Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1

BOOK TITLE: Ghostbusters: Spectral Shenanigans, Vol. 1

AUTHOR: Erik Burnham

YEAR: 2018

GENRE: Graphic Novel

SUBGENRE: Paranormal Comedy

GRADE: A

 

Sometimes a piece of literature doesn’t have to be super complex in order to earn an A grade from me. It can just be good simple fun like this one was. That’s really all I want from the books I read: to enjoy them and recommend them to anyone else who might be listening. And really, what’s not to love about the Ghostbusters franchise? If you’ve seen the 1980’s films or the cartoon that came out in the same decade, you know what you’re going to get with this series of comics: witty dialogue, paranormal goodness, slime (lots of slime), and main characters who play off each other’s flaws and strengths perfectly. Yes, Peter Venkmann is a creepy ladies’ man, but he’s a likeable creepy ladies’ man with friends who will keep him in check. He’s also a bit whiny when it comes to hard work, which is actually quite relatable. I can’t find any major flaws in this graphic novel, or maybe I really did want to enjoy it and I got my wish.

 

Even with the simplicity of the various plots, there’s one story that managed to stick out in my mind as kind of a heartbreaker. It’s the one where Egon Spengler tracks down an old college friend who carries death in a little pocket dimension. The friend was killed in a major car wreck, but you wouldn’t know that by the fact that he’s still walking around. The thing is, he doesn’t want to be transported to the other side. He wants to live his life and do all the things he wanted to do before the crash. We as the audience are so used to slimy creatures getting zapped with nuclear lasers that we don’t often see little nuggets of philosophy like this one. Will Egon send his friend to the netherworld like his job entails or will he just let it slide out of sympathy? That’s something you’re going to wrestle with for a while even after that particular story ends.

 

Another story that caught my attention was the final one where one of the Ghostbusters (I don’t remember which one) picks up a strange woman on the side of the road and tries to take her home. The only thing stopping him from doing that, of course, is the truck driver ghost who keeps stalking her. Nobody ever drove on these roads and lived to tell about it. Even if you believe this story has a happy conclusion, you still get chills from how it ended. You want to learn more about what the hell happened. You might want to pick up volume two to figure things out. These stories are too funny to be legitimately frightening, but this ending story comes pretty close once it draws to its conclusion. I won’t spoil the ending, but you’ve been warned.

 

One last note before I go: there’s a series of stories that take place when the Ghostbusters drive around America looking for jobs to do. They go to places like Detroit, New Orleans, Area 51, and a city close to where I live, Seattle. The attention to detail and the accuracies of how these cities are portrayed is one way for the author to flex his research muscles. Seattle actually looked like Seattle, Pike Place Market and all. Area 51 had all the aliens you could ask for, but the Ghostbusters knew that they were really ghosts. I love that even in a supernatural environment, aliens are treated with the same skepticism that they are in the real world. That made me chuckle on the inside. New Orleans was a metaphorical gold mine for ghosts given the city’s history with necromancy and voodoo, which is again accurate. These details go to show how important research is to an author’s success. I’m jealous!

 

As I said at the start of this review, this graphic novel and all the stories within don’t have any flaws that jump out at me. Yes, it’s not the most philosophical or groundbreaking thing I’ve ever read, but then again, it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes I just want to have a good time. Sometimes I just want to escape my reality for a little while. Is that alright with everyone here? This book gets a perfect five out of five. It’s a nice return to reading for me and that’s all I really need.

Held Down

The dying candlelight in the sky shone through Duane Root’s barred window and sizzled his eyes like bacon and eggs. The tighter he closed them, the more green and purple clouds swirled in his dark vision. The C clamp on his head seemed to crack his skull with how tightly it pushed his brains together. The hairy demonic arms that held him down in his quicksand bed squeezed every last breath of air out of his already exhausted body. What was the point of fighting his self-imposed bondage? What was the point of getting out of bed for a day that was going to end as quickly as it began?

