platypus, which was nature's contribution to hypergenetics."

"What the..." was all Gilbert managed to force out of his mouth. What at first seemed a jumble of color began to slowly crystallize into recognizable forms. The first clearly defined object was the lab table, the same one in the platypus painting, even the soft fluorescent lighting was the same. Then, as the visual information became available from his brain buffer, a yellow shape began to congeal on the lab table. Gilbert took a few steps towards the painting and concentrated with all his energy. At first it was only a fuzzy yellow blob, the edges undefined. Slowly, the figure became sharper. Without warning, it all snapped into place with such force that Gilbert almost fell backwards. Noel jumped behind Gilbert in order to catch him, but Gilbert recovered his equilibrium at the last moment.

"Easy, Gilbert! It's only a painting! I thought you were going to fall over on your butt there for a second!"

"But how could you have painted this? How did you know? How..." his voice trailed off into silence.

"I don't understand exactly what you're asking me, but I painted this picture the same as I painted all the others...although I invented this creature, unlike the platypus in the previous painting. I doubt if anyone has ever before conceived of a creature exactly like this one," he winked at Gilbert with a forced warmth.

Gilbert stared at the floor, hiding the doubt in his eyes from Noel.

Noel was wrong. The mush monster lived. The cave painting proved that people had known of it for hundreds of years.

The painting of the mush monster was done in the same super- realistic style as the platypus. The glob of corn meal mush stretched into the air, the head had a human shaped mouth with tentacles bordering the outer edge of the lips. Up close, the tiny grains of corn meal were individually painted, composing the skin of the creature. At certain points along the surface, bubbles, frozen in time, were erupting from the skin. The power of this painting was very intense, once the eye began to roam over the details, the observer fell into the trap, almost helpless to escape. Gilbert did not look long at this painting, he had learned his lesson from the last one.

After a minute, he tore his eyes from the canvas and said, "I congratulate you on your ability to create paintings with such detail that they are almost hypnotic."

The top of Noel's bald head became flushed with a dark ocher-green color, in contrast to the pink tinge of the rest of his face. "Thank you, but you are wrong on one point."

"What point is that?"

"They are not ALMOST hypnotic, they ARE hypnotic," he grew stern, his eyes narrowing to red points. "I have worked thousands of hours to perfect just that effect. I have succeeded beyond any doubt."

"Yes, you have, Noel, I should not have said `almost', that was wrong," Gilbert did not desire for Noel to take offense at his choice of words.

The top of Noel's head turned a darker green, and a cold light illuminated his eyes, making the smile on his lips all the more peculiar. "Would you like to see one more painting, before we call it a night? I'm a little tired from unpacking, and I want to get up early and straighten things up," he was not really asking Gilbert a question, because he was switching the paintings even as he spoke.

In Santa Cruz, at that moment, Dr. Smith was lying on an operating table, naked, not covered by a sheet. Dr. Smith was totally male, his penis drooping across his right leg like a white snake. The man in the green gown was very happy. Reality had decided the universe was ready to party.

"Another painting?"

"One more, then let's call it a night." Noel set the canvas on the easel, and backed away.

Gilbert's brain malfunctioned and did not have time to set up the subconscious buffer. Lightning striking him in the face would have been easier to take than the image he saw on the canvas. There was the lab bench and the fluorescent lighting, just as in the previous paintings. Flash! Suddenly, the image of the lizardman leaped from the canvas and stood before the easel, his scaly fists resting on his hips, like a nightmare rendition of Superman standing before the American flag.

"Don't you like this one, Gilbert? What's wrong? You look like your going to faint," said Noel.

"I have to go now," Gilbert turned and ran to the front door, turned briefly and said, "G...good night."

"Well, okay. Good night, Gilbert."

Gilbert slammed the door behind him, hoping to trap the lizardman inside the guest house. The full moon lit up the desert landscape, turning it into a crisply defined blue- tinted photograph. Gilbert's pupils were so dilated from fright he clearly saw every gray pebble, every thorny cactus, every wiry bush. He ran to his front door and flung it open, ran into his house, and quickly slammed the door. He turned the brass handle of the lock to secure his home. He leaned his back against the door, panting, losing control of his breathing.

"Open up, stinky big man," said the lizardman.

Gilbert heard the lizardman's tail thrashing against the door.

"I squished you once, I flushed you down the toilet!"

"I swim real good, big stinky dumb man."

An uncontrollable trembling ran through Gilbert's body, throwing him to the floor. Sweat burst from every pore on his body, instantly soaking his clothes. His eyes rolled back in his head.

"I come in now, we talk," the brass handle of the lock flipped open, unlocking the door. The door knob turned.

"Stay away!" Gilbert was frozen in fear on the floor, his only movement was the trembling that vibrated his entire body.

In Santa Cruz, at that very moment, Dr. Smith removed the oxygen mask from his face, and said, "Wild, isn't it?"

The lizardman walked over to Gilbert's head, wagging his long scaly tail, and placed his small gray hand on Gilbert's cheek. The hand was cold; sharp spikes of pain bit Gilbert's face--pain radiated out to all his body.

"I got a big story to tell you. Big, big, big."

Gilbert forced himself to raise his left arm, slowly, so slowly that the lizardman could not notice. It took all Gilbert's will power to control the shaking. He moved his hand...slowly...across his stomach...slowly...

"Once upon a time, there was a land of darkness. Nightmares lived there."

Gilbert's face screwed up at the knives of pain that stabbed his thoughts. It took all the strength he had left to silently move his hand across his chest, closer, ever closer, to the lizardman.

"The nightmares were big like you, but they were not dumb like you. They manipulated the darkness like humans manipulate clay."

With a flashing blur, Gilbert grabbed the lizardman. The little monster screamed and squirmed in his hand, the sharp scales of its skin cutting his flesh. Gilbert stood up, holding the creature away from his body at a right angle. Blood began to pour from Gilbert's hand, but the pain turned to pleasure as he squeezed as hard as he could, until the lizardman's head exploded in a miniature shower of thick yellow pus.

For the second time in his life, he flushed the lizardman down the toilet. Gilbert washed his hands for nearly an hour before he finally went to bed.

5: A LONG LOST RELATIVE

A hard knock on the door awoke Gilbert from a pleasant dream. Half asleep, he clumsily dressed, and stumbled downstairs to answer the knock. It must be Noel, he thought, it was too early for the propane man. When Gilbert opened the door, Noel greeted him. Noel looked different this morning. His naked brow seemed to be larger, giving him a slight Neanderthal look, and the crown of his head was bigger and greener.

"I was worried about you, Gilbert. You took off in such a hurry last night, I thought something had frightened you. Are you all right?" He bunched his Neanderthal brows together in a look of concern.

"I'm okay. Everything is fine now."

"Well, I just wanted check on you before I start working on my art. Once I start, I don't like to be disturbed."

Gilbert gently shut the door, and contemplated making his normal breakfast of corn meal mush. He silently prayed for the mush to behave. He did not feel like being chased around the desert this morning. He was in no mood for such antics. He made his breakfast without incident.

He sat at the kitchen table staring at his bowl of mush. For just an instant, the mush stood up in the bowl, bowed to him, and then settled back down. It gave him no further problems, and he ate in perfect peace.

As Gilbert was cleaning up the mess from breakfast, he heard a car coming up the dirt road. It did not sound like the mailman's little white jeep, or the propane man's truck. No one else used the dirt road in front of his house except for himself--and Noel. Gilbert was even more surprised when he heard the car pull into his driveway. He ran to the front window to see who it could be. A Honda Accord with freshly waxed paint, looking well maintained, parked in his driveway behind Noel's van. A woman sat behind the wheel.

"It is my sister! She has come all the way from Los Gatos to visit me!" shouted Gilbert. He ran out his front door before his sister had a chance to get out of her car. "Christine! Christine! I am so happy to see you!"

"Brother! It's good to see you too, it's been a while," her short red hair was well kept. She was wearing a white blouse and faded jeans, looking clean and casual. She sparkled with a wholesome energy that lit up the area around her. When she got out of the car, she gave her brother a hug, but since physical human contact was so rare in his life, he could only grasp her awkwardly.

"Nice place you have brother. Do you have company?" She pointed to Noel's van.

"What?"

"I see your old jalopy, but who owns the van?"

"Oh, that is Noel's van. I rented the guest house to him, otherwise, the guest house would be yours. Please... come inside."

They entered the house, and Gilbert pointed to the couch. "Please, have a seat." He went to the kitchen and poured Christine a glass of iced tea. Trembling from happiness, he could barely hold onto the frosty glass as he walked over and handed it to her. He stood, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She looked so wonderful.

Christine smiled at Gilbert, and said, "I haven't seen you since you moved from Santa Cruz. I think the last time was a few weeks after Dad's funeral. You were so sad and quiet. I could barely get you to speak to me."

Blushing, Gilbert replied,"Yes, I suppose I am still not one to talk a lot. There are not many people to talk to out here in the middle of the desert."

"How are you doing out here? Do you have things to keep you busy?"

He shuffled his right foot back and forth in the carpet fibers, as if trying to bury something. "I like it here. Sometimes the desert is more exciting than I can bare," Christine laughed at his remark, thinking he was making a joke.

"It is true," he said. "But do not get the impression that I spend all of my time at the house. I spend a great deal of time at Mrs. Tool's Place."

Christine's face sparkled with surprise. "Great! You have a girlfriend! I was worried you were spending all your time alone," she smiled at him as a great burden lifted from her shoulders.

"No, Mrs. Tool is not my girlfriend. She owns a small tavern in Hot Springs. I like to go there and eat their steamed clams. They are very good. I also like to sit and listen to the people talk, although I do not participate in their conversations. I normally only converse with entities from..." Gilbert stopped himself, but not before realizing he had said too much. Why could he not control his tongue? He quickly asked, "Do you have any boyfriends?"

"No, I haven't met anyone that is really special to me yet, but I date a few guys from work." Christine wore a worried look. She was hoping to see her brother with a mind that was fully recovered from his unfortunate drug poisoning, but his slip-of-the-tongue indicated that he was still withdrawn from people, and worse, was hallucinating. It made her sad. Gilbert was never an outgoing type of person, but after the brain damage, he withdrew even more. She had known about Gilbert's imaginary friends, having witnessed him talking to the invisible creatures when he lived in Santa Cruz. These "entities" had replaced the real people in his life.

Christine hated the creeps that had pulled that trick on Gilbert, ruining his wonderful mind. He had always been so smart, so alert. When they were young, she could never keep up with him in school. Everything came so easily to him, a perfect "A" student. Now he was so pathetic, living out here in the desert, doing only Lord knows what.

And the creeps had never been caught. If she could ever find them, she knew she could kill them without thinking twice about it. Sometimes, in the darker side of her mind, she would fantasize shooting the trio that Gilbert had described, blowing their brains out of their heads--the bloodier the better--splattering their brains all over the walls, just as they had ruined her brother's brain.

She felt guilty about not visiting Gilbert after he had moved to the desert, but the pain of seeing him so confused--his great genius wasted--had been too much for her to bear. She sensed that this poor man was no better off than the last time she had seen him.

"I love you brother and I feel terrible I haven't come to see you until now. I promise that things will be different from now on," she wiped away a single tear that ran down her cheek.

"Are you going to stay here long? When do you have to go back to work?" His eyes told a story of sadness. Gilbert longed for her to stay forever, Christine was his only family. Gilbert's innocent, transparent nature broadcast his feelings with a powerful force: directly at Christine's heart.

"I can only stay a week, but I promise to visit more often, I'm not going to let months pass by again before I see you," she said with total sincerity. "The company has given me a lot of freedom. I work my own hours now, doing most of my work at home. In fact, I brought my laptop with me so I could finish my work here. You don't mind me doing a little homework, do you, Gilbert?" Her eyes were clear and hopeful.

"You can do whatever you want. It is enough for me just to have you in my home," he smiled at her, adding, "Maybe you will even let me play with your computer, when you are not using it."

In the guest house, Noel was naked, and had drawn all the window shades down. The door was locked. He did not want to be disturbed. He had tacked a note on his door stating that fact. All his belongings were put neatly away so that his floor was uncluttered, making room for the tubes of paint, can full of brushes, and glass palette that all sat on a newspaper he had spread out on the floor.

Noel opened the closet door and took out a black metal box. It was the size and shape of a large hardbound dictionary. On top of the box, there were: a black knob, a series of chrome toggle switches, and three green liquid crystal displays, one below the other. He carried the box over to the paints and set it on the floor. He went back to the closet and took out a rectangular two foot mirror set in a wooden stand. He brought this over to his other supplies and positioned it on the floor.

Noel sat like a Buddha in front of the mirror. From the side of the black box, he uncoiled a red insulated wire. On the end of this wire was a long needle. He brought this needle to his right ear, centered it in his ear canal, then quickly plunged it into his brain. He had done this so times before, his eardrum was useless. "Never stick anything in your ear larger than your elbow," he said, quoting his mother's famous phrase.

He casually flipped the toggle switches to their on positions. The LCDs started displaying rapidly changing numbers. He adjusted the black knob, pinched the flesh of his arm, then adjusted it again. He repeated this procedure until the flesh of his arm, when pinched, did not go back and flatten to its original position--the tissues elasticity radically altered. "Ah Gilbert, what a mind you once had, you were too dumb to know how really smart you were."

Noel began squirting paint onto his glass palette. Today he would use a greater ratio of primary colors to flesh tones, creating a new look. Using one of his brushes to mix the colors into a large blob in the center of the palette, he worked for almost an hour before the color satisfied him. Nothing would suffice short of perfection.

The color was beautiful, the amount of terra verte was perfect, no more, no less than what was required. He mixed the paint thoroughly with a large brush, then scooped up a good sized blob and plopped it on top of his head.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he began working the paint all around his bald head, building up the paint in layers, letting one coat dry, then applying another. His goal was to enlarge his cranium, to allow more room for his brain. With electronics designed by Gilbert, nestled within the black box, the artistic fantasy would become a reality. He could already feel the paint becoming a part of him; no longer was it a mere plastic coating on his skin's surface, but a living organ coalescing with his flesh. Nerves spread beneath the new skin surface and burst into life; blood pulsed through a growing network of new veins, nourishing what was once only paint.

Noel's eyes rolled back in his head. He put the brush down, no longer able to hold it steady. The detail work could wait until the waves of ecstasy ebbed to a level he could tolerate. He loved this phase of the process, the reassembling of reality onto a new plane, the effect that shocked the first experimenters. Not one of these researchers could tolerate the experience, so they abandoned the experiments: except for Dr. Smith and Noel Kern, who could not only tolerate it, but enjoyed it.

No theory was advanced as to why they were immune to the effects-- it was impossible to discover the reason-- because reason seemed to have nothing to do with it. Dr. Smith and Noel were left alone in their experiments, the others had decided that the risks outweighed any practical benefits, especially when it was discovered that the electronics behaved like a drug, a highly addictive drug. When a person stopped using the electronics, they went through withdrawal. The research stopped, becoming relegated to the technological scrap heap like the early experiments using LSD as a cure for schizophrenia. Noel and Dr. Smith would be watched by interested government agencies, just in case there was some military value, but the popular thinking was that this phenomenon was suited more for the circus than a lab. In actuality, no one knew what was going on. It brought out deep primal fears in some people, and human nature being what it is, it was much easier to run from the fear than to face it.

For many hours, wave upon wave of pleasure swept from the tip of his head to the ends of his toes, and when the waves subsided, he was a different man. The size and color of his head suggested the look of a martian from an old science fiction movie. Noel knew that his brain had changed, his thoughts glided into new areas of mind, places that were huge and strange and dark. Places that had not existed in him before this session.

He mixed up a new color, using blue paint. It was blended with enough of the old batch so that when he used it to paint veins on his head, they appeared to exist just below the skin. It was subtle, and only a skilled artist, like Noel, could achieve the desired results. Even before he could touch up the details, the pleasure centers of his brain lit up like a Las Vegas night, and he was lost again to the rampage of ecstasy that swept through his body.