Using what little freedom he had left in his arm, Duane shielded his eyes with his hand and tried to read his obnoxious grandfather clock with blurry vision. He knew he slept long enough to justify a coffin instead of a bed. But when he saw the time read five o’clock at night, he cursed to himself and slumped defeated into his crushing, yet strangely comfortable bed. “I have to go to work tomorrow…I hate work…I should just sleep in again…”

Surrendering to the tightening arms and the bone-snapping head vice would have been the easy way out. Easy was how Duane liked things. What wasn’t easy was the rumbling in his tummy that seemed to drum against his barely visible ribcage. “Jesus Christ…” he muttered into an uncaring universe. “I’d kill for a pizza right now.” With the weakness paralyzing his body, he wished he was the target of his would-be pizza murder. In a way, hunger was a murderer of its own, but its methods were slow and torturous. “What a shitty way to die…”

Duane fought and struggled to free himself from the demonic arms, but it was like losing a wrestling match to a dormant elephant sitting on his already inflamed ribs. He struggled some more, not out of love for life, but out of love for whatever was rotting in his fridge and needed to be eaten. His strength diminished with every tug against the arms. His brains liquefied against the vice grip. It would have been easy to just to give up and only allow his corporate masters to free him for a twelve-hour day of even more torture.

But after a few more squeezes and squirms, Duane freed himself from the monstrous arms, which subsequently crawled by their bladed fingers underneath his box-spring. Duane even managed to rip the vice off of his greasy, partially-bloody hair. Winning that championship wrestling match from hell didn’t take nearly as much out of him as sitting up on his butt. His head swirled like a tornado ripping his synapses apart. He was sure he was about to have a stroke. His stomach even rebelled against him despite not having anything to puke up in the first place.

After a few deep breaths, Duane Root’s equilibrium returned to him and his stomach calmed down. The green and purple eye fog blew away in these mini-breezes from his lungs. He could see again. But what he saw drained all hope from his already sloppy brain. The sun was descending underneath the horizon. The cobwebs in the corners of his room accumulated. The sticky floor clung to his naked feet with every step he took. His pajama pants and dirt-covered Pearl Jam shirt could have put him back to sleep with how musty they smelled.

The way Duane walked across his bedroom floor reflected how exhausted he was by everything around him. It was a zombie crawl on two legs. It was death being propped up with skinny twigs. It was an act of self-mutilation just to take another step out into the kitchen. But step into the kitchen he did. In case climbing one mountain of filth wasn’t enough, the mountain got even taller when he saw how many dishes were piled up in his sink. The demonic worms crawled across them, eating away at crusted egg stains and snickering at him with rancid food between their bladed teeth.

“Okay, Duane, you can do this…right?” There may have been a microsecond when he was capable, but when he turned on the faucet and saw that green slime poured out, he sighed and hunched over as though nothing he did had a point to it. He languidly nudged the faucet while the demon worms bathed and chugged at the viscous goo.

“I don’t need dishes anyways. I’ll just eat with my hands, I don’t give a shit.” He opened the fridge and gazed at the options with despair and anguish. There was a bucket of Kentucky Fried Tarantulas that needed to be finished. There was a McBlowfish sandwich that started to grow mushrooms. There was a Snickers bar that looked like it was birthed out of an ogre’s ass. And to drink he had a bottle of beer that looked like a dragon pissed in it or a jug of milk that deserved its own funeral.

“Fuck!” screamed Duane with a scratchy throat as he slammed the refrigerator door shut and slumped down to his butt. He tucked his head in his hands and allowed them to collect his greasy tears. “I just…I just…I just want life to be fun again…I want to actually want to live…I want my friends back…I want my mom back…I don’t want to live here anymore…I hate this place…”

“There, there, now,” said a ghostly voice, following up with a pat on Duane’s shoulder. He didn’t bother looking up to see who it was, but like everyone told him before, it was all in his head, right? “How can I put this in a way that even you can understand? I know!” The ghostly voice coughed less like it was clearing its throat and more like it was trying to vomit himself inside out. Duane still didn’t pick his head up. “If it makes you feel any better…other people have it worse than you do.”

“Fuck you…”

“It’s true, Duane. At least you have food in your fridge. A child in Africa can’t say the same. Neither can any woman in Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan. There’s more to life than just your sadness. There’s more to the world than the little microcosm you’ve fashioned for yourself. Just pick your head up and smile for a change. Nobody ever got anything done by frowning all the time and being miserable.”

Duane finally picked his head up and saw nobody there. He shrugged his aching shoulders and took the advice to smile…but his headache from the earlier vice grip made that a painful task. Smiling wasn’t the only thing that was painful. So was contrasting his plight to children in Africa or women in the Middle East. Everything was painful to Duane. Every twitch of his finger. Every step across the sticky floor. Every breath he took just sucked the wind out of him some more. “I…I want life to be fun again…” The gulf couldn’t be wider between what he wanted and what he would get.

He took a few more agonized breaths, but this time with anger shielding him from stomach pain. He grabbed the refrigerator door handle to pull himself to his wobbly legs. He looked at the world around him and hated everything in it. His fists clenched painfully as he wanted to destroy everything in his sight. He wanted to smash the worms. He wanted to throw the faucet slime against his windows. He wanted to tip the refrigerator over and stomp on his disgusting food. But just imagining these things sent more shockwaves of pain through his body…and just like that his rage devolved into more tears.

“Why does everything have to suck so much?” he asked the apathetic void. “I want life to be fun again!” But if it couldn’t be, he would rip open his silverware drawer and look for any weapon he could find. A knife? A fork? An even bigger knife that had demon worms crawling all over it? A wooden soup spoon that had its edges eaten off, probably by the aforementioned demon worms?

Duane shuffled his hand through the drawer and pulled out anything and everything that could help him. The sharpest objects he could find were not sharp enough. He needed something strong. He needed something that could cut through misery as through it were butter. He needed…a secret key?

He pulled the key out and stared at it with confusion. Was it supposed to start his car? Was it supposed to lock his house? It was too small to be either of those things. He then rushed to the bathroom, sticky floor pounding against his heels like war drums. He ignored the demon worms crawling on his walls and unlocked the medicine cabinet. Surely, these pills would be more effective than a sharp knife. Less blood, that was for sure. He rifled through the pills. Immodium? Asprin? Tylenol? No. An orange bottle with a barely readable label.

Duane opened it with shaky hands and poured a few tablets onto the sink. He turned on the faucet and more green slime poured out, but he didn’t care. He filled his coffee-stained glass with it and used it to swallow the pills he laid out. Strangely enough, the green slime…tasted like regular water. The demon worms were just mediocre wall paper designs. The floor was just sticky because he spilled food on it days prior.

“I did it…I remembered to take them…” In a microcosm full of darkness and horror, these pills couldn’t be confused for Hocus Pocus or black magic. They were antidepressants. He forgot to take them over the past few days. He was so wrapped up thinking his microcosm was the shittiest place on earth that taking his medicine just…slipped his mind. It was a mind that was no longer sloshing around in his head like moldy Jello. And when he returned to his bedroom, the hairy demonic arms were just an afghan that his mother gave him. The quicksand was just broken foam.

Upon clearing out his fucked up head, he remembered another phrase that no ghostly voice would ever tell him: “One day at a time.” It made perfect sense. He didn’t have to do everything at once. The cobwebs could wait another day. The dirty dishes weren’t going anywhere. Tomorrow was a work day, one that would likely be stressful enough to make him forget to take his pills again. But then again…”One day at a time.” And then Duane plopped down on his mother’s afghan, breathing sighs of relief that didn’t feel like punches to his gut.

“You got this, Duane...just go to work tomorrow…and figure out everything later…You can do this…”

“No, you can’t!” said the ghostly voice, which was greeted with a middle finger from the man it tormented.

Thor and Gore

The kiwi-sized pustules on his arms, the surgical staples in his face, the gray discoloration of his skin, and the snot-colored slime in his hair, they did no favors in making Thor exit his house that evening. Only the raw and intense voice of Kyle Houston and his metal band Resistance could serve as his gravity towards public life. Dressed in little more than a Pantera T-shirt and black jorts, Thor ventured into the arena and kept track of the nasty facial expressions he was getting from people walking past him.

These people were on the verge of vomiting themselves inside out. They shivered as though they swam in the Arctic Ocean. They spit out their beer and coughed like drama queens in a viral ward. Few of these patrons spoke to Thor, but when they did, it was in hushed tones about how “fucking ugly” and “goddamn sickening” he looked. Even ears that have been treated to grinding heavy metal music for god knows how long could pick up on these intense whispers. A stream of green slime rolled down Thor’s eyeball and splashed onto the pavement below.