"So tell me, what's your tenant like? Is he cute?" Christine asked, as she set down the last of her luggage by the couch. She brought only two suitcases, and a carry bag containing her laptop computer.

"I do not think you could call him cute. He is very tall and thin, and I would go so far as to say that he has deformities."

"Deformities? What sort of deformities?"

Gilbert's face scrunched slightly. "His skin color is strange, his fingers are too long, his teeth look like a vampire's, and he has no eyebrows."

Christine giggled and said, "Well, I guess I won't be asking him out on a date." She wondered if her brother's description was based more on hallucination, than on actual physical appearance. She would reserve judgment until she met Noel. Christine asked, "Is he nice?"

"I am not sure. I do not know if my...my brain damage is interfering with a correct character assessment, or not," he looked at the floor and turned red.

It was obvious to Christine that Gilbert did not feel comfortable talking about his mental impairment. "Maybe I can help you. I'll give you my opinion of your tenant after I've talked with him."

A silence fell upon the siblings, then Christine asked, "Gilbert, I hope you don't mind my asking, but are you taking the pills the doctor gave you?"

Gilbert averted his eyes from his sister's. He did not want to upset her, nor did he want to lie to her either. "I do not take the pills. They upset my system."

The pills were for stabilizing Gilbert's brain chemistry. His serotonin levels were so out of balance, they registered the same as a person on one-thousand micrograms of lysergic acid diethylamide. Gilbert was, to some degree or another, hallucinating continually. His doctor in Santa Cruz, Dr. Freeman, had never seen a case like Gilbert's.

At three in the morning, in the emergency ward, Dr. Freeman had met Gilbert. Gilbert was bound in a straight jacket and screaming insanely as Dr. Freeman injected a tranquilizer through the sleeve of the straight jacket into Gilbert's arm. Dr. Freeman was surprised to find out his patient was the well-known Gilbert Keyhurst. The only explanation for Gilbert's drug overdose was that someone had slipped it to him without his knowledge. Gilbert was a well-respected citizen of the community.

The hospital halls rang with Gilbert's screams. By the time the tranquilizer had taken affect, his straight jacket was dripping wet with perspiration. As Gilbert became calmer, he began chattering on and on about balls of light. Seeing white light was a common psychedelic experience back in the sixties, and Dr. Freeman was not concerned by Gilbert's rambling on the subject. What Dr. Freeman wanted was to find out the name of the person responsible for poisoning poor Mr. Keyhurst, so that person could be brought to justice.

When Gilbert was lucid enough to answer questions, Dr. Freeman asked him who the perpetrator of the crime had been. Gilbert would only say that the person was a "transexoid," and that he did not know the person, had never seen the person before, until that day. Dr. Freeman realized that he had been mistaken about Gilbert's lucidity when he had spoken the nonsense word, "transexoid." After a weeklong stay at the hospital, Gilbert had shown no sign of recovery from his hallucinations--he had suffered permanent damage to his brain.

Two weeks following Gilbert's release from the hospital, his father had died of a heart attack. His mother had died from cancer long ago, when he was only six years old. This left Gilbert with no family except for his sister. Christine was badly shaken by her father's death and Gilbert's poisoning. It was dark times for the both of them, and with Gilbert's mental condition, things could hardly get worse.

On the day of the funeral it was raining, and the weather reports gave no hope of it letting up. The rain only added to Christine's and Gilbert's depression. They sat at Gilbert's house, watching the drops of water splash against the front window. No people come over to the house following the funeral, both siblings were much too sad to face anyone at that moment. The only thing they felt like doing was listening to the patter of the rain on the roof.

Gilbert suddenly stood up, and walked over to his kitchen. Neither of them had eaten on the day of the funeral, so Christine thought he must be getting something to eat. She sat on his couch, continuing to listen to the lonely patter of the rain. She heard Gilbert's voice come from the kitchen. It sounded like he was having an argument with someone on the phone. She became curious, and got up to go look in on her brother. He was staring at something on the kitchen table, except that there was nothing there to stare at. He pointed his finger at the invisible creature that, in Gilbert's mind, must have stood no taller than five inches.

"You should not have come here! My sister and I desire to be alone. Please, leave now," he yelled at the air.

"Gilbert, are you all right?"

"Yes, Christine. It is this little monster that is not all right. I want it to leave!" He suddenly had a look of shock and disgust come over his face. "How dare you swear like that in front of my sister! Get out!" He pointed to the back door.

Christine did not know how to handle this situation. It scared her. She had never seen an episode like this, even though Dr. Freeman had warned her that Gilbert had acquired some imaginary friends...and foes. It was painful, seeing the wonderful mind of her brother reduced to this state of decay. It was the pain that made her leave the kitchen and throw herself on the couch, crying for hours, until she felt Gilbert's gentle hand on her shoulder. He said, "It is okay now, Christine, I got rid of the little monster."

Christine could remember the day of the funeral as if it was yesterday, the pain of watching Gilbert's tortured mind forever marked her soul. It become more and more difficult for her to look at her brother. After Gilbert had moved to the desert, she had not gone to see him until today. Things would be different now. She was a stronger person, fully recovered from her grief. She wanted to help her brother to get better, instead of vainly wishing his brain damage had never happened. She now looked him straight in the eye and said, "Gilbert, you've got to take your medicine. The doctor said it would help you"

"But Christine, it does not help me at all. When I take it nothing changes except for the terrible stomach ache it gives me."

"When I go back to Santa Cruz, I'm going to call Dr. Freeman and see if he can prescribe something else. I want you to get better, and become a happy, well-adjusted person."

This last thing his sister said confused him. He did not think he was unhappy, and he thought he had adjusted quite well to the rigors of living in the desert. He always found a way to deal with whatever monsters life threw at him. He enjoyed the challenge. The universe was a wonderful place, it teemed with life, and that life had a way of ending up at his little home in the desert. He smiled at his sister, and said, "Please do not worry about me. I am happy. Please believe me."

She did not understand how he could be happy, alone in this hot desert, but her brother was not one to lie. If he said he was happy, he was happy. She felt cheered by his words, and put aside her concerns for his mental health, for awhile. "Gilbert, let me take you into town and treat you to a special dinner. Where's a good place to eat?" she asked.

"I only eat at Mrs. Tool's Place," he said.

"But I'm here now. Let's go eat at some place new, some place you've never been to before."

"I am not comfortable when I go to strange places."

"Mrs. Tool's was a strange place for you the first time you went there. I'm here with you now, you're not going alone. Come on, do this for me. You'll like it."

"Okay." He could not disappoint his sister.

They both took a few minutes to freshen up. Christine got her purse and said, "Let's go!" They walked out and climbed in her car, and drove off down the dusty road.

Noel could hear the car leaving. He had earlier heard their reunion when Christine first arrived. Noel had been too busy to meet her, he first had to bend and twist reality into new shapes, create some new art with his own body as the canvas. He peeked out his front window and saw the cloud of dust obscure Christine's car as she drove down the dirt road.

Now was as good a time as any.

Noel put on a black tee-shirt and a pair of jeans, and left his guest house. He circled around Gilbert's house, trying to determine the best way to break in; he wanted no evidence of a forced entry. He saw a window on the south wall that had been left open. He looked inside. It was the bathroom window. If he could somehow wiggle the screen loose, it would be easy to crawl inside. He saw that the screen had no tabs or screws to hold it in place, it merely rested in a metal slit. After a few minutes of jiggling the screen, it came loose. He hoisted himself through the window and landed in the bathtub.

Christine and Gilbert found an interesting little Mexican restaurant nestled between a vacuum repair shop and a used book store. All of the shops and restaurants that lined the main street had a quaint look about them. She liked the atmosphere of this little town. As beautiful as Los Gatos was, this isolated town that sat baking in the desert sun had a charm all of its own. She was having fun here.

Inside the restaurant the air was cool and clean. There were booths along the walls and square tables arranged in rows along the floor. Each table and booth had a red tablecloth, its own big red candle, and a small wooden holder containing the menu.

Gilbert studied the inside of the restaurant. He saw nothing hiding in the shadows. No alien entities were peeking at him from under the tables. The room's energy flowed in a slow circular motion, not highly charged or disruptive, drawing no energy from any life forms sitting at the tables or the employees of the restaurant. This place had a benevolent aura, even better than Mrs. Tool's Place.

"You look relaxed, Gilbert. See, there's nothing to upset you here. Come on, let's sit at a booth." They sat at a booth by the front window, where they could watch the lazy pace of the people on the sidewalks.

When the waitress came to take their order, Gilbert noticed that the veins of her face appeared very close to the surface of her skin. It made her head look like a road map. When she spoke, her Mexican accent was very thick. He could not understand her. "Would you order for me, Christine? I do not know much about Mexican food."

"Sure." She pointed to the "number three" dinner special. The waitress wrote the order in her tablet and asked if they would like something to drink. Christine ordered Mexican beer for Gilbert and herself. "You'll like what I ordered, brother," she said with a smile.

Noel was in the bedroom, looking through every drawer and closet he could find. After he finished rummaging through them, he would arrange all the items back to their original positions. He finished with the bedroom and went downstairs to start on the kitchen.

It must be in this house somewhere, and with his new powers of perception, he had no doubts about his finding it. His eyes had mutated into wonderful, new instruments. He only had to concentrate on an object, desire to view it close up, and his eyeballs would act like zoom lenses. The chosen object would loom before him, magnified to any degree he desired. He could bring anything, from any distance, into perfect focus. He was the New Man--a hypergenetic masterpiece--his own creation. But he had further heights yet to reach.

"Damn!" yelled Noel. He had to find it before they got home. He estimated that he had about an hour and a half from the time he entered the house, and forty-five minutes of that time were already wasted. He had been through every drawer and cupboard of the kitchen. He even looked through the refrigerator with its containers of moldy corn meal mush. He started on the medicine cabinet and bathroom drawers, with a feeling of growing anxiety.

The waitress brought the steaming plates of food to their table. The food smelled delicious, the vapors making Gilbert somewhat dizzy. The most complex food he had eaten recently was Mrs. Tool's homemade hot sauce. This Mexican dinner almost overwhelmed him; he sat and stared at the food, while his sister was half finished with her plate.

"What's wrong? Eat up, Gilbert, before it gets cold."

He looked at her with wide, surprised eyes. "It is so beautiful."

"It may be, but you're supposed to eat it, not stare at it."

This food did not move. It did not talk to him. A bright green halo surrounded the plate. The aura pulsated, inviting him to taste the wonders it hovered over. There were rice, beans, tamales and chile rellenos. A big mound of sour cream and guacamole sat in a bed of shredded lettuce. Gilbert finally stuck his fork into one of the chile rellenos.

It did not yell out in pain.

It was not in the bathroom. Noel made a careful search and was positive it was not hidden in any medicine jar, or stuck under any towel. The last place to search was the living room. He went over and stood by the couch, looking around the room for any likely hiding places. He would try the closet located on the wall by the television.

The dinner was a success. Christine loved her brother's smile, it helped to erase the bad memories of those terrible times in Santa Cruz, when his sadness and craziness had depressed her and drove her away. "Let's go back to the house and watch some television. I can't remember if you have a VCR. Do you?" she asked as she paid the bill.

"No, I do not."

"That's okay, we'll rent one from the video store I saw down the street. Let's hurry!"

There were not many things in the closet. The top shelf had a few small boxes stacked on top of one another. On the closet floor sat a broom, a plastic bucket, boxes of various cleaners, and an industrial vacuum cleaner. He took the boxes from the top shelf and brought them over to the kitchen table. It had to be in one of these boxes.

Christine and Gilbert walked out of the video store. She held an old science fiction movie called, Invaders From Mars that her brother had insisted they rent. Gilbert carried a box containing a brand new VCR. He decided to buy a VCR instead of renting one. Why had he not bought one a long time ago, since watching television was his hobby? They were both anxious to get back and set it up. Gilbert's excitement was childlike and contagious, so when they got in the car, Christine revved the engine and squealed the tires, driving back to the house as fast as the law allowed.

Noel had opened and searched all the boxes but for one. It must to be in this last box. He opened it and found a microscope inside. Noel would no longer need microscopes and magnifying glasses. His superhuman eyes were superior to those inorganic machines. He emptied the contents onto the tabletop. He scanned through all the glass slides and suddenly yelled, "BINGO!" There it was, taped to one of the slides, a small microchip with a happy face printed on the top.

Christine's hands could hardly hold onto the steering wheel, the dirt road was so bumpy. She slowed down a little so the vibration would not be so intense. Gilbert looked over at her and said, "Thank you for opening up so many doors for me, sister. I do not know how to thank you."

"Believe me brother, it was nothing. You don't have to thank me." The sun was just starting to sink below the horizon as they drove up the driveway.

Noel had heard the car pull up. He was just putting the boxes back into the closet. He put the slide with the microchip into his jeans' pocket, and ran for the kitchen's back door. He was leaving the house just as Christine and Gilbert walked in and turned on the lights.

6: TRANSFORMATIONS

The ball of light pulsated to the rhythm of Gilbert's heartbeat. It floated five feet above a checkerboard surface of black and white squares that stretched infinitely in all directions. Gilbert stood in awe before the bluish white light, its scintillating rays shone like crushed diamonds. A halo, with all the colors of the rainbow, surrounded the ball of light.

"I bet you have some message for me," said Gilbert, his voice echoing across Dreamland.

"Does everything have to be business all the time? Can't this be just a friendly little visit?" The light burst forth in a shower of thin golden rays after each word it spoke.

"I would like that. It would be much like visiting a son or daughter, since I do not have any human offspring."

"Do you want me to call you Dad?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Dad, and I'm sorry, but I do have a message for you. I entered this dream to again warn you about your buddy, Noel."

"You think he is evil."

"He is not the kind of person you think he is. For example: you wouldn't think him a thief, but he is. He stole something from you."

Gilbert was puzzled at this accusation and scratched his head. "What did he steal? I do not own anything valuable, and I have not noticed anything missing."

"He stole your electronic tear," said the light.

Gilbert awoke to find his bed blankets wrapped around him like a tortilla around beans, turning him into a human burrito. The dream was slipping rapidly from his mind. He tried to recall it, but the effort was futile. As the alarm clock rang in his ear, he struggled to free himself of the blankets, and pushed the alarm button off. The clock's digital display read nine a.m. The alarm had been ringing for hours, but failed to wake him. In the entire length of time he had lived in the desert, he had never before overslept. The extra hours of sleep felt very good.

He got out of bed and dressed. He went downstairs to check on his sister. After the science fiction movie last night, Gilbert offered to sleep on the couch, insisting Christine sleep in the comfortable bed upstairs. She refused and said the couch was just fine with her. She must have woke up early; the blankets from the couch were neatly folded and stacked next to the television set.

But where was she? Christine was not in the bathroom. Could she have gone for a walk in the desert? He looked out the front window and saw that her car was gone. For one paranoid instant, he thought Christine had gone back to Los Gatos, but knowing his sister, he dispensed with his paranoia. Besides, her luggage was still here.

He noticed her laptop computer on the kitchen table. Next to it was a piece of paper. It was a note, explaining that she had driven into town to return the video. Gilbert smiled. He walked over to the cupboard to get his favorite aluminum pan for making corn meal mush, but something kept nagging at him, just below his conscious level of thought. It was something about his dream.

Noel was not hungry this morning, he was much too excited to eat. He sat on the floor, naked, legs crossed, his black box and mirror placed before him. He did not need his paints for this session, because it was a special session--the reason for his coming to the desert in the first place.

Dr. Smith was the only other person in the world who knew of Gilbert's special talent, besides Noel. It was revealed in an electronic vision to Dr. Smith that Gilbert was a hypergenetic man. By providing Gilbert with a strong hallucinogen, his natural ability to modify reality was released. And Noel knew, by a cosmic intuition born from his use of the black box, the product of Gilbert's mind would be something special, something he needed.