The giant zombie swore he wouldn’t get into trouble that evening. He imagined the scenarios with law enforcement playing through his head like a depressing movie. He could toss and chomp on as many cops as they want, but even he was no match for bullets and tasers. Thor was a human zit ready to explode. When he passed into mosh pit, his rage was ready to explode when somebody from the upper deck poured beer on his head and laughed with his friends. He thought maybe coming to this Resistance concert was a bad idea. Maybe life would be better in his house underneath the sewers. The rats wouldn’t judge him. The bums would be in even less condition to judge. But these fucking metal heads who thought they were badasses…ugh…

As Thor lumbered through the crowd, he earned more disgusted looks and varsity jock laughter from everyone around him. He breathed heavily in and out to calm his nerves, but all that did was get some slimy saliva on those who worked so hard to back away. “Fuck it,” he thought to himself. “I just want to listen to some goddamn music.” Ask and ye shall receive. The minute he shimmied towards the center of the pit, the lights went out and the crowd went ape shit for their favorite metal band. Thor cheered and roared along with them, not giving a damn about the red saliva dripping from his stapled lip.

The neon orange stage lights shone down upon the crowd and they cheered even louder than before. The guitarists (rhythm and lead), bassist, and drummer appeared onstage wearing Guy Fawkes masks and black hooded robes, true to their band name. The crowd and Thor along with them nearly had a verbal orgasm when the lead singer Kyle Houston approached the microphone wearing camouflage khakis, black combat boots, a backwards ball cap, and a sadistic grin. “What the fuck is up, Paulson City?!” he shouted into the microphone, which earned him a huge pop from the crowd.

The drummer tapped the high hat three times in succession and then the adrenaline-pumped music boomed throughout the arena. The crowd bumped and shoved each other with such intensity that they resembled dominos when they fell. Three hundred pound bouncers in black T-shirts swarmed in on the scene to eject troublemakers by way of full nelson. Kyle Houston’s dirty vocals were indecipherable through the shitty speakers, but Thor secretly never cared as long as the music was good.

The guitars continued to grind, the double bass continued to pump, and Kyle’s vocals sounded like a horror movie monster was ready to devour its victims alive. Speaking of horror movie monsters, as the mosh pit intensified, Thor found himself being shoved around and knocked to the floor a few times. When the music got louder, Thor began feeling elbows, fists, and feet against his already explosive skin. He bled like a fire hydrant and the bouncers did nothing to stop these rowdy patrons. “I won’t get into trouble,” Thor said to himself. “I won’t get into trouble….I won’t get into trouble…” As soon as a sharp elbow connected with his cheekbone, he yelled, “Fuck it!” and moshed right back.

Except Thor’s version of moshing was much more destructive than an elbow to the face and more violent than a kick to the patella. These people had one chance to behave themselves. They had one chance to accept Thor for who he was. They had one chance to keep Thor from feeling lonely in a world that type-casted the ugly as villains. They blew it. They blew it big time. Thor never held back. He took big bites out of patrons’ arms and painted the floors with blood. He grabbed them by the neck and tossed them around like small children. He head butted one three hundred pounder and sliced himself open worse than he did his victim. Thor even stuck his muscular arms out and spun around in circles, clotheslining anybody who came in contact with him. For his reward, Thor was treated to faster, heavier, and louder music from the fine young men of Resistance.

Before the mosh pit could resemble a bombed slaughterhouse, the chubby bouncers finally decided enough was enough and swarmed in on Thor. They grabbed him by his bloody arms and legs and held on like boa constrictors. But the harder they pulled, the harder Thor pulled as well. He sent them rolling around on the floor like three hundred pound bowling balls. The heavy metal zombie even took a bite out of a bouncer’s shoulder, causing the would-be tough guy’s girlish screams to echo louder than Kyle Houston’s monstrous growls.