The desert sun made the inside of the guest house grow hotter by the minute, but Noel did not bother to turn on the swamp cooler. Bodily comfort, along with such things as food and sleep, began to have less and less meaning as his transformation progressed. Noel was becoming more than a mere human; he was turning into a new form of life. The things of this world began to fade in importance, people were beginning to take on the status of insects, useful only as playthings. A vision of a world where he was master, where all of creation was a place for him to party--ripping up reality and rolling it out in whatever manner he pleased--gripped his black soul.

He uncoiled the wire from the black box and inserted its needle tip into his ear, giving it an exuberant shove deep into his brain. A small trickle of blood dripped from his ear to his shoulder. He flipped the toggle switches on, and began to adjust the black knob for the proper setting. Lately, he had to adjust the setting a bit higher because of the "heroin" effect, as Dr. Smith had called it. Noel could not go one day without jamming the needle in his ear and frying up reality for a few hours. When Dr. Smith or Noel purposely deprived themselves of the electronics for reasons of research, the withdrawals had been so painful they decided never to submit to deprivation again.

Noel remembered being locked up in a padded cell, bound in a straight jacket, while the research team observed him through a one- way mirror. His stomach had coiled up and turned into a corkscrew of pain. Oily sweat poured out of his skin as he ran into the walls and pounded his head against them, trying to shake loose the chrome spikes that raked his brain, shredding it into bloody globs of gray jelly. The researchers would have let this torture play itself out, but Noel's head actually started to expand, the skin of his face stretching so taut it began to tear, forcing the researchers to enter the padded cell and connect him to the electronics. Drenched in blood and sweat, Noel's head shrank back to normal size almost immediately.

Noel would never again go without his electronic fix.

The elasticity of his skin changed, so he made the final adjustments to the black knob. The first wave of ecstasy rolled like a tidal wave through his body. He tensed his muscles and rode it out. Sweat burst from his strange looking forehead and dripped into his eyes, the sting of the sweat not bothering him in the least; that was something only a human would worry about. Using his zoom lens eyes, he magnified the view of his forehead. He could see the big blue veins just beneath the translucent green skin. It was so beautiful.

Noel used both hands to pull apart the skin on his forehead in order to study the bloody bone of his skull. He braced himself for the sudden rush of pleasure, and when it came, he trembled and moaned like a man in the act of love making. When the peak of pleasure passed, he let his intuition take over, because he was not sure how to proceed.

He slowly got up, his butt sticky from the blood pooled on the floor. Carrying the black box with him, he took an ice pick from one of the kitchen drawers, and resumed his sitting position in the pool of blood. He magnified the mirror image of his forehead, and taking hold of the ice pick with both hands, began jabbing away at the bone of his skull. The place was turning into a gory crimson mess because of the slivers of bone chips and blood flying all over. He really should have spread out some newspapers, but in his excitement, he forgot.

Noel found that the degree of pleasure was equal to the extent of the modifications he performed on himself, therefore the ecstasy ebbed and flowed with great power, this being such a radical modification. The faster the fragments of bone were chipped away, the shorter the periods between the waves of ecstasy. He passed out for a few minutes- -falling backwards--the ice pick stuck deep in his skull. His body shook with the force of an epileptic seizure, tiny drops of blood squeezing out from his skin pores. When the shaking stopped, he lay in the sticky blood like a dead man. Suddenly, his eyes popped open, and he sat back up. "Man, that was great," he said, like speaking to a lover.

Christine stood before the counter of the video store and handed the tape to the teenage sales girl, who checked to make sure it was rewound. Christine smiled at her and turned to browse among the rows of movie boxes that were neatly displayed on their wooden racks. She wanted to rent a few more tapes to surprise her brother. It was fun to make him happy. Gilbert was childlike in his joy, always maintaining a trust in the basic goodness of the universe. Gilbert's attitude was at the very core of his genius, she was pleased he had not lost it. The monsters who had poisoned him had failed to destroy her brother's soul.

Picking out a couple more science fiction videos, she took the empty covers to the counter in exchange for movies. She was suddenly struck by a strong apprehensive feeling about Gilbert, powerful enough that she almost asked the salesgirl if she could borrow her phone, but instead, decided to hurry back to the house.

Two nice things about desert life were: there was hardly any traffic, and the speed limits were high.

Noel could see his brain through the two inch diameter hole he had carved in his skull. The problem was his brain kept leaking out of the hole and he kept having to poke it back inside. Finally, when the fascination of viewing his brain wore off, he held his left hand over the hole, and with his other hand, reached for the happy face microchip on top of the mirror.

"I believe I can just plug the damn thing in," he said, quickly removing his hand from his forehead and before his brains could start spilling out, plugged the microchip into the soft gray matter.

Holding onto the black box, he ran for the bathroom.

A person could barely turn around in the little room. It consisted of an old stained toilet, and a small pink sink with a mirror hanging on the wall above it. He set the black box on top of the toilet lid and grabbed a box of bandages that was on the sink. Using his mouth and one hand, he opened up the box and started bandaging the hole in his head. It was a bad job, the artist in Noel was not pleased with the look, but at least his brains would stay in his head. He decided to paint over the bandages, and make the whole mess become part of his flesh. He hurried to get this done before the new chip in his head could kick in. What would happen when it did? He had no idea...

He ran to the closet and fumbled with the box containing his paints. No time to be neat. He took the materials over to the mirror and quickly mixed the proper colors. He brushed the paint over his bandages, smoothing it out and blending it with the rest of his forehead.

When the ecstasy hit him, he passed out.

Christine pulled into the driveway just as Noel was passing out in the guest house. She parked her little car and ran to the main house, praying her apprehensive feelings about her brother were wrong. When she opened the door, Gilbert was sitting at the table eating corn meal mush, a happy expression on his face. She heaved a sigh of relief.

"What is wrong, Christine? You looked worried there for a minute," he said between bites. "Care for some corn meal mush?"

"Yes, I would. I haven't had any since I was a little kid." She gestured for Gilbert to remain seated, while she fixed a bowl. "I got a bad feeling at the video store, like you might be in danger; so I hurried back here as fast as I could."

"I am fine, sister. There is no problem here."

They ate their breakfast, and afterward, Christine insisted that she wash the dishes. After everything was put away, Christine showed the new videos to Gilbert. He was thrilled, the titles looked so exciting. "Do you mind if we watch them now?" he asked, his impatience charmed her. She loved that quirk in his nature. Before the brain damage, when he was at the peak of his genius, he would become so excited over tiny things. The importance of discovering a revolutionary new circuit design, was equal in importance to discovering a horse shaped cloud formation. It was all the same to Gilbert's childlike mind.

"I can't watch them with you right now. I need to do some work with my computer, but you go ahead and enjoy them." She gave her brother a big smile as she sat down at the kitchen table and turned on her laptop.

Gilbert shoved The Day the Earth Stood Still into his new VCR, and sat down on his comfortable couch to watch the movie. The good thing about having a VCR was that it prevented the television from displaying strange entities with power to carry on conversations with the television viewer. It was okay when he was alone, but now that his sister was here, he did not wish to expose her to the strange effect he had on television sets. The only unusual thing that happened was the video box stated the movie was in black and white. Gilbert saw it in color.

Noel rolled over on his back, opening his eyes to see the new world. His thoughts were swirling and dancing, bursting and burning, contracting and expanding--white light seared his brain. He felt energy pulsing down the length of his arms, curling his fingers into claws. The whole universe was open to him, seeing the lines of force that held all things together, golden bands of raw power that begged to obey his commands. He could feel the thoughts of Gilbert and his sister. It was almost time to meet Gilbert's sister, to toy with her. That was all people were good for. Playthings. The meaning of life was so simple--all things were fodder for his pleasures--his pleasure being the very law of the universe.

He pulled the needle from his ear and rolled the wire back into the black box, wiped the blood from the floor, and put away his things. Getting his jeans and tee-shirt from the closet, he carried them, walking naked into the bright glare of the desert sun to his outdoor shower. This would be a sacred ceremony, a cleansing away of the old Noel and the birth of a powerful new creature. He turned on the shower and watched the crimson blood swirl down the drain as it streamed from his body. What were his powers, now that he was a new creature? Could the atomic structure of all things be as a child's modeling clay, a toy for his mind to manipulate? The last of the blood ran down the drain, the last of the old Noel.

As he stepped from the shower, an idea came to him. Concentrating on the water that covered his skin, he willed the water away. Nothing happened for a second or two, then the droplets of water suddenly flew from his skin, suspended in the air like a shimmering cocoon around his body. Noel laughed, shivering with delight. He swung his arms above his head in a grand gesture, and the water cocoon burst apart, dispersing into the air.

"Oh yes, this is wonderful! Just wonderful!" His muscles tingled with electrical energy, feeling raw and powerful, even though his body was still tall and thin. He put on his jeans and shirt, and decided to take a walk in the desert, before meeting Gilbert's sister. The temptation to experiment with his new power was too great to resist.

He walked to the canyon.

The quiet of the desert lulled the mind from thoughts of the world that existed beyond Gilbert's isolated house, so when the phone rang, Gilbert and Christine both jumped, startled by the noise. Gilbert never got any phone calls, except for an occasional salesperson, or a person doing some sort of survey. "Are you going to answer the phone, Gilbert?" Christine asked, looking up from the computer's high resolution LCD.

"Yes," he pushed the yellow pause button on the remote control and froze the movie just as the robot walked out of the flying saucer onto the grass, facing the hostile army before him.

The phone hung on the kitchen wall demanding attention. He walked over and picked up the receiver. Who could be calling him? "Hello, Gilbert Keyhurst speaking," he said in a pleasant voice.

"Gilbert, I'm so glad to find you at home," said a strange, but vaguely familiar male voice.

"Yes, who is this speaking?" A cold chill ran down Gilbert's spine. The voice on the other end was speaking from a dark place, a place buried in Gilbert's past.

"I'm an old friend of yours. I wanted to come visit you. We met once on a beach in Santa Cruz. I never got a chance to find out how you liked the new soft drink."

"Oh no!" He slammed the phone down, and walked over to his startled sister. "It was the creature that gave me the drugged drink that day in Santa Cruz," he spoke rapidly, stumbling over his words. "The creature named Dr. Smith."

This was a shock, and a revelation, to Christine. First, that the criminal would even call Gilbert, and second, that her brother had given the criminal a name: Dr. Smith.

"It was?" said Christine, trying to organize her thoughts. "Did he just tell you his name? What did he want?"

"I saw the creature being interviewed on television. The newscaster called it `Dr. Smith'. It wants to see me."

Christine's face flushed with thoughts of revenge. This criminal that had ruined Gilbert's brilliant mind, escaped without any punishment, now had the nerve to call and ask to come over to his victim's house? She thought of calling the police and telling them to get their butts over here and arrest this `Dr.Smith' as soon as he walked through the door, but on second-thought, she would rather blow his ass to kingdom come herself. Who would blame her for defending her handicapped brother? Gilbert was right when he called Dr. Smith a creature, because in Christine's mind, Dr. Smith was a slime ball from hell, and she would make sure that Dr. Smith returned there.

"I don't mean to upset you," Christine said. "But do you think this Dr. Smith wants to come here to cause you harm?"

"I can think of no other reason it would want to see me."

"Do you have a gun? A rifle? Something to protect yourself with?"

"I do not own any guns."

Christine reached around the back of her laptop to switch it off. "I'm going into town. I'll be back within the hour. Don't let anyone in, not even your tenant, until I get back. Promise?"

"I promise." Gilbert seemed a bit concerned. "Are you going to buy a gun?"

"Yes, I always wanted a gun, and this is as good a time as any to buy one. Now don't worry about anything. Sit tight and finish your movie." She grabbed her purse from the kitchen table and had her keys out before she reached the door. As she stepped outside, she turned and warned her brother, saying, "Lock this door. Don't let anyone in."

On the way to her car, she thought she saw a flash of light, coming from the canyon. She pondered this for a few seconds, then shrugged her shoulders, and got in her car and drove quickly into town.

On the main street in Hot Springs, she spotted a sign with badly flaking paint, announcing the "WESTERN GUN SHOP." The lettering style was a relic from the 1800's. Christine parked her car and walked into the old wood shingled store. The man behind the glass counter was a relic also. He reminded her of some character actor from an old western movie, complete with cowboy hat and grizzly gray beard. "I want to buy a shotgun. The biggest, baddest one you have," she said, then smiled.

The phone rang again. Gilbert did not want to answer it. He could see the phone changing from its normal cream color to a hot, bright red. The plastic was going to melt if he did not answer it. The phone screamed at him, pulling his mind into its electronic guts. The tension was too great for him to bear, so he picked up the phone and said,"Hello, Gilbert Keyhurst speaking."

"Don't hang up," Dr. Smith spoke rapidly. "I just want to say I'm sorry for any harm that I might have caused you, and that I am here in Hot Springs, not far from where you live. I just want to come over and apologize to you in person. I might even be able to help you. I'm a doctor of medicine, did you know that?" Its voice was smooth and soothing, invading Gilbert's head like an attack of warm cuddly kittens. He fought it off with a great effort of will power.

"You are not welcome in my house. Stay away." No voice replied from the other end of the line. Gilbert thought that Dr. Smith had hung up.

"I'll see you a little later," Dr. Smith finally said.

"This is a big gun, little lady, and it kicks like a mule. It's liable to knock you on your fanny, pardon my French." He handed the 12-gauge, pump action shotgun over to Christine for her to inspect. "Do you know how to use it? You don't look like the gun toting type."

"Does it come with an instruction book?" Christine asked. She liked the feel of the big rifle. The weight of the gun gave her an immediate psychological boost, as if holding the rifle made her grow a foot taller.

"Sure does. You want the gun?"

"Yes, I do."

He handed her the legal papers to sign and she gladly took them, using a pen from the counter to fill them out. When she had finished signing the papers, and started writing out a check for the bill, she paused before she filled out the amount, and asked for another two boxes of cartridges, making a total of four. It was probably overkill to buy so many, but it made her feel more secure. If she encountered more trouble than she bargained for, it would not hurt to be overly prepared. She then asked for yet another box. Just to make sure.

Christine took the big rifle and the bag of ammunition. "You've been more than helpful, sir. Have a nice day."

"Happy hunting lady," said the old man. His right eye twinkled.

Noel stood on the floor of the canyon, the San Andreas fault ran directly beneath his feet. He pointed his right forefinger at a large granite rock. It must weigh nearly thirty pounds, he thought. A thin silky thread sprang from his finger and attached itself to the rock. He was now physically connected to it, the rock becoming an extension of his flesh. He willed some of his life energy to travel into the rock. He felt the energy come from his stomach and rush through his body, leaving from his fingertip to run down the thread. The spent energy was immediately replaced by more energy, a source deeply hidden within forbidden layers of reality. An orgasmic wave flooded through him, his legs nearly buckled from the impact.

The rocks texture changed. The surface remained the same gray color, but it began to wrinkle, resembling the skin of an elephant. The rock started to bulge around the bottom, the whole mass quivering like a pile of jelly. An object that looked like a nipple emerged from the top, made of the same wrinkly skin. The rock was now a giant breast, sweating in the desert heat. Noel pulled the thread from his fingertip, disconnecting himself from the monstrosity. He smiled at the former rock, and said, "I have given you life, whatever the hell you are."

Noel began walking up the wall of the canyon, his body nearly parallel with the canyon's floor, in utter defiance of the laws of gravity. He was whistling an old Beatles tune, a tune some people believed referred to LSD, as he casually strolled to the top. When he reached the top of the ledge, his body swung up to the proper angle and he gazed across the expanse of the desert like an arrogant god.

He glanced down the gorge at the giant living breast he had made. It writhed in pain. The nipple was lactating profusely, covering itself with a sticky white film that accumulated in soft clumps on its fleshy folds. The boulder's resemblance to a female breast reminded Noel it was time to pay Gilbert's sister a friendly visit.

The rundown, sun scorched motel was a series of cheap rooms connected to form a U-shaped structure that wrapped around the parking area. When Dr. Smith had pulled in at three in the morning to rent a room, the neon sign that hung above the parking lot entrance proudly announced the name of the motel as the "ACE MO EL." A fat old lady with bleary red eyes, sat behind the counter staring at him curiously, as she handed him the keys to his room. The rooms were only fifteen bucks a night, and they were comfortable. The bed gave him a good night's sleep, not at all bad for fifteen bucks.

Dr. Smith left his small motel room, having decided to remain in the form of a man for the duration of his desert visit. He had greater strength as a man, and if Noel had already stolen Gilbert's creation, he would need the added strength to take it from him.

This joint effort had disintegrated into a free-for- all. Dr. Smith was pissed that Noel would try and edge him out of the game. So be it. Dr. Smith felt he was up to facing Noel, especially with the powerful .44 Special in his pocket. If it came down to killing Noel--or Gilbert-- it would be no problem, the issue at stake was the very foundations of reality, and for that prize, nothing would stand in his way.

He walked over to the office and saw that a skinny old man was behind the counter, replacing the fat old lady that had checked him in early this morning. Dr. Smith handed back his motel key, and said, "Nice beds." He stepped out the door to his red Toyota pickup and took off for Gilbert's lonely desert home.

Gilbert paced around his living room, trying to work off his nervous energy. He had problems with monsters again. These monsters were not from his cans of Spork, or from his television set. These monsters were infinitely more threatening. He was beginning to suspect that Noel was not a nice man. Why would he paint a picture of the lizardman? Did he know the lizardman? And now, this phone call from Dr. Smith had really upset him . It let out all the old nightmares he had locked away, deep in his memory. The phone call had unnerved his sister to the degree that she was in town, buying a gun. He had not realized before how protective of him his sister was. He must calm himself down, so when his sister returned, he would not upset her to an even greater degree.

The room was spinning and Gilbert almost fell down. He decided to lie on the couch. No longer in any mood to watch movies, he shut off the television. His stomach was hurting and his head ached. All he could do was stare at the ceiling and wait for his sister.

Noel decided to go inside his little house for two reasons: The first reason was that Christine's car was gone, meaning he would have to wait to meet her. The second reason was a premonition, when he closed his eyes he saw Dr. Smith driving down a stretch of desert road, pissed, and carrying a loaded gun. This made Noel laugh. His power was too great to worry about a little gun. He could turn the gun into a harmless water pistol by the force of his thought. He looked forward to seeing his old art client. Dr. Smith could not have come at a better time. He could show her his latest work.

Gilbert was picking his nose and watching the ceiling melt. The colors swirled and danced, forming landscape after landscape, each succeeding landscape more beautiful than the last. He was beginning to relax, enjoying the show, when he heard a knock on the door that broke his reverie. He stood up and walked to the door, but did not open it, following his sister's instructions. "Who is it?" He yelled. He wished he had one of those tiny round peeper windows.

Noel stood before the small bathroom mirror, admiring himself. His face was unlike any other face on this planet. He was beautiful. He was truth. All of mankind would bow to him. How dare Dr. Smith become angry with him. He would turn Dr. Smith inside out.

"It's me!" His sister yelled from the other side of the door. "Open the damn door!"

"How do I know it is really you?"

Christine stood holding the heavy rifle and bag of ammunition, thinking that her brother's damaged brain could be a nuisance at times. "I will stand in front of the window," she said, stepping over a few feet so Gilbert could see her.

Finally, Gilbert opened the door for her and she came inside. He locked the door, knowing that the next visitor would probably be an unwelcome one.

Gilbert admired the rifle. The wood was beautifully finished, and the black metal was smooth and shiny.

"Now, I need to learn how to use this thing," Christine said as she set the rifle on the kitchen table and took the instruction book out of the bag of ammunition. "This has got to be a crash course, I have the feeling we don't have much time."

"You really mean to use that gun?" Gilbert knew his sister possessed a strong sense of fairness. The look on her face, as she studied the manual, revealed she did not think Dr. Smith had gotten what he deserved.

"If someone trespasses on your property, and is a threat to your life, you can use equal force against that person. I want a little bit more than equal force," she put down the manual, grabbed a box of cartridges and started to load the shotgun. They both heard a car pull into the driveway.

7: A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS

Gilbert and Christine looked out the front window, and watched the red Toyota pickup pull into the dirt driveway. "Can you see who it is?" asked Christine.

When the dust settled to the ground, Gilbert could see the dreaded face of Dr. Smith, the transexoid that had callously poisoned his mind and forever changed his life. The doctor was in the form of a male, which made the creature seem even more dangerous. "It is Dr. Smith," Gilbert said, his voice quivering with nervousness. A tick developed under his right eye, making his cheek vibrate. What could this evil creature want with him, Gilbert thought, as he held his hand to his cheek in a vain attempt to quell the tick.

All the brave and vengeful feelings left Christine as the reality of the situation sank in. Her goal of avenging her brother and soothing her own guilt feelings took a back seat to her growing fear. When she saw the face of Dr. Smith as he opened his car door, she could feel the doctor's menacing nature emanating from the very core of his being. Christine knew of her brother's belief that Dr. Smith was some sort of sex transforming creature--more monster than human. Now it was easy for her to believe, after having seen Dr. Smith with her own eyes. She clutched the rifle in her hand, but the more rational act of calling the police became a more viable alternative than a shoot out in front of her brother's house.

"What should we do, Christine?" Gilbert asked his sister as they stepped away from the front window, not wanting Dr. Smith to see them spying on him.

"I don't know, brother. Let's hold tight and see what happens."

Noel had heard the pickup truck when it pulled into the driveway. He did not need to look out the window to see who it was, he could feel the sour aura of Dr. Smith invading his space.

Dr. Smith had been his friend in Santa Cruz, a valued art client that had helped him put food on the table. The first time he had met Dr. Smith was at the co-op gallery reception for a series of his paintings, named, MUTATIONS. The doctor was in the form of a woman, a beautiful woman. She had stayed late in order to talk with Noel about buying some of his paintings. He was thrilled that she had taken such an interest in his art. They both drank quite a bit of champagne that night, as they stood by the wet bar discussing Noel's art reception. They were never without a full glass of bubbly in their hands.

Dr. Smith appeared to be flirting with Noel, brushing her breasts against his arm, or turning in such a way as to reveal her milky white cleavage, outlined by her thin black blouse. Noel was excited by the flirtations and asked," Would you like to come over to my house and see the new series of paintings I've started?"

"Yes," She said in a sultry voice, and followed him in her car to his oceanside home.

"I like your house," she said, inspecting his front room. It had been converted into a studio; paintings lined the walls, and his easel displayed the current work in progress. It was a painting of a platypus, the detail of the work amazed her. Noel explained his philosophy behind the painting, and Dr. Smith became more enthralled. They both held the same world view.

She asked for a drink, and Noel informed her he only had bourbon. "Oh that's fine with me," she winked, not behaving at all like a stiff-necked scientist. As the evening wore on, they both became more uninhibited. Finally, Dr. Smith grabbed Noel by his hand and led him into the bedroom. Noel was feeling giddy, laughing at his luck in finding a buyer for his work who also desired his skinny body.

The only light in the room was from the street lamp that glowed softly through the window. The doctor smiled at Noel as she seductively removed her clothes, slowly taking off her black blouse and skirt, revealing that she was not wearing any underclothes. Noel's mouth went dry and his body burned with desire. Her skin was so smooth and white, like a baby's skin. Noel had never seen such taut, perfect skin.

"I want to show you the reason I love your paintings so much, Noel." Dr. Smith said, and left her lips parted, a wet invitation to pleasure.

"Show me," he said, his voice husky with passion.

That was the turning point of Noel's life. He was not prepared for the sight of Dr. Smith transforming from a woman into a man. As every trace of her sensual femininity was replaced by the hard musculature of a testosterone drenched male, reality seemed to turn to dust and blow out the window. Noel almost fainted, but curiosity kept his mind from shutting down. This strange creature, Dr. Smith, was a living example of his obsession, a hypergenetic being, transforming in his bedroom before his very eyes. Dr. Smith reformed her body back into that of a woman and got dressed. She had not brought a change of men's clothes with her.

Dr. Smith took Noel's hand and led him to the kitchen. He was in a state of shock and would have stood all night in his bedroom, staring at the walls. The doctor said, "We have much to discuss tonight. Why don't you brew up a pot of coffee and we'll talk."

The secret door to the mechanisms of reality became known to Noel that night. He entered into a new phase of his career. Not only was Noel the idealistic artist, but he could now list lab rat on his resume.

What a bitch, thought Noel, as he rose from the old couch. Dr. Smith had used the electronics on him, electronics that were as addictive as heroin and just as deadly. She had let him taste the power, and now she expected him to share that power. He had a surprise waiting for her, sharing in the power was no longer part of the game plan.

He opened his front door just as Dr. Smith was about to knock.

"Shit, you look terrible," were Dr. Smith's first words as he looked at Noel's new alien features. "Have you lost all of your aesthetic taste? What are you trying to look like, a grade `Z' science fiction monster?"

"You look much better as a woman, so don't criticize me," he snarled at Dr. Smith, somewhat surprised at seeing the creature in the form of a male. Dr. Smith usually preferred the feminine form, enjoying the attention she received from aggressive men.

"You've decided to take this joint project into your own hands, leaving me out of the picture. That wasn't very kind of you, Noel."

Noel glared at him. "I guess I've grown a little greedier than when we first met."

"You always were egotistical, and now you're also a fool. I'm the scientist, or have you forgotten that fact? I'm the one we both agreed should take the final step," Dr. Smith glared angrily into Noel's inhuman eyes. "I suppose you've already incorporated into your body whatever it was Gilbert's mind produced? What was it? Some organic life form, or an inorganic electronic device?"

"A microchip with a happy face printed on its top," Noel said, then chuckled.

"So you have incorporated it into your body!" Dr. Smith was turning red with anger. "Damn you, Noel!" he yelled.

Gilbert and Christine had watched Dr. Smith walk over to the front of the guest house. Ten minutes went by and he had not reappeared from around the corner. He must have gone inside. "Do you think Dr. Smith knows your tenant?" asked Christine.

Gilbert was only a little surprised by Christine's question. Coincidences were not unusual occurrences in the flow of life. Noel had lived in Santa Cruz. His gallery brought him in contact with the local community. His paintings were of odd creatures. Dr. Smith was an odd creature. It would be more unusual if they had not met. "They are probably old friends," he said. The thought of that friendship caused his brain to crinkle up, pulling itself from the walls of his cranium. He would have to dismiss Noel as his tenant.

"Oh great, I wonder what we are dealing with here? " Christine paused to think, then said, "Why don't you call the police? Maybe that's the right thing to do." She held the rifle a bit tighter. If it came right down to it, she felt she had the guts to pull the trigger, especially if Dr. Smith decided to threaten them with physical harm.

Gilbert walked over to the phone and dialed 911.

The veins on Noel's big bald head bulged, then pulsated in a slow rhythm.

"What's happening to you?" asked Dr. Smith, ready to pull out the gun at a moment's notice.

Noel put his hands to his head. "I feel our friend Gilbert is about to make a mistake. I can't have him do anything foolish." He closed his eyes, his forehead wrinkled, then enlarged, stretching the skin until it nearly ripped open. After a few minutes, his head slowly shrank to its former shape. "It's okay, now," Noel said cryptically, a smile grew across his lips.

"You're scary, even to a shape shifter like myself," said Dr. Smith, breathing a sigh of relief. For a moment, he thought his nice, clean clothes would be bloodstained from Noel's exploding head.

The phone was dead, not even a dial tone. Gilbert tapped the receiver on the wall, thinking something might be loose. "We might have to leave here, and go to the police station. This phone is not working."

"I don't think leaving the house would be such a great idea," Christine said, as she put the rifle down on the kitchen table. "I'll bet anything, that by the time we got back, Dr.Smith would be long gone." She frowned, trying to decide the best move. "Why don't you take that phone apart and see if you can fix it. If you can't, then maybe the problem's on the phone company's end."

He unhooked the phone from the wall and set it on the kitchen table. He went to the counter and opened a drawer filled with miscellaneous objects. Sifting through candles, thumbtacks, stamps, and shoe laces, he finally found a small screwdriver. "I am not as good as I used to be with electronic devices, but I will try and fix it."

"You can do it, brother, have a little self confidence."

"What was that thing you just did?" asked Dr. Smith, worried by the new power Noel seemed to possess. As a scientist, Dr. Smith would have to determine how great Noel's power really was. Perhaps Noel had only effected the distortion of his own body, and had not really affected Gilbert at all.

"I'm not imagining my new power," said Noel, reading Dr. Smith's mind.

Dr. Smith knew all test subjects exhibited a slight increase in telepathic ability after using the electronics, nothing to really worry about.

Noel responded further to Dr. Smith's thoughts. "I have the ability to monitor a vast area around my immediate physical position. This new power goes far beyond some weak display of telepathy. I not only know all that's transpiring in this area, but I can effect changes to its reality." He gave the doctor a sharp look and added, "And you should be worried about me, Dr. Smith, because if you plan to do me any harm with that gun in your pocket, I'll turn your body inside out."

A pale look of fear fell over Dr. Smith's face. He knew that Noel was not making an idle threat, though the question remained, was Noel merely hallucinating the strength of his powers, or was he really able to carry out the threat. Dr. Smith built a protective wall around these thoughts in order to block out telepathic intrusion. It was becoming clear that recovering Gilbert's creation was not going to be an easy task.

Gilbert had the pieces from the phone spread before him on the table. He examined each of the electronic parts, and could find no visible damage. He went to the living room closet and took down a box that contained his multimeter and soldering iron.

Christine was pleased at her brother's new confidence. As he unsoldered the parts and tested each one, he seemed to be his old self again: the electronic wiz who could fix a phone as easily as most people could pour a glass of milk. She was proud of him.

"This is strange," Gilbert said, scratching his graying head of hair.

"What is it?"

"All of the resistors are ruined. Each one registers infinite resistance. I have never seen all the same type of parts go bad, all at the same time. Things do not break down in this manner."

"Can you fix it?"

"I will look around in my boxes for spare parts. If I have the parts, I can fix it. I collected quite a few discrete components when I lived in Santa Cruz, and I do not remember throwing any of them away." Gilbert noticed that his head felt very clear, like he had eaten a chocolate mint from Mrs. Tool's Place. When he looked at his sister's face, it did not melt and reform into paisley patterns every few minutes. Gilbert was so accustomed to hallucinating, when lucidity came, it felt like a drug. The job of fixing the phone must have some therapeutic value.

Gilbert found the box of electronic parts in the living room closet, and brought it over to the table. He rummaged through it, picking out the proper resistors and setting them aside. He used his multimeter to check them out. Every single one was bad.

"Sit down on the couch, Dr. Smith, and don't play any games with me. I want you to see something, a little demonstration of my power, to instill in you the proper degree of respect for me."

Dr. Smith sat down on the old couch, trying to remain calm. Noel smiled and pointed at the little television set on the coffee table. A golden string shot from his forefinger and attached itself to one of the television's antennas. Part of the string, directly beneath his forefinger, grew into a ball, no larger than a marble. It moved down the length of the golden string until it reached the antenna, paused, then fused with the antenna's chrome surface. The chrome liquified and traveled up the string, covering Noel's entire body. He was now chrome plated, but the chrome was fluid, fitting him like a second skin.

Dr. Smith's jaw dropped in stunned amazement.

"Don't act so surprised, Dr. Smith. I have much more to show you." Smiling wickedly, his face reflected the interior of the room like a fluid mirror. His eyes turned a dark crimson, boiling with a hot power.

"Oh yes! I feel the guardians of reality opening up the gates of heaven! I see the loom of creation spinning out the very fabric of the universe." Noel laughed madly, and then said, "Watch this!" The chrome thread that ran from his finger started to glow like hot metal, shooting bolts of energy into the television.

Dr. Smith was frozen in fear. In all of the controlled lab tests, nothing like this had ever happened before. Noel had transcended the mere transformation of flesh, he was now effortlessly controlling the very foundations of reality, supercharged with Gilbert's happy face microchip. How could Dr. Smith steal that prize from Noel?

It would not be easy.