Playtime was over for these pieces of heavy machinery in black T-shirts. They punched, kicked, and elbowed Thor in every part of his body imaginable. One guy even went for a groin kick and doubled the zombie giant over. The bouncers continued to beat the shit out of this giant and spread his pus-infused blood all over the dance floor. Whatever was left of the crowd cheered on like wild animals as the bouncers grabbed a physically and emotionally wounded Thor by the ankles and dragged him toward the exit.

“I said I wouldn’t get in trouble tonight,” Thor thought to himself. “I said I’d be a good boy…What happened to me?...Where are these men taking me?” Slimy tears poured from the zombie’s eyes like a schnoz suffering from an allergic cold. The laughter and cheering from the heartless crowd pumped even more viscous fluids from his eyeballs. And then the music stopped and Kyle Houston shook his head in disgust.

“Let him go!” he shouted into the microphone. Everyone in the room, including the bouncers, went quiet and doe-eyed at this strange request. “Are you fucking retarded? I said let the poor guy go! Do it! I have no interest in pressing charges!” As ordered, the bouncers reluctantly let go of Thor’s ankles and slowly backed away with their hands defensively in the air.

Kyle scratched his head in mock confusion and asked the crowd, “What in the hell is wrong with you people? You think I didn’t see how you guys treated this poor son of a bitch the minute he came in here? If you guys pulled that shit with me, I’d want to cannibalize your sorry asses too!” The crowd booed lightly, but were quickly silenced with a grating, “Shut up!” from the lead singer of Resistance.

“So this is what humanity has come to, huh?” asked Kyle while pointing an accusatory hand at his patrons. “This is how we treat people who are different from us? I’ve always thought the whole reason for heavy metal was to escape that bullying bullshit. I know that’s why I got into it. Yeah, the guy’s got some…not so desirable features, but then again, I’d rather rock out with a slime-covered motherfucker than a bunch of close-minded dip-shits like you anyways. And just so you fuckers know, I had a cleft lip when I was a kid. I had to have surgery to fix it and the hospital bill nearly wiped out my family’s savings. My dad walked away shortly after. So when I see even the least attractive looking guy being treated like this, I take it fucking personally.”

Tears and snot slithered down Thor’s face as he slowly stood back up on his feet, no worse for wear. The blood and slime on his body was all in a day’s work. Kyle asked him what his name was and he answered with a monstrous growl, “I am Thor!”

“Nice to meet you, Thor. If I got beaten up as badly as you, I’d be Thor too!” joked Kyle, which got a modicum of laughter from the neutered crowd. “I’m just kidding, man. Come up here to the stage, buddy. I’ve got something for you.” The zombie trudged across the goop-covered floor and gazed into his heavy metal hero’s eyes like a typical fan boy.

Kyle placed a hand on his shoulder with no regard for the hygienic hazard before him. He said, “You did a sweet job defending yourself against these morons over here. It took a whole gang of fat asses to bring you down. I’ll bet you not even one of these bastards could do the shit you did tonight. That’s because they can’t walk in your big ass shoes, my friend. I’ve got a job offer for you. I’ll pay you a five-figure salary to travel all over the world with me as my bodyguard. Are you in or are you in?”

Even more sludge poured from Thor’s eyes as his stapled lips formed the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, revealing his buttery yellow teeth and serpentine tongue. “Anything is better than living in the sewers!” which was Thor’s way of saying not only yes, but fuck yes.

“Nobody should have to live in the sewers no matter what the hell they look like. Congratulations, you’ve got the job! Now get your big ass onstage and shake my hand!” grinned Kyle. Thor launched himself onstage with one step and hugged his new employer rather than shaking his hand, getting slime all over Kyle and acquiring a lot of awkward looks from bouncers and moshers alike. “Grow the fuck up, people, it’s nothing a long shower can’t fix.” As soon as the sloppy embrace ended, Kyle said, “Your first day on the job starts right now, buddy. Help me and my band get the fuck out of this dumpy arena. And by the way, your first hour on duty is also your lunch break if you know what I mean.”

Thor drooled with delight and whispered, “I know exactly what you mean.” One guy in the crowd shit his pants so badly that he became just as disgusting in appearance as Thor.

Wal-Martians

“Tell me again how this is different from any other day at Wal-Mart?” asked the metal-armored Amazon Alexis Lee as she stamped the butt of her spear into the pavement.