The wood grain plastic case of the television faded to a light pink, becoming soft and pliable. The screen turned a dark shiny black, and grew big black lips. The sides of the television began to bulge outward, forming long muscular arms with thick veins that pulsated violently beneath the skin. The television paced back and forth on the tabletop, using its hands for feet as a leg amputee would.

Noel pulled the umbilical connection from his finger. As the thread dropped to the table, it retracted into the television. The chrome skin covering liquified, and ran like mercury into his ears, nose and mouth, uncovering Noel's normal skin. When the transformations were complete, Noel said, "How do you like my little television pet?"

Dr. Smith wanted to scream and run out the door. The gun was obviously of no use against Noel at this point, unless...

The television started to make belching noises. It hopped down from the coffee table, its powerful muscles rippling with strength. The elastic television body stretched and twisted, using the black screen as its eyes to inspect the room. It waddled around the inside of Noel's house: poking into the trash can under the kitchen counter, opening and inspecting the refrigerator, and finally jumping onto the bed and using it as a trampoline. Noel became irritated at the monster and yelled, "Settle down!" The television bowed as if it was ashamed, jumped off the bed, and waddled over to Noel, rubbing against his leg like a cat. "There, there, my little pet. I'll find something for you to do in a little while," Noel stroked its antenna.

With hardly any forethought, Dr. Smith reached for the gun and aimed it straight at Noel's heart. The big .44 Special let out a tremendous boom; a sharp pain blasted through Dr. Smith's arm from the gun's powerful recoil.

The organic television yelled and screamed in agony.

Gilbert and Christine stopped what they were doing, and looked at one another, shocked by the gunshot and the inhuman scream. Fear ran like ice water in their veins, the sudden silence pounding in their heads with each heartbeat. Christine finally unfroze enough to grab the shotgun she had set on the table. "What in God's name was that?" She asked.

"The first sound must have been a gunshot, but I have no idea what made that scream." Gilbert had heard many strange noises before, but even his Spork creatures never made sounds like the scream from the guest house.

"We've got to go see what happened. I'm taking this rifle with me," Christine pumped the shotgun. It made a satisfying click as a round went into the chamber. "Are you afraid brother?"

"Yes. I have very bad feelings about this," the blood drained from his head. Paisley patterns again crawled across Christine's melting face. "I do not want you to get hurt," said Gilbert. "My own life is not of any great consequence, but yours is most precious to me."

Christine felt a lump form in her throat. She tried to keep the tears from falling as she placed her hand on his cheek and said, "Gilbert, you're so sweet, and believe me, your life is of great consequence, there is no better brother in the world than you." She motioned for him to follow her out the door.

How had the bullet not harmed him? A .44 slug should have blown a hole the size of a fist through his back. Noel had stumbled backwards from the bullet's impact, clutched his heart as if he was in pain, and then, like nothing had happened, regained his balance and continued stroking his pet television, trying to calm it down. Dr. Smith could not even see a hole or any blood on Noel's tee-shirt.

Noel patted the television like he would a puppy. "Dr. Smith, you frightened my little friend with your noisy gun. I think you deserve some sort of punishment."

He pointed his forefinger at Dr. Smith's head. A silver thread shot from Noel's fingertip, landing in the center of the doctor's forehead. The end of the thread splintered into hundreds of tiny tendrils that quickly spread over Dr. Smith's face, muffling his scream.

"What should I do with you?" Said Noel.

Dr. Smith jerked upwards from the couch--like a string puppet--his arms waving wildly in the air. Noel looked pleased. He forced Dr. Smith to walk over to the refrigerator and back up against its door. A small ball formed on the silver thread under Noel's forefinger, and with a squint from his eyes, it traveled across the thread to Dr. Smith's forehead.

Dr. Smith shook violently, as if high voltages were running through him. His clothes ripped and exploded from his body, flying all over the room. Uncontrollably, his body began to change into a female's. The tendrils from the silver thread multiplied and grew, spreading outwards from her face, until they formed a web around her entire body.

"You look better as a female. Now I can truly call you a bitch."

The tendrils took on the color of her flesh, and became a part of her body, like a web of large veins.

"You must not be allowed to move around freely, so what should I do with you?" Noel said. He was intoxicated with madness and power. His eyes were yellow reptilian orbs with thin black slits for pupils. He grinned, shaking his forefinger, the silver thread waving up and down between them.

The skin on Dr. Smith's back liquified, and the door of the refrigerator liquified, mingling together to become one mass. A mating of human and machine. She cried out in agony because this marriage of materials was not pleasant, the pain it generated sent sharp spikes slicing through every organ of her body, over and over again, ripping and shredding. She could not move from the refrigerator, every attempt to rip her body from the door doubled her pain.

Noel tore the thread from his finger. "You're on your own now, bitch."

The pet television waddled over to Dr. Smith. It seemed to be sniffing her leg, using its dark screen as a nose. With powerful arms it gripped one of her legs, mounting it like a dog, and started humping against it in a wild sexual frenzy. Dr. Smith was in too much shock and pain to scream.

Noel heard a knock on his front door.

8: LET THE GAMES BEGIN

Noel looked around the interior of his bachelor style house and decided that things were under control. The blood was cleaned up. His little television pet was happy. Dr. Smith was stuck to the refrigerator, busy having her leg molested. Everything in the house seemed to be in proper disorder. He chuckled at this thought. His new found madness was so delightful. It lit up his brain like a Christmas tree. Disorder was the word for today. Wonderful sensual chaos. He could let the flow of his thoughts swirl and spin in boundless oceans of pleasure. Matter was his clay, his plaything, to mold and shape however he pleased. His old idea of hypergenetics was primitive, it lacked the vision he now was capable of, his mind free from all human limitations, free to soar.

Noel knew that Gilbert was a talented man, far more talented than anyone ever imagined. He should be grateful to Gilbert for this new power he now wielded, but it would be far more fun to tease him, to link with him and drain his brain, to make his current hallucinations seem like a day at nursery school, to strip him of all human dignity. Human dignity was a contradiction in terms anyway, humans are too weak to have any dignity.

Noel heard the pounding on his door. Perhaps it was time to let Gilbert and Christine into his world. He would like to meet Christine. He would like to pulverize her reality into cosmic meatloaf.

Christine stood facing the door, Gilbert standing behind her. She held the rifle with both hands, ready to place the butt against her shoulder, aim and shoot. "I hear someone inside, they're walking towards the door. Get ready brother!"

The door opened so quickly, it startled Christine, but that was nothing compared to the shock of seeing Noel's awesome alien presence. He was so tall, she first found herself staring at his stomach, which was on her eye level. Gilbert had warned her that he was deformed, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she looked up. His large, bald, greenish head was covered with huge veins that could be seen expanding and contracting with every beat of his heart. And she wondered why her brother had not warned her about his eyes--the yellow eyes with the black thin pupils. The eyes of a snake.

"You must be Christine," Noel said. "My, you are very pretty. Please come inside...oh, I don't think you'll be needing your gun."

Gilbert looked behind Noel and saw the mess his room was in. Then he noticed the monstrous Dr. Smith stuck on the refrigerator door. What was that thing squirming on her leg? His sister was so stunned by Noel's appearance, at first she failed to see the surrealistic scene that lay beyond. "Sister, I think we should go back to the house; it looks as if Noel might be busy."

Noel smiled at Gilbert and said, "Nonsense! Please, come inside. You have an old friend in here that I'm sure you'd like to see. I think you'll appreciate what I've done to her. She hurt you, so I'm punishing her for you. Don't look so surprised. I know all about the poisoning in Santa Cruz. She deserves to be punished, don't you think?"

The color ran from Christine's face as she looked past Noel and saw the strange scene behind him. Her mind could not accept what her eyes saw. The vision of horror found no foothold in her higher brain centers, so it plunged directly into the primitive centers of animalistic fear.

Gilbert caught his sister as she fell backwards in a dead faint. He held her as he bent to pick up the rifle that had dropped from her hands. "I have no idea what is going on here Noel, but I want you off my property."

"You are evicting me?" Noel broke out in hysterical laughter. After he got his laughter under control, he reached out with his tentacle fingers and grabbed Gilbert by his graying hair. "The law says I get a thirty day notice." He laughed in a high girlish manner. "But then, I really don't care what the law says. I'm beyond worrying about such petty, mundane things. And who do I have to thank for that?" He yanked Gilbert's hair until Gilbert let out a yelp of pain, and then yanked his hair again. "I have you to thank for that Gilbert! You! You have talents you don't even know about. Wonderful talents. You know, in a way, I am your son, your creation, so thank you Dad for all your help," He gave one final tug on Gilbert's hair, then let him go.

Gilbert shook with rage. He held his sister and walked her slowly back to his house. Noel came outside, followed by his grotesque pet television. "I want you to say goodbye to this world Gilbert! From now on," he spread his arms wide, "this world is mine!" Gilbert closed his door and locked it, shutting off the sound of Noel's laughter.

Christine awoke on the living room couch. Gilbert held a damp washcloth to her forehead. He gently patted the cloth on her sweaty brow. She looked into his concerned face and said, "What the hell is going on here Gilbert? I feel like I just had the worst nightmare of my life."

"I think that Noel has gone crazy. He has done something terrible to Dr. Smith. Made her into some...some kind of monster. Also, when he spoke to me, he seemed to know all about the Santa Cruz incident. He made it sound like he had performed a service for me, by punishing Dr. Smith," he stood up and walked to the kitchen sink to put more water on the washcloth.

"You said that Noel was deformed, but he doesn't have any kind of deformity that I've ever seen before. He looks like something straight out of a science fiction movie-- like a man from Mars. And what was all that stuff going on inside his house? It was a nightmare." She sat up on the couch, no longer feeling the need to lie down. Christine had reserves of inner strength that amazed even herself. "In any case, it seems that our problem is no longer Dr. Smith, but your tenant, Noel. You told him to leave, right?"

"Yes, I did"

"And?"

Gilbert put the washcloth on the counter, walked over to the refrigerator, and took out a can of orange soda. "Would you like one?" Asked Gilbert. Christine nodded yes. He took the sodas over to the table and sat down. "He laughed at me when I told him to leave. He sounded crazy. Completely insane. And he is also...different, different than he was just yesterday."

Christine shook her head in agreement. "He is most definitely different."

"I mean he looks different, his face, his eyes. And he has some kind of power, some ability to change things. He changed Dr. Smith into some kind of horrible monster."

"Dr. Smith already was a horrible monster," said Christine.

Gilbert could see out the front window from where he sat at the table. Something pink peeked out from behind the bumper of his old Dodge Dart. "Do not be alarmed, but I think we are being spied on." He nodded his head, indicating for Christine to look out the window. She looked, and said, "I don't see what..."

The television creature used its muscular arms to spring onto the trunk of the Dodge. The old car shook from the impact of the creature's weight. Christine became dizzy, her mind fighting against the impossibility of what she saw. Such things do not exist, cannot exist--

Gilbert saw that his sister needed help. She was becoming pale again. He got up and put his hand on her shoulder. Touching people was becoming easier for him, as he grew comfortable with his sister's presence. "It is an odd looking thing, is it not?" said Gilbert, watching the television creature do squats on his car, exercising its muscular arms. The thing Gilbert found really strange about this creature was that Christine could see it too. His other entities were visible only to him.

"You don't seem to be affected by this weird stuff like I am. Seeing that monster makes me feel faint; it just doesn't belong in this world!" The television thing opened its big black lips and let out a huge belch that rattled the windows. Christine and Gilbert jumped back.

"You must understand something about my life in the desert," Gilbert said. "I see strange creatures almost everyday. I am used to such things. So please, trust me when I say, we can handle this situation."

Her brother's words comforted and disturbed Christine. Whatever strange nightmare had fallen across this landscape, it was only the everyday world for Gilbert. The hallucinogenic reality of her brother had somehow entered into the real world. Gilbert's inner world was now the outer world. But no matter what dark vision invaded their reality, she thought the prudent thing was to get the hell out and get the police; let them deal with the situation. Her feelings of revenge were satisfied by the fact that Dr. Smith had apparently met with an appropriate fate, but she did not care to follow up on Noel's insanity, leave that one to the experts. "Let's drive into town and get the police. I don't think we should have to handle this mess ourselves," Christine said, looking up hopefully at her brother.

"Yes, you are right, but what about that thing on my car? Do you think it will let us leave?"

"Don't worry, I'll shoot it," she went to get the rifle from the table, it was cocked and ready to fire. "Let's go. Now."

As soon as they stepped outside, the television creature jumped down from the trunk of the car, landing with a soft thud and a small cloud of dust. Growling noises came from the large dark mouth that was filled with daggerlike teeth, sparkling like chrome in the desert sun. It quickly waddled between them and the car door. The intention was obvious. They were not to leave. As soon as Gilbert made a move towards the car, the thing barked and bared its dagger teeth. The creature's mouth was so big, it could easily take off Gilbert's leg with a single bite.

"Step aside, brother, I'm going to send that thing back to hell," Christine, standing only eight feet from the monster, took aim. She pulled the trigger. A huge boom shook the desert air, along with a recoil that sent her falling on her butt.

The monster blew apart, the remains falling all around Gilbert and Christine. As Christine got to her feet, she picked up one of the bloody remains to examine it. The gory flesh looked like any piece of meat except for the transistors, capacitors and other electronic parts imbedded in the muscle fibers. She tossed it back on the ground and motioned for Gilbert to get in the car.

Even before Gilbert took one step, the pieces of bloody flesh began to move rapidly across the desert floor, coalescing into several distinct objects. Each object began to enlarge, vibrating and squirming, finally turning into five new television creatures--each one as large, muscular and mean as the original. They growled and snarled, some of them pawing their hands in the dirt like bulls getting ready to charge, kicking up clouds of dust.

"I think we should move slowly back inside the house and rethink our strategies," said Christine, pointing the rifle at each creature in turn. None of the monsters made a move towards them, but they looked ready to leap and rend them to pieces at any moment.

Slowly, with no sudden movements, Gilbert and Christine inched their way backwards, never taking their eyes off the five strange beasts. As soon as they backed through the doorway, Gilbert slammed and locked the door. One of the television creatures marched to the door and knocked, as if expecting them to let it in.

"I get the impression that Noel's pets don't want us to leave," Christine said, her voice shaky and dry. Nothing in life had ever prepared her for this. She could imagine telling her friends at work: I was trapped by some living television sets at my bro's house...had a great visit though...

"These creature are a problem. I think we can rule out the shotgun as an effective defense against them," Gilbert said, scratching the stubble on his chin.

"Maybe we could set them on fire, burn them up so there is nothing left. Do you have anything in the house like kerosene or lighter fluid?"

Gilbert tried to remember.

The washboard ripples in the dirt road made it hard for the mailman to hold onto the steering wheel. He would never drive his own car this fast on a road like this, but since it was a government vehicle, he did. Gilbert's house was the only house on this dirt road, and it sat a good two miles from the main paved road, and the main paved road was miles and miles from anywhere. He wondered how a man could stand to be so isolated from everyone. He did not like big city life, but anyone trying to live like Gilbert lived, was beyond his imagination. How could Gilbert stand it?

When the mailman's wife had suggested that they move to Indio, he had at first thought they would be too isolated, too removed from all the conveniences they enjoyed in Norwalk.

"Bill," his wife had said, "there is a growing gang problem that is causing this town to go to hell in a hand basket. Just look at all that graffiti on Nelson's Market. We have got to get out of here before the crime gets so bad that we won't be able to give this house away."

When they had moved to Indio, Bill discovered he enjoyed the town, the good clean air, the good people. He did not miss Norwalk in the least. The gang problem in the cities was a dark cloud hanging over this nation, destroying the culture, destroying the America he had grown up in and loved as a kid. He did not know what to do about it except to leave the city behind and move to a small town. Let someone else worry about the gangs.

Gilbert's mailbox was on a white pole that stood in front of his property, to the north of his driveway's exit. Bill pulled the mail truck up to the mailbox and reached into the back of the jeep to get Gilbert's mail, which consisted of pieces of advertising. What a waste of trees, he thought. Bill took the mail and gingerly stepped out of the vehicle and walked over to the mailbox. Some sort of commotion was going on in front of Gilbert's house that raised up clouds of dust.

Bill thought he heard Gilbert calling to him, but he was not sure.

One of the television creatures had spotted the mailman. It stopped pawing the ground and quickly waddled off in his direction. The man held papers in his hand and looked surprised. His face was white with big dirty balls of sweat. He did not run. That was good. He looked nice and tender, nice and juicy. The monster's huge mouth opened wide, the metallic dagger teeth gleaming in the hot sun. The mailman was frozen. His eyes as big and round as golf balls. The television thing leaped, wrapped its arms around the mailman's chest, and bit his head off. The mailman did not have time to even scream. Chomp, chomp. Blood erupted out of the neck like a crimson fountain, splattering all over the mail truck and the mailbox. The creature finished his meal in less than ten minutes. When it was finished, it stood on one arm, wiped its mouth with the other, and let out a huge burp that indicated satisfaction.

Gilbert was searching for kerosene in his bedroom closet when he heard the sound of the mail truck. He stopped and looked out the window. What was about to happen was clear and Gilbert struggled to get his window open but it would not budge. Gilbert yelled at the top of his lungs for the mailman to get away. It was too late. In a matter of minutes the television monster had shredded the poor mailman into a quick lunch.

Noel knew all that was transpiring without looking out his window. It was as if all the action outside was only a sick drama being played on a little stage within his vast mind. The play now going on in his mind interested him more than the thought of torturing Gilbert and his sister. At least for the moment.

"Please, let me use your electronics...please," said Dr. Smith. She was in more pain than any human had ever endured before. Withdrawal from the electronics was bad enough, but spiced up with the added problems Noel had so lovingly visited upon her, made it beyond human endurance.

"Dr. Smith! I'm surprised at you! You want to share needles? And you a doctor, someone who should know better!" Noel was enjoying this scene. The more the doctor writhed in pain, the more highly charged with pleasure Noel's mind became. His mind absorbed her suffering like a sponge, becoming larger and larger, bloated with the pleasure he derived from her agony--

"Oh, pleeeease! I can't take it! I can't take it anymore!" She was limited in her movement by the refrigerator that grew out of her back, but she continued to struggle anyway. Noel would not let her pass out. When the rage of withdrawal brought blood flowing from every pore of her body, and her mind veered into the blackness of unconsciousness, Noel would use his mental powers to prevent her from passing out. He enjoyed watching her soul being pulverized by pain so intense that she sweated blood.

Noel went to his closet and brought out the black box. He put it on the coffee table and pushed the table in front of Dr. Smith. Just to tease her. He saw the lust for the electronics bring an inhuman fire to her eyes. She struggled against the refrigerator, trying to free her body from it, the layer of veins that covered her skin pumped yellow pus out of her pores. She ripped one shoulder free from the refrigerator door, but since the refrigerator was a part of her, blood flowed from it also. Dr. Smith's nerves and veins were integrated into the once nonliving metal container; it felt pain, and she felt its pain.

Noel uncoiled the wire from the side of the box, waving the needle tip before the glazed yellowed eyes of Dr. Smith. "Never share needles. Every addict should obey that rule. This needle has been in my brain. Who knows what vile microscopic filth could be crawling on its surface? I shudder just to think about it." The sight of the needle was the trigger that forced Dr. Smith into her last act.

With the remaining reserves of her strength, she wrenched herself free of the refrigerator. It sounded like a strip of velcro being torn from its mate. With one last, little, pathetic gasp--she died, falling to the floor in a liquid crimson pool. The refrigerator continued to spurt blood, since it took a while for it's heart to die. The doctor's body had no heart.

Noel stood with his hands on his hips, deciding what he wanted to do next. His face scrunched inward with intense concentration, then he raised his arms and pointed at the bloody sight before him. All ten fingers shot silver thread from their tips, attaching to various places on Dr. Smith's body and the refrigerator. The silver threads started to glow with a brilliant light, flooding the inside of the guest house with an outpouring of photons equivalent to a powerful searchlight. When the light faded and Noel could see again, he smiled at the sight before him.

Dr. Smith floated in a huge jar of formaldehyde where the refrigerator had once stood. She was white and bloated, like some prehistoric fish that lives miles beneath the sea.

Christine ran upstairs to Gilbert's bedroom. She had been looking under the sink cabinet for any flammable liquids when she had heard the commotion outside. By the time she saw what was happening, it was too late to have yelled a warning. The mailman's head was missing and the little monster was busy finishing up the rest of its meal.

Gilbert was staring out the window, muttering. Christine stood beside him, her mouth dry with panic, trying to make out her brother's words.

Gilbert mumbled, "The entities never really hurt anyone before. Oh yes, they could be very frightening, but they never actually hurt anyone." He turned to his sister, and said, "I feel there is something important I should remember, some dream I once had. It could have been a prophetic dream, something that could help us." Gilbert grew red with frustration, and added, "I wish my damn brain would work right. I am losing both my long and short term memory." he hit his fist against the wall. The pain in his hand did him little good.

Christine, ignoring his outburst, said, "Anyway, we've got to get out of here. That damn thing ripped the poor mailman apart. I never saw anything so vicious before, even the lions on those nature documentaries aren't as vicious as those monsters are! We've got to find a way out of here." Christine turned and paced back and forth, pondering the situation. They could be thankful that the television monsters had not tried very hard to enter the house. She realized that if they really wanted to get in, they could. Perhaps they were like vampires, and had to be invited in. So how would you destroy them? A wooden stake through their hearts? A silver bullet? Gilbert could not find anything flammable to dowse them with, and neither could she. And even if they did, how would they get close enough to burn them without getting ripped to shreds? Maybe the only answer was to run to the car, blasting the buggers with her shotgun, and worry about the consequences later.

Noel admired his prize as it floated in the jar, but now he was starting to feel bored. It was time to go play with Gilbert and Christine. He still had not had a proper conversation with Christine yet. She was a lovely girl. She seemed intelligent, someone that could appreciate his vast mind and boundless powers. He left his little house and stood in the shade of his front porch. His little pets were waddling around in front of Gilbert's living room window, but when the monsters sensed their master, they all ran to him, begging for his attention. Noel patted each one, they were so much like little children. Vicious man-eating children. They followed him to Gilbert's house. Noel knocked politely on the door.

"Jeez, it's Noel," said Christine, looking down from the bedroom window. Every knock on the door sent tremors racing through her body. "What do we do now?"

"I do not know. Perhaps if I involve him in a conversation, or distract him in some manner, you could try shooting him. I think that if you could kill him, this nightmare he is generating would end."

"You want to let him in and try it?

"I cannot think of what other choice we have. It appears to be our lives, or his."

They went downstairs and quickly made plans. Christine would hide behind the couch with the rifle, and as soon as Gilbert let Noel in, Gilbert would jump out of the way and she would blast Noel, not even giving the mutant a chance to talk. Her heart was stuck in her throat, her mouth was as dry as cotton, and her hands were so sweaty she could barely hold onto the gun. Was she ready for this kind of action?

Christine hid behind the couch and Gilbert opened the door. Noel grinned down on him. "Hello, my friend. May I come in?"

"Yes, as long as your murdering pets stay outside," Gilbert said as he backed far away from the door, allowing plenty of room for Noel to walk into their trap.

"Hit the floor!" Christine yelled to her brother as she brought the big shotgun up and fired right into Noel's face. Noel flew backwards, the light from behind him shining through the little openings in his head the pellets had made. But his head had not exploded like Christine imagined it would, and in a few moments he straightened himself up and stepped into the middle of the room like nothing had happened. He pointed at the shotgun, his forefinger grew longer, stretching out like a piece of taffy, until it entered the barrel of the gun. Christine let go of the rifle because it started glowing red hot. Noel whipped the rifle into his hand by rapidly contracting his finger to its normal size. He then threw the gun out the door, where his pets ran for it, bending the metal and splintering the wood. In less than a minute the rifle was useless.

"That was not a very nice thing for you to do, Christine, shooting me like that. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to get angry with you, now would you?"

Christine tried to put on a tough act, though she was shaking so bad there was no disguising her fear. "I don't care if you get angry with me or not!"

"My, you are a little firebrand aren't you. It's a good thing I'm such good friends with your brother or I'd pull your guts out through your mouth."

The arrogant, threatening words of Noel inflamed Gilbert. He got up from the floor and dusted himself off, stepped up to Noel, and said, "Do not threaten my sister, Mr. Kern. Leave my property at once, and I will let you have a head start before I notify the police."

"Notify the police? You really think that scares me? Don't you understand the power I now wield, thanks to you?"

"You keep referring to that idea, as if I am responsible for your power and this mess you have made."

"Don't you understand? It was your electronic designs that made me what I am. You were born with a touch of this power, your damaged brain helped to release it," he touched the top of Gilbert's head. "Somehow, by some evolutionary fluke, you are a channel, a gateway for an alternate reality to manifest in our world. I have used those unearthly electronics, whose patterns you channeled from some other dimension, to modify myself, to make myself a living work of art. Now I have powers that extend beyond anything mankind has ever known. I am the new God."

Gilbert brought his knee up, with all of his strength, slamming it into Noel's groin. Noel folded up and fell into a fetal position on the floor, letting out a moan that rattled the windows. "I do not like blasphemy," said Gilbert. Christine applauded him from behind the couch.

Noel stopped moaning. He lay very still, not breathing, not twitching in the slightest bit. "Did you kill him?" asked Christine. She walked over to Noel's body and stood beside her brother. "Is he dead?"

"How could someone die from a kick in the groin? I have never heard of that before."

"If those monsters outside are far enough away, maybe we should take advantage of this moment," the door had been left open and she saw no monster televisions standing guard over the car. Maybe when their master went down for the count, they did too. "Come on, we've got a shot at leaving!"

When Gilbert and Christine were ready to step through the doorway, the door suddenly slammed shut with a loud whuump! They both grabbed their hearts in surprise.

"Turn around," said Noel.

He was still lying on the floor, only his hands were locked behind his head, cupping it as if he was sunning himself on a beach. Hope began to drain from Christine's eyes, replaced by fear.

Noel smiled up at them and said, "Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert. That was a very nasty thing you did to me. You've really pissed me off," his smile grew larger. "I think that you both deserve to be punished for your violent tendencies. You, and your gun happy sister."

Noel's entire body expanded, then contracted, in a rhythmic pattern, as if he was a balloon that someone was forcing air into, then letting a little out, then blowing up again. A web of shiny metallic tubing grew around him, encasing his pulsating body with a protective shield.

Gilbert grabbed the door knob and twisted with all of his strength, but it would not budge. He rammed his shoulder against it, but only succeeded in hurting himself. He and his sister were trapped.

"I want to welcome you both to the new world," Noel said as the front door swung open.

9: THE NEW WORLD

The sight of the new world stunned Christine more than it did Gilbert, although both of them were frozen in their tracks, paralyzed by the absolute strangeness of what lay before them. Noel was most definitely a force in the universe to be reckoned with. And quickly.

Gilbert had seen something similar to this landscape under his magnifying glass, when, before dinner, he would inspect his Spork. The desert floor was now made of Spork. The pink, greasy meat stretched from horizon to horizon. The cactus and greasewood plants were still there, only now their roots were not fed from the sandy soil, but from earth made of processed meat. The new soil consisted of: salt, sugar, ground pork, and a few chemical preservatives. The new slick surface of the desert floor glistened in the afternoon light. There were piles of gelatin scattered here and there. Some gelatin globs were so large they created a range of sparkling hills to the north.

The sky was not the same either, it was pervaded by a purple vapor that stung their eyes and hurt their lungs, like an evil concentrated smog. Acid smog. The horizon was obscured by this thick poison vapor, restricting visibility to about a mile or two, in any direction. The horrible vapors were emitted by large chrome balls, the size of Volkswagen Beetles, that floated in a convex grid pattern above the telephone poles. The grid of chrome balls stretched in all directions across the sky, their shadows, cast by the afternoon sun, fell on the pink meat below. And the sun looked much too large, much too orange- - a big bloated bag of sick photons.

A lizardman popped out of the meat in front of Gilbert's feet. It looked up at him with its scaly human face and smiled, waving to him as it ran on two legs into the greasy desert. A few more lizardmen crawled out of the hole the first one had made, and ran off after him.

Christine regained her speech, and said, "We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, or Hot Springs, or any other place on Earth that I know of."

The television monsters were standing near the guest house. They were having a hard time adjusting to the new texture of the ground. As soon as one tried to walk, it would slip and fall, then its comrades would come to the rescue, and help prop their friend back up on its gnarly hands.

"We are in Hot Springs, Christine. A Hot Springs that has been recreated by Noel," said Gilbert.

Christine was on the verge of tears. "It can't go on like this forever," she waved her hand before her, indicating the pink hamscape. "It's got to end somewhere. Noel can't change the whole damn world!" She tried to walk towards the car and slipped to the ground. She bounced a little when she fell. It was hard to get back up, her hands kept slipping on the greasy surface, and her clothes were becoming wet from the liquefying fat, sopping it up like a sponge. She finally made it to the car, and holding onto the door handle, managed to stand up, her feet sliding wildly beneath her as she struggled for balance.

As the sun heated up the ground, the smell of pork began to get stronger. Instead of the usual clean smell of pure desert air, the atmosphere reeked of a slaughter house.

With a great struggle, Christine managed to get herself seated in the car. "Please brother! Get in and let's get the hell out of here! Now!" A panic swept through her, the feeling of claustrophobia so strong, it made her want to rip her skin off. This was Noel's mind they were trapped in, its sickness, like a perverted sap, flowed through the meat and decay of this landscape, controlling the movement and sequence of events. To Christine, it felt like mental rape.

With the same difficulty as his sister had, Gilbert slipped and slid his way to the car. Christine moved over to the passenger side, so her brother could drive. They saw Noel through the doorway, wrapped in his metal tubing, still lying on the floor. Gilbert yelled to Noel, "You will not get away with this outrage to nature! I will put an end to it somehow, and soon!"

"You do that, Gilbert, my friend," the sound of Noel's voice boomed across the landscape, as if it was amplified by huge speakers.

The chrome spheres released jets of purple vapor from tubes located on their bottom surfaces, all in perfect synchronization with one another. It fouled the air with the smell of a million diesel busses belching out oily carcinogens. Gilbert and his sister choked and gagged, rolling up the windows to try and preserve some breathable air.

The old Dodge Dart started up on the first turn of the key. At least the reliability of his car remained a constant in both worlds. Gilbert punched the drive button and eased down on the gas pedal. The tires spun wildly, the rear of the car sliding sideways towards his house. Less gas, less pedal. Slowly, slowly, the car moved forward, past the bloody mail truck, where the only remains of the mailman were his gore spattered shoes, and then slowly they turned left onto the road that would eventually lead them out of this nightmare. They hoped.

The road of chopped pork shoulder began to smell stronger and stronger as the sick bloated sun began to turn the fatty meat rancid.

Slowly they made their way down the road. Gilbert always drove this road at about five miles an hour. In the old world, it had been the washboard ripples of the road that threatened to tear his front wheels off, now it was the slippery grease and piles of melting gelatin that were the problem. He pointed to some clusters of blue tubes that poked from the surface of the Spork, and said, "Those blue tubes are delicious when fried," he winked, trying to make an attempt at humor.

Christine was not anxious to learn about that subject. The tubes made her feel like gagging. They grew in clusters of between ten and twenty. The tubes were about the same diameter as garden hose, and their slick shiny surfaces were similar to the purposely slimy rubber of some children's toys. The tallest tube grew about three feet above the greasy ground.

Unlike Christine, the scenery held a certain fascination for Gilbert, as they made their way down the slippery road. As gross and unctuous as it was, he could not help imagining what it would be like to explore the gelatin hills that glistened in the distance. They were already beginning to melt in the heat of the large orange sun. The fact was becoming clear that this world could not continue for very long. Even now, the rancid odor was making its way into the car. This strange world of Noel's was in violation of too many of nature's laws, it could not sustain itself because of the disparity in its ecological systems.