“You’ve been making that joke for hours, Alexis. Knock it off. Yes, we’re well aware that Wal-Mart has been taken over by these…creatures, if you want to call them that. We know how ironic it truly is. We still have a job to do whether you think it’s hilarious or not,” said the aura-covered paladin Micah Fireborn as he swung his sword in the air to warm up his muscles.

“Can we just get in there and rescue Lady Sakura already? This place gives me the fucking creeps,” said the muscle-bound, kilt-wearing barbarian Cain McLeod, who sharpened his double-edged axe with a stone. “Not one more joke out of you, Alexis!”

“Please? Just one more? What do you call a bunch of zealots who will die for a supermarket? Wal-Martyrs!” chuckled Alexis while her two companions sighed and held their faces in their free hands. “Come on, you have to admit that was good!”

“The hell I do!” belted Cain. “Can we please just start the damn mission and get that fucking religious nut out of there?”

“Fine, fine, you guys win. I guess killing will be funny enough,” frowned Alexis.

The three warriors marched their way through the parking lot knowing the fun and games were over and the ass beatings were about to commence. They pounded their weapon handles, let out short roars, and slapped their own faces to psych themselves up. When they reached the automatic double doors, they gagged and wheezed at the sight of green alien goop sealing the hinges together. “I got this,” said Micah Fireborn as he ignited his sword with an aura of fire and chopped through the slime with ease, splattering some on Alexis and Cain.

Alexis could barely tolerate the rancid stench, but Cain spewed his dinner all over the pavement while the Amazon giggled and the paladin shook his head at him. Cain wiped his mouth off with his leather gloves and pointed at Alexis before commanding, “Don’t you start with those jokes again! I mean it!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus, I won’t make anymore puns. You happy now? God!” whined Alexis. The three warriors kicked down the glass doors and chopped away at any remaining slime paste. Cain nearly emptied his bowels yet again when he saw that a drained human was underneath one of the slime piles. Micah grabbed him by the arm and jerked him into the store.

“See? What did I tell you guys?” asked Alexis rhetorically as the three fighters took in the surreal scenery of the invaded superstore. Skeletons and green slime decorated the floors, walls, and ceiling while the actual food items had mushrooms growing out of them. Legos were scattered across the floor and had blood sprinkled over some of them, most likely due to somebody stepping on them in bare feet. The assault rifle rack was useless since the barrels were dripping with this awful snot-like substance.

The warriors treaded lightly around the store and made sure to huddle together so they didn’t get separated. So far, no sign of the enemy, just lots and lots of snot, shit, and urine flooding the store. Just a tiny drop of this viscous substance landed on Cain’s nose and he immediately dropped to his knees dry heaving his guts out.

“For the love of God, Cain, get it together!” snapped Micah. “If you don’t like the smell of this stuff, why did you agree to this mission to begin with? You’re a barbarian, for shit’s sake! Suck it up, buttercup!”

“Trust me, Micah, he won’t be sucking that stuff up anytime soon,” joked Alexis, who afterwards raised her hands defensively when Micah and Cain scowled at her.

The stomach juices were really going haywire when the slime moved across the floor to various clothing items, whether it be ‘Murica T-shirts, jorts with holes in them, or Make America Great Again baseball caps. Micah, Alexis, and the newly recovered Cain backed up against the wall with home improvement tools and stood strong as the goo filled up these clothes until they were in the shape of alien creatures. Their whip-like tongues and tentacles swung from side to side in anticipation of their human meals.

Cain wasn’t vomiting anymore, Alexis wasn’t cracking jokes anymore, and Micah…well, he was the only serious one around. The three warriors stood their ground while Cain used his free hand to signal the aliens forward. “Come on, you fucking Wal-Martians! Let’s make ass-kicking great again!”

The aliens swarmed on the three heroes and were treated to high speed and high power chops, slashes, and pierces from each of their weapons. Alexis stuck her spear into one giant tub of goo and slammed the creature into others, creating a tidal wave of sick fluids in her wake. Cain spun around like a buzz saw with his axe and cleaved through hordes of aliens, turning their bodies into puddles of gelatin. Micah’s fiery sword cut through even more hordes of aliens and melted them to the point of boiling and steaming over the already thick Wal-Mart air.