They were still a few miles from the main paved road, but so far, there was no evidence that the world would be any different there, than it was here. The pink Spork desert stretched out as far as the eye could see, until the purple haze obscured the horizons, broken only by the green cactus, mounds of gelatin, occasional blue tubes, and the ancient greasewood bushes.

Gilbert heard Christine sobbing next to him. She had buried her face in her hands. Finally, she built up her courage, wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, "Will things ever be normal again? Are we trapped here forever?"

"I think everything will be all right," Gilbert said, trying to comfort her. "I will think of some way to get us out of here, so please, do not worry."

An idea flashed through Christine's head. "Why don't you turn on the radio, see if the stations are normal, or if anyone is talking about this on the news."

Gilbert flicked on the radio, the original radio that came with the car, still working great after more than two decades. He punched the button for the news channel. Static. He punched all the buttons in order, left to right. Static. He manually dialed the knob across the radio frequency spectrum. Nothing but static, but as he passed over the civil defense symbol, he heard something. It was faint, but there was definitely something there. He carefully adjusted the knob, trying hard to tune it in.

"Hello," the voice from the speaker said. It was Noel's voice. "Do you suffer from acid indigestion, ever get that queasy fee..." Christine reached over and shut the radio off.

The steady rise in atmospheric temperature started to heat the flat hamscape to the point where a low lying mist rose up from the meat, causing an increase in humidity. A few minutes after the mist rose, Gilbert and Christine's clothes became drenched with sticky sweat. "I must roll down the window," said Gilbert, the stench of rotting pork wafted through the car. He did not know which was worse, the wet heat or the odor. He decided on the heat.

"Look! There is the paved road! We might make it out of this hellish world yet!" Gilbert yelled excitedly, pushing down a little harder on the accelerator pedal. At last the gray blacktop met the car's tires, and he turned left, towards Hot Springs.

Christine grabbed her brother, and kissed his cheek. The claustrophobic clamps that crushed Christine's brain released some of their pressure, and hope rushed into her soul like a fresh spring breeze, blowing away the rancid smell of despair. "I remember when I was a little girl, I could always count on my big brother to protect me. Remember when that big mongrel dog from next door jumped the fence and chased me around our yard, barking and trying to bite my ankles? I was scared to death. But suddenly, there you were, in all your glory, holding your pellet gun and taking aim at that damn dog. You filled its butt with lead and sent it howling over the fence. That dog never bothered me again."

Gilbert chuckled as he stomped on the throttle, letting the old car wind out to top speed on the straight stretch of asphalt that lined the flat slab of Spork, the new soil of the new earth. Noel's demented creation.

Gilbert was awed by Noel's powers, but how could a mere mortal be trusted with so much power? Gilbert was not an overtly religious man, but he had never doubted the existence of God. He felt intuitively that God was omniscient, as well as omnipotent. God would have to be all wise and all knowing in order to govern the energies of the universes he created--and Noel was not God, no matter how much power he accumulated or what he thought of himself.

The siblings grew increasingly worried as more time passed and the road went on and on. "Something is not right," Gilbert said, as he gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. A concerned look pushed his eyebrows together. "We should be in town by now, especially at the speed that we are traveling."

High in the sky above Gilbert and Christine, but flying below the chrome spheres, was a flock of nightmares-- strange beasts that resembled giant testicles with batwings. Two large sacs of wormlike organs, wrapped in a thin veined membrane, swung beneath hairless wings that spanned a length of more than ten feet. Hundreds of these monsters swooped and glided in the purple vapors of the hot poisoned air. They watched the Dodge Dart move swiftly down the ribbon of road.

"Keep going, brother, the town must be just ahead," Christine said as she began to wring her hands. "Noel couldn't have made a whole town disappear, there's got to be others around..."

The batwing monsters hated the car because that was the sole purpose of their lives, the very reason for their existence. They must stop the car. They must kill the car. They flapped their wings faster as they circled the vehicle.

The leader of the flock swung straight up into the poisonous purple air, and glided into an orbit around one of the spherical smog machines. It circled the object faster and faster, calling out to its brethren with high pitched squeaking noises, signalling them to get ready for the attack. The leader suddenly peeled away from the sphere and dove into Gilbert's windshield, exploding with a gory suicide of pus filled, wormlike organs. The rest of the flock followed, forming a solid line of attack, diving one after the other in a crazy, suicidal frenzy into the metal and glass of the old Dodge.

"JEEZ!" Gilbert screamed as the first bag of slimy yellow organs splattered like a bomb from the bowels of hell all over his windshield, blinding him to the road ahead. He slammed on the brakes and the car slid off the road, going into a wild spin on the slippery Spork, bombarded again and again by the oozing organs of the bat monsters. Spinning like a top, the car finally rammed into a large greasewood bush, and that brought the Dodge to a sudden halt. Gilbert and Christine were thrown together, hitting the passenger side-window with their heads. Gilbert passed out cold from the impact.

The ball of light pulsed with power, suspended by invisible forces, in the clear clean air of the desert sky. "Gilbert, my friend! You've gotten yourself into a little predicament, haven't you?" The light said.

"Yes. We are trapped in a strange world and cannot get out," Gilbert stood on normal desert dirt, beneath a normal desert sky, as he gazed up at the incarnation of his microchip.

"Well, it wasn't as if I never warned you about your friend, Noel. You've got to try and remember the things I'm going to tell you. I'm not doing this for my health, you know."

"I know, but it is hard for me to do that. I have lost my short term memory."

"Yes, and your long term memory also."

"I am sorry."

"Well, forget all that for now," the light chuckled at its own joke, then continued, "Your problem boils down to that maniac Noel. I know he seems indestructible, a force that is impervious to all attacks, even from the blast of a shotgun, but he does have an Achille's heel. Here's what you do..."

"Please, brother, wake up! Wake up!" Christine was crying. Her brother had a cut on his forehead that she was desperately trying to keep from bleeding, using some tissue paper she found in the glove compartment. His eyes fluttered open, and a giant feeling of relief swept like a tidal wave through Christine. "Oh, thank God, your okay!"

"What happened to me?" Some neuron transmitters fired off in Gilbert's head, waking up a few of his centers of higher brain functions. When he gained full alertness, he said, "We've got to get back."

"Back to the house? Back to Noel?"

"Yes"

They opened the doors of the car, trying very hard not to get any of the slimy glop on themselves. The whole car was covered with the wormy guts, and smelled of rotting fish. Christine could not prevent herself from throwing up all over the greasy ripe ground.

"If we could find something to clean off this windshield with, we could still use the car, as gross and as smelly as it is. This ground is too slippery for us to try and walk back." As the minutes went by, the ground became greasier, water vapor rising from its surface, the sun's heat turning the fat rancid.

Gilbert noticed something strange as he looked up at the sky, searching for any more bat monsters. "Look up, Christine!" he yelled.

Christine was still spitting, trying to remove the foul taste of vomit from her mouth when she heard her brother yell to her. She looked up. Beyond the chrome spheres and the poison purple mist, the blue sky looked thin, tenuous. Christine did not see what Gilbert was talking about for a minute or two--when suddenly--a gap in the sky opened, revealing the secret of Noel's world. "Wow," she said, amazement in her voice. "Its another world, just like this one, hanging upside down in the sky. I can see the road, the cactus, the bushes, everything."

Gilbert's psychedelically altered mind easily understood the logic of this world. Noel's cosmology made sense to him--in a sick way. "It is this world, Christine, not a different one. This universe wraps around itself, forming a bubble of alien reality, wedged somewhere in the real universe. We are inside a huge hollow sphere, Noel's sphere of rotting Spork, lit from within by its own sun. If we traveled long enough in a straight line, in any one direction, we would end up back where we started."

This insight gave a strange feeling of relief to Christine. As bad as this place was, at least it was finite. The rest of the world did not have to suffer along with them. And it also meant that as powerful as Noel was, he did have limits, he could not effect universal change. The real God of the universe was still in charge, despite Noel's egotistical raving.

As delicately as he could, Gilbert inserted the car key through the layer of mucus left from a sack of squishy organs that had slid to the ground, and into the trunk lock. He opened the trunk and looked inside, trying to find something which he could use to clean the windshield. Inside, he found an inflatable raft, an old box of tools, an old bald tire (that he took out and threw to the ground), and beneath that...a blanket!

"We are in luck Christine!" He grabbed the blanket and walked to the front of the car, slipping and sliding all the way. He carefully wiped the sticky guts from the glass, having to breathe through his mouth to prevent the smell from gagging him. When he finished with the windshield, he wiped away as much of the mess as he could from the rest of his car's surface. He threw the sopping blanket into the desert.

"We are on our way," Gilbert said, falling to the ground as his feet slipped from under him.

After a few minutes of trying to gain enough friction under their feet not to slip, they finally managed to crawl inside the car. A very delicate pressure applied to the gas pedal was required to make the car move. Too much gas, and the car slid sideways. Slowly, the car made it's way back onto the pavement, and Gilbert drove towards his home.

"You have some sort of plan, don't you Gilbert?" Hope was blooming on Christine's sweaty, glistening face.

"Yes. I must concentrate very hard to remember my dream."

"Dream?" asked Christine. At this bizarre point in her life, in this bizarre place, a dream would seem to be the most likely place to find an answer.

Gilbert looked at Christine with a blank expression on his face as they sped down the road. "Dream?" he asked, repeating her question.

10: FATE

It was not easy for Gilbert to find the side road back to his house, because the pink landscape of the new world had removed a familiar landmark, a pile of large granite rocks that had sat 100 feet before his road sign. It had been a good marker, giving him plenty of warning that his road was nearby. He relied on those rocks more than the road sign itself. After a few misses, he finally found his road.

Christine became even more frightened than she already was, as they drove slowly past the bloody mail truck. She knew Noel was powerful enough that he could do most anything. What if he decided to turn her into some monster, a grotesque absurdity that crawled around in the globules of fat that were growing out of the pink soil of this nightmare desert? Her only real hope was her brother. She had no idea if Gilbert was fit for a confrontation with Noel--if his plan could really work to save them from this distorted, twisted reality, created by Noel's insane mind.

The television monsters had solved the problem of the slippery soil. They had grown long metal spikes that replaced the inadequate yellow fingernails of their gnarled hands. They plunged the spikes into the soft, greasy earth, which enabled them to walk around quickly. When Gilbert pulled into the driveway, they circled the car. One of the monsters pushed its gaping mouth against the car's surface, in order to eat the gray pus filled guts clinging there. That was fine with Gilbert. It would make his car much easier to clean.

"Do we get out of this car, or do we just sit tight and wait for the monsters to leave?" asked Christine. It was probably a dumb question. The television monsters looked hungry, some were using their long purple tongues to lick their lips in anticipation of a juicy human meal, while another joined its comrade in eating the gory guts that still clung to the car's paint. The monsters did not seem in a hurry to leave.

Noel walked out of the front door. His appearance had changed yet again. The thin silver tubes that had formed a cocoon around him, had now shrunk into a form fitting body glove, a silvery flexible web that conformed to the movements of his flesh. He smiled and waved to Gilbert and Christine, like greeting old friends.

"Welcome back! Welcome back! Glad to see you again, and all the rest of that sentimental rot," said Noel, in a friendly tone. He gestured for his pet monsters to back off from the car. The television monsters waddled over to the side of the guest house, and lined up in a neat row along the wall. "Why don't you two come inside and we'll have a friendly chat? Some dinner perhaps?"

The thought of food made Christine gag. The slaughter house odor was so thick and rancid, the rotting fish smell clinging to the car was so disgusting, that the odors seemed to penetrate her sweaty skin and cling to her bones, invading and coating her internal organs.

"Yes...I will prepare a huge feast for my honored guests. Please, come inside."

Gilbert was steaming with anger. Noel had taken over his house, ruined his land, and stolen his world. Gilbert balled his hands into fists, and struggled to remember the dream--the message from the shining light. The plan it revealed to him must succeed. "Let us do what he says," Gilbert reluctantly said to his sister. He did not want to do anything that Noel might suggest, but intuition told him to go with the flow of events. For now.

"Okay, if you say so," she said, opening the car door. The slightest of movements caused more oily sweat to burst forth from her body. She would have given anything to relax under the spray of a nice cold shower. The desert was no longer an area of dry tolerable heat, but more like a tropical rain forest. The land of Spork was steaming from the intense heat, creating more and more warm low lying fog, which was the source of the unbearable humidity that dispersed into the poisonous air.

Noel stepped aside and swept his arm in a magnanimous arc, pointing to the open door, gesturing for them to step inside, acting as if the house was his.

Gilbert was enraged to see that all his furniture was rudely shoved into the corner of the living room, to make way for a long polished oak table, surrounded by matching oak chairs. "Damn you, Noel! How can you treat my personal things in this manner?"

"Oh, settle down, Gilbert. You can be such a pain in the ass at times," Noel pointed at the table, and silver threads shot from his fingertips. As the ends of the threads struck the surface of the table, they turned into one bubbling gray mass that threatened to spill over the table's edge. The threads detached themselves from his fingers, and snapped like rubber bands into the boiling gray mass. "Just relax and enjoy."

The mass began to gel into many individual shapes and sizes, eventually becoming recognizable as plates full of food...foods to fit the taste of any palate. It was an orgy of colors and odors: The earthy smell of potatoes. Strong hardy odors of green vegetables and herbs. Steaming vapors from dark roasted turkey, lamb and beef. Tropical sweet smells from brightly colored bananas, melons and pears. All of these things made an overwhelmingly decadent display that appealed to the gluttony residing in everyone, but it failed to excite Gilbert or his sister.

"I am not hungry," said Gilbert.

"I'm not hungry either," said Christine. She fought to hold back the nausea that tickled her throat with its slick slimy fingers. She must be prepared for anything, and getting sick would not help her one bit.

Noel made an exaggerated frown of hurt on his silver webbed face. He looked down at the two of them and said, "Please, don't refuse my generosity. I might not always be so benign in my offers," his reptilian eyes sparkled as he continued, "Believe me, the food is fine--it's not poisoned--if that's what you're worried about. I wouldn't think of poisoning my little pets, would I?" He reached into a bowl of sliced carrots, took one, and ate it with great pleasure. "It's so fresh and good. Please, sit down and eat."

Gilbert looked at his sister. They did not move.

"I said," Noel hit the table with his large tentacled hand, rattling all the plates of food, "SIT...DOWN!"

This time, Gilbert gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head to Christine, and they both sat down on the black velvet seats of their chairs, positioned across the table so that they faced one another.

"There now, isn't this much better? Now we can enjoy some light conversation while we eat a pleasant dinner," Noel strolled to the far end of the table and sat down.

Something was making sucking sounds on the stairway. Gilbert looked in the direction of the noise, and saw what at first looked like a giant bundle of asparagus. It moved down the stairs very slowly, since its anatomical construction was completely wrong for the task. The body of the creature was made up of fleshy green stalks, bundled together, standing five feet high, with suction cups on the ends of each stalk. A dozen eyes stared in all directions from the midsection of its slimy body. It swayed from side to side, and more than once it almost toppled from the stairs, but eventually it shuffled downstairs and stood beside the table.

Gilbert chuckled at the absurdity of the monster, but the sight of such a creature unnerved Christine. And to have the creature stare at her with all those eyes, brought the claustrophobic clamps back around her brain, squeezing it with a vengeance. She wanted out of this hell. Now.

"This is Sam. He will be serving our dinner," said Noel, nodding to the creature, while he spread a napkin on his lap.

Christine looked at Noel and said, "When will you let us go, Noel? Haven't you had enough fun torturing us yet? What more do you want?" She burned with anger. Sam, who had managed to sloppily pile food on her plate, and now placed it before her with one of his tentacle- stalks, distracted Christine from her anger.

Sam suddenly spasmed, as if he had been jolted by a large voltage, and clumsily dumped half the food on Christine's lap. "Damn it! Get away from me!" She yelled, shaking her fist at Sam.

Gilbert cleared his throat, caught his sister's attention, and winked twice with his left eye. Christine pushed the spilled food from her lap onto the floor, and winked at Gilbert, twice with her right eye, in accordance with their plan.

"Gilbert told me that you are an artist," Christine said, in a condescending tone of voice. She had found a napkin and was trying to rub away the food stains from her lap.

"You sound as if you are mocking me, but yes, I am an artist. And now," he spread wide his arms in a grand gesture, "I am much more than that. I am God. I create worlds, and fill those worlds with life."

"You sound like an arrogant son of a bitch to me," this statement was very risky, it scared Christine to say it, but it had to be said. "If this world you made, and these creatures that live in it, are your idea of art, of beauty, your art stinks. You are absolutely without any taste, whatsoever!"

Gilbert sat silently, watching Sam attempt to grab hold of a knife.

Christine said, "Look at asparagus-man over there. He's trying to hold onto a knife with a suction cup hand. And now look, he's trying to carve a roast. It's a joke, Noel!" Christine saw Noel's yellow reptilian eyes smoldering, and wondered how far she should push him.

"You are starting to anger me, Christine. Believe me, you don't want to piss me off," sparks jumped between his vampire canine teeth, as if they were electrodes, and his yellow eyes flared with an ugly inner light.

As Sam tried to gently set a plate of food down on the table in front of Gilbert, Gilbert simultaneously backed away, not wanting a lap full of roast beef.

Christine mustered up all of her courage and fixed Noel with her eyes. "To even call yourself an artist is laughable, but to call yourself God is ridiculous in the extreme. Why don't you call yourself what you really are?"

Gilbert eyed the situation carefully. Timing would be critical. He must do what the light had shown him. It was the only way out. He saw Noel's focus narrowing down, narrowing down on his poor sister.

Noel stood up, towering so tall he almost hit the ceiling. "And what might that be, Christine? What should I call myself?"

Now was the time. Christine had become the absolute focus of Noel's attention. Gilbert quickly, but silently, sprang from his chair and rushed through the kitchen, out the back door.

The brutal lock of eye contact between Christine and Noel did not falter. It was as if a tunnel linked their eyes together; the rest of the world did not exist. Christine forced her mind to think of nothing but the color white. Pure white. White, white, white, white.

"What should I call myself, Christine!" Noel grew larger, his whole body expanding as if it was a balloon being pumped with air. His clothes began to rip, shredding through the silvery webbed glove that covered him.

As soon as Gilbert left the house he fell down and went sliding along the greasy warm meat of the ground. This had to be fast.

The box. He must find the box. Quickly.

Gilbert tried to stand, but that task was almost impossible. He found that by crawling on all fours he could move much quicker; he slipped and slid, his limbs sprawling out from under him, but it was better than trying to walk on two legs. He finally made it to the southern end of his house and looked around the corner, spotting the television monsters lined up alongside the guest house. They were strangely quiet. He planned to crawl as fast as he could between his house and the far side of the guest house, and hope the creatures would not spot him. It was only about twenty feet, but it might as well be twenty miles if the monsters saw him and decided to attack.

The television monsters seemed to be staring straight ahead, almost as if their minds were linked with Noel's, all their attention focused on some invisible point. Gilbert took off, crawling like a crab, and tried to make it to the south side of the guest house.

Christine sweated profusely, her once beautiful red hair was stringy and matted. White, white, white, she thought. Big, oily drops of salty sweat dripped into her eyes. It stung. White, white,white. Pure white.

Noel had grown huge. His clothes had ripped from his expanded body and fallen to the floor. His former skinny frame now rippled with huge meaty muscles. Big veins, like ropes, almost burst from his violet tinted skin. The silver web clung to every curve of his body, as if trying to bind together the muscles and keep them from exploding. Now he had to stoop to keep his head from hitting the ceiling. "WHAT SHOULD I CALL MYSELF, CHRISTINE? ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" His voice shattered all the windows of the house, vaporizing the glass as it flew from the frames.

"An ass-hole," Christine peeped, barely moving her lips.

Noel's veins pumped up to twice their previous size, some even began to leak thick black blood. His voice rattled the walls of the house when he asked, "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!"

"An ass-hole," she said, a little louder this time.

"REPEAT!!!"

"An ass-hole. You should call yourself an ASS-HOLE!" Christine yelled out the last phrase, fear gripping her mind so strongly that a numbness flooded her body. She was paralyzed.

With frightening ease, Noel lifted the huge oak table and threw it over on its side, scattering and breaking the plates of food with a loud crash as they hit the floor. This jerked Christine's mind back from the dark pit it was headed for, and she sprang from her chair and ran to the other side of the room. Sam was twirling around in circles, all twelve eyes moving wildly about in total confusion.

Noel suddenly calmed himself, his glistening muscles relaxed as his glowing eyes gazed around the room. "IT SEEMS YOUR BROTHER HAS LEFT OUR DINNER PARTY. I SHOULD HAVE NOTICED HIS ABSENCE SOONER." He grinned, but behind the grin was a spark of fear, and that fear gave Christine a tremendous boost.

The guest house porch was made of wood planks, and it was a relief for Gilbert to be able to stand upright. His clothes were soaked with grease from crawling on all fours across the Spork soil. He began to walk over to the front door when suddenly all five of the television monsters leaped onto the porch, jostling for position to be first in line for a Gilbert sandwich. Thinking as fast as he could, Gilbert crashed through the front window, landing among the glass shards that lay scattered across the floor. He scurried to his feet and looked back at the window. The only reason the monsters had not already jumped through the window was because they kept getting in each other's way, knocking each other down in the heat of their excitement.

"THOUGHT YOU COULD PULL A FAST ONE ON OL' NOEL HUH?" Even as Noel spoke, his head grew longer, his jaw and nose jutting out like that of an alligator's, stretching taut his facial skin until it threatened to rip apart. "I'VE GROWN TIRED OF THIS GAME, TIRED OF YOU AND YOUR BROTHER," he held out his huge arms and stretched wide his tentaclelike fingers. Sharp diamond knives grew from his fingertips. He clicked the fingernail-knives together and smiled. "I AM GOING TO ENJOY SHREDDING YOUR BODY TO A BLOODY PULP. IT'S REALLY TOO BAD THAT YOU NEVER WANTED TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH ME. WE COULD HAVE HAD SUCH FUN." He started walking towards her.

Intuition and fear made Gilbert run for the closet, his mind so focused, he did not even notice Dr. Smith floating in her giant jar of formaldehyde where the refrigerator had once been. Gilbert flung the closet door open, looking for a black box, the box the light had spoken of.

One of the television monsters had managed to get its muscular pink arm through the window, shards of broken glass cutting into its flesh. Instead of blood pouring from its cut, a thick yellow pus dripped to the floor.

Without thinking of anything but escape, Christine ran for the door. She slipped and slid for two yards as soon as her feet touched the greasy earth, but unlike sliding to safety in a baseball game, she had only bought herself and Gilbert a small bit of time.

Gilbert saw the box on the top closet shelf, at the same time as the television monster fell with a thud to the floor. Its big black mouth opened wide as it ran across the floor and dove for Gilbert's leg.

Christine's clothes were getting soaked from the grease as she lie sprawled on the Spork earth. She could not move her limbs, fear had once again paralyzed her. She saw the plaster crack open on the front wall of her brother's house as the thudding sound of fists came from inside.

The doorway was much too small for Noel to fit through, so he would have to make his own. He gave one final slam against the wall with his shoulder and blasted through Gilbert's house in a shower of drywall and wooden studs. He gazed into Christine's pathetic face as he stood amidst the dusty wreckage on the front porch, waving his freshly grown lizard's tail back and forth, back and forth.

The television monsters that remained outside the guest house, scrambling to try and get through the window, stopped when they heard the commotion from the main house, and waddled over to see what was going on. The first thing the four of them noticed was Christine lying helpless on the ground. Thick yellow saliva dripped from their huge black mouths as they walked over to her, ready to eat her up.

"STAY AWAY FROM HER. SHE IS MINE!" Noel yelled at his pets. They scratched at the warm ground with their dagger fingernails, and made mumbling sounds of disappointment.

Gilbert pulled his leg away, just before the gnashing teeth of the monster could sink onto his flesh, and slammed the closet door shut. He could hear the beast scraping its dagger claws on the door, no doubt leaving thick grooves in their wake. He pulled on a string that hung overhead and the closet light flashed on.

He picked up the black box from the top shelf and it sent shivers down his spine. He knew the consequences of using the box. The light had warned him of the terrible electronic addiction, so similar to heroin. This was something he did not want to do--would never even consider--if circumstances were not forcing him into it. He could not "just say no" and walk away.

Gilbert uncoiled the wire from the side of the box, wiped as best he could Noel's dried brains from the needle with his shirt. Nothing-- not even his vivid hallucinations--could have prepared Gilbert for this experience. The initial pain of ramming a needle through his eardrum, and the subsequent queasiness at forcing the needle past the viscous resistance his brain offered, almost made him black out. As his knees grew weaker, it took every ounce of his will-power to hold onto his fading consciousness. He flipped the toggle switches on.

Huge curved metallic claws suddenly grew from Noel's bare feet, gripping the meaty, greasy ground and providing excellent traction as he made his way towards Christine. She closed her eyes and tried to scream, tried to scream again and again, but no sound made it from her dry throat. The heat, the rancid smell, the fear of Noel, all these things drove her mind to the brink of insanity. Insanity began to seem like a beautiful, peaceful country. All she had to do was let go...

Gilbert fell to his knees when the waves of ecstasy first hit him. It was so overpowering, so sensual, he wanted with all his heart to give into the pleasure...to let it carry him on its sparkling crystalline stream of dreams into a world of wonders, a place of peace. Now he could see a gateway, formed from a single, huge pearl, radiating golden beams of light. It was not far away...he only needed to relax and let the flow carry him there, past the gate, past his problems, into a wonderland of golden spires and diamond domes, where angels sang with voices made from joyful tears--but...he had a job to do.

"YOUR ASS IS MINE," said Noel, as he bent over to pick Christine up with his muscular arms. "THEN I'LL GO AFTER YOUR BROTHER'S ASS."

Gilbert flung open the closet door, knocking the television monster all the way across the room. The monster got up and charged at him, gnashing its teeth. A bright beam of blue light shone out from the center of Gilbert's forehead--from a third eye--and when it fell on the little monster it turned the creature to toast, instant disintegration, leaving no residue, no remains. Gilbert walked outside to meet with Noel.

Noel held the limp body of Christine in his arms as if she was a child's doll. He saw Gilbert walk from the guest house and felt panic rush through him for the first time since his attainment of godhood. The box's needle was plugged into Gilbert's ear! Gilbert had somehow discovered the damn box and figured out how to use it. In a voice so deep and loud it echoed throughout the spherical Spork universe, Noel said, "GIVE ME THAT BOX. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE MESSING WITH!"

"I will give it to you after you set my sister down," Gilbert said, smiling, feeling the vast energy charge of creation flowing through his brain.

"YOU KNOW THAT THE BOX IS BAD FOR YOU, DON'T YOU, GILBERT?"

"Yes, I know it is, so I really need for you to set my sister down so I can give back the box ."

Noel pondered Gilbert's reply. The box was blocking any telepathic link to Gilbert, so Noel would have to rely solely on his superior intuition. "I DON'T THINK YOU MEAN IT. YOU WON'T GIVE ME THE BOX."

"Yes, I do mean it. You know that I only want my sister to be safe."

This reply made sense to Noel. Gilbert was a sentimental chump. Brain damage had not freed him from pathetic human emotion.

"HOW CAN I KNOW YOU'RE TELLING ME THE TRUTH?" Noel asked, his big bass voice rattled Gilbert's bones.

"You cannot."

What arrogance the little fool possessed! Noel was becoming irritated, his huge glistening muscles tensed and rippled with awesome energy. He held the unconscious Christine by her hands, dangling her before him like a rag doll. He began to stretch her arms out taut, as if she was being crucified on a cross. "I'M BORED PLAYING YOUR STUPID LITTLE GAMES; IT WILL BE MUCH MORE FUN TO RIP YOUR SISTER IN HALF,"

Noel widened his alligator grin and then began to pull Christine's arms from her body. Gilbert could hear the bones make popping noises as they left their sockets. Christine moaned softly...a moan that seemed to last forever, repeating again and again in Gilbert's head.

The reptilian jaws forced a permanent smile on Noel's face, much like a human skull eternally smiles. A long purple tongue flicked snakelike from his mouth in anticipation of the kill. No humanity was left in Noel, what remained was a super reptilian instinct for survival, linked with a maniacal imagination. With glistening muscular force, he yanked Christine's arm's a little further from her torso. Why did the little man not hand over the box? Surely he would now, now that he sees his sister's arms being ripped out by their roots...

A third eye opened in Gilbert's forehead, shooting forth a beam of blue light. A thunderous blast echoed across the land. The beam struck Noel directly in his grotesque, alligator mouth, disintegrating every tooth in his head. His eyes flared with anger as he dropped Christine to the ground and stepped back from her. He bellowed in agony, and fixed Gilbert with his chilling gaze. Stepping over Christine's limp body, he made his way towards Gilbert.

For a moment, Gilbert stood frozen in confusion. He stared into the whirlpool of evil that resided in Noel's eyes. It was hypnotic by virtue of it's unearthliness, and drilled into the core of his soul. Gathering his wits, Gilbert let loose with another flash of blue light. This time it struck Noel's chest.

Noel, looking more like a dinosaur than a man, threw up his arms to the purple sky and howled like all the suffering coyotes of creation rolled into one. His chest started bubbling with grotesque blisters that enlarged, stretching the skin until they violently burst open, releasing a torrent of black oily pus all over the fatty ground.

I have seen something like this somewhere before, thought Gilbert, as Noel's stomach burst open, releasing the last of the foul pus.

"SHEEE-IT!" cried Noel, grabbing his own neck as if to strangle himself. He stumbled backwards, and with one final gurgling breath, fell to the earth: dead.

Gilbert ran to his sister, and because of his new powers, he did not slip on the greasy ground. He looked down at her, and she opened her eyes. He tenderly cradled her head in his arms.

Wracked with pain, it took all the bravery Christine could muster, just to speak. "Is it over, brother? Is it really over?" Christine was able to painfully turn her head, and then she saw the huge body of Noel, covered in stinking black pus, lying by Gilbert's car. She moaned as she tried to sit up, her useless arms dangling at her sides. Gilbert quickly and gently helped her into a sitting position.

She saw four television monsters standing in a row by the front porch of the main house. They made no indication that they saw her, or any other thing, for that matter. With Noel's death, they seemed to have been cut off from their energy supply. Christine was thankful for that, but why where the chrome spheres still floating in the sky, belching out their purple poison? And it was still unbearably hot and humid, the ugly orange sun radiating it's heat, making the air smell like a slaughter house after a bomb blast.

Christine started to cry. The greasy Spork world still enclosed them, still shut them off from reality. Even though the evil actors of this hellish stage were either dead or paralyzed, the stage remained. The damn stage remained!

"We're still trapped here," Christine sobbed. "We're still trapped here in this living hell!" She looked up at her brother as he stroked her hair, trying to comfort her. "We're going to live here for the rest of our lives!" She screamed, and then cried out in pain from the claustrophobic belts that strangled her soul, and from the physical pain of her dislocated arm and shoulder bones. With tears flowing down her face, she looked into her brother's eyes and said, "I will never see my friends again." Christine moaned loudly, and then began to cry hysterically and uncontrollably, in huge, gasping sobs.

"Please, do not cry," said Gilbert.

"I can't help it. Things will never be the same again."

Gilbert let go of his sister and stepped back. As he held onto the black box with both of his hands, his body became enshrouded in a white light, a light so beautiful it stopped Christine's tears from falling. The soil began to glow and crystallize into brilliant diamonds beneath Gilbert's feet.

"Yes, Christine, you are right, things will never be the same again," he smiled, looking down at her frail form, a hint of madness played in the corner of his eyes.

He said, "Things will be better."