“Is that all you got?!” taunted Cain while an alien wrapped its massive tentacle around Alexis’s legs and dragged her screaming across the filthy floor. When she dropped her spear and yelled for help, the barbarian shouted back, “I’ll save you, Alexis!” and dove after her. His end result was getting tackled in the ribs and sent flying across a shelf full of Lego sets.

Micah stabbed his flaming sword into the aliens repeatedly until they melted into a river of trash. His back was turned for one small second and an alien wrapped its tentacle around his throat before dragging him across the floor kicking and gurgling, leaving his blade behind. In the midst of his capture, he could see another tentacle wrapping itself around Cain’s body and pulling him as well.

The mass of alien humanity melded into one gigantic squid-like being, complete with more tentacles, more razor-sharp mouths, and more sickening slime that had Cain sticking his tongue out and heaving once again. Through this pool of disgust, not one warrior could get a good look at who was commanding this gigantic creature. All they heard was a raspy voice command, “Join us! Join my army and let us ride into heaven together!”

“You call this heaven?!” shouted Alexis. “I’d rather have the devil himself shove a fiery trident up my ass than go to your version of heaven!”

The tentacles squeezed harder around her legs and caused her to shriek in mind-blowing pain. The creature said, “So you must be the funny one of the group. You’re the one who likes to laugh at other people’s beliefs. You’re the one who likes to laugh at the prayers of the holy ones! I will not have such blasphemy in my church!”

“Church, my ass, you sick freak!” shouted Micah as he pulled some of the slime away from his neck. “Sakura Divine is more of a priest than you’ll ever be! She’ll be the one who guides us to heaven! Last time I checked, heaven didn’t look like a big ass used Kleenex!”

“You’re absolutely right!” belted the creature as she cinched the tentacle tighter around Micah’s neck. “Sakura Divine is quite the leader. She has the answers for us all. You’ve been listening to them the whole time!”

The faces of the warriors grew sullen as they realized what had just been revealed. Cain murmured, “No…no, it’s not true! You’re Sakura Divine?! You’re the one we came to save?!” After a demonic laughter from the slimy creature, Cain roared at Micah, “This is all your fault, you fucking altar boy! I told you we shouldn’t have trusted this religious whacko!”

Insulted by the “blasphemous” display, Sakura squeezed her tentacle around Cain’s ribs even harder than before while other tentacles joined in to squish him like a grape. Alexis screamed and hollered for mercy, but Cain’s body exploded into jelly once the constriction became too tight. “You sick little bitch!” Alexis shouted. “How could you do this to us?!” She too was squeezed by multiple tentacles until her body went kaboom like a nuclear warhead.

“No!” Micah shouted while struggling to break free from Sakura’s grip.

“Don’t fight it, Micah!” ordered Lady Divine. “You’re a noble paladin, a warrior of the light. You should know better than anybody how good heaven will feel once you walk past the pearly gates. End the struggle, my dear friend. Let the magic of heaven flow through your veins.”

“I’ll never join you!” shouted Micah.

“Don’t think too hard about your decision, paladin!” mocked Sakura. “I crushed your two friends because they were not worthy of such a trip into space. But you, Micah, you were destined for greatness. As of right now, you have two options: you can rot here forever in your own personal hell, or you can join me in my spaceship and we can rule over heaven together!”

Micah stopped struggling for a moment and actually had to think about this decision. He replayed both of his friends being crushed into gelatin in his head like a nagging schizophrenic vision. His mind went numb, his eyes became teary, and his body was relaxing. Being pasted to the ground of an already joked-about store like Wal-Mart was the true definition of hell. What if Sakura was right? What if heaven was waiting for him in that space ship?

“You know what, Sakura? I’m with you on one thing. I don’t want to go to hell tonight. But you will!” roared Micah as he activated his fiery aura to melt away the tentacle around his throat. Sakura screamed while the rancid goop melted down Micah’s nose and throat. He coughed and vomited several times, but he could feel the flame surge through him. He could feel his insides burning with passion and holiness. He stood up and shined his flaming aura even brighter until the entire store was covered in it. Sakura’s gelatinous form liquefied like butter…but only because that was what happened during hallucinatory trips.

In reality, Micah’s insides were burning for a much different reason: he swallowed the acidic mess. His brain cycled through different parts of the slimy battle whether he was in danger or fighting alongside his friends. His head was pounding with agony so badly that it felt like he was being smashed with a sledgehammer. His chest and stomach felt like he was going to through up so badly that he would turn himself inside out.

This was what it felt like to betray his religion and follow his own path. He was going to hell no matter what. But even with all of this pain wracking his body, he felt like he was already in heaven since he would be joining Cain and Alexis soon. They could crack all of the jokes they wanted and nobody would break them. Sakura may have shredded their bodies, but their souls were free. Was it worth the pain? Always. Even in death, Micah, Cain, and Alexis would make the afterlife great again.

Staple Gun Gangster

The tremendous bangs against Marco Said’s door jarred him awake, making him believe for a moment his house was being raided by the police. He sat in bed wearing nothing but Nike shorts and cursing when he saw what time it was on his digital clock. Three in the morning. Who in the hell would want to wake up Marco at three in the morning? He slipped on a pair of socks and running shoes (not even bothering with his shirt) and grabbed his trusty staple gun from the nightstand.

As he advanced toward the front door, the pounds became louder and Marco’s annoyance turned to full-blown rage. “Wait a fucking minute!” he yelled. Still awakening from his peaceful slumber, the gangster rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled on his way to answer the door. He didn’t even bother turning the porch or living room lights on.

When Marco saw the slimy, slobbering green mess of a man before him, the black gangster didn’t look the least bit intimidated. In fact, Mr. Said had a scowl on his face that would shake marine drill instructors to their cores. With his staple gun raised in the air, he snapped, “You better have a damn good reason for coming over here at three in the fucking morning! Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you want, bitch?!”

The muck-covered visitor smiled and exposed his rotten brown teeth. He laughed in a monstrous growl of a voice and said, “I’m the Boogeyman! And I need a favor. I hear you can get me some serious cash in a big hurry.”

“At three in the morning? What the hell does your ass need at three in the morning? I ought to staple your ass right now for waking me up this fucking early!” threatened Marco, shooting a few staples in the air for a demonstration.

The Boogeyman put a hand to his chest and feigned terror when he said, “A staple gun? Ooooo!” The monster even wiggled his fingers in sarcasm. “I thought you original baby gangsters liked to use some serious hardware. I was expecting an AK-47 or something like that. But instead you’ve got a staple gun. A gun…for stapling!” He laughed like a bloodthirsty hyena while leaning backwards and slapping his thigh.

Not wanting to be screwed with any further than he has, Marco shook his head and fired a staple into The Boogeyman’s leg, causing the monster to splash goop all over the gangster’s shorts and clutch his wound with almost mock agony. “You see that shit?” said Marco. “Any bitch nigga can shoot off a machinegun or sell cocaine on the streets. Me? I handle my business up front. Now, either you tell me what you want money for or I’ll shoot your ass again!”

The Boogeyman breathed heavily and chuckled once again before standing up straight to meet Marco’s gaze with a sinister grin. “Alright, buddy. You win. You see, it’s been a while since I’ve had any…how shall I put this…action.”

“Well, no shit, dawg! Your ass looks like something from a Michael Jackson video! Why don’t you dance down the street doing your Thriller thing and I’ll get my ass back in bed!” said Marco as he prepared to close the door.

The only thing that stopped him was The Boogeyman holding his hands out and saying, “No, wait! You’re right. I’m not much to look at. But…if I had some of that cold hard cash, these little girls wouldn’t have a choice! Get my drift? Some people like to dine on sweeter things than that. Me? My favorite kind of food…is fetish-ccini!”

As the monster laughed at his own pun, Marco fired another staple, this time at the creature’s groin, causing him to double over in a modicum of pain. Marco barked, “My noodle is your momma’s favorite kind of pasta, motherfucker! Now get your ass out of here! Ain’t nobody messing with no kids on my watch!”

“Since when did you become the paragon of morality?” said the Boogeyman with the widest of grins, still hunched over. “You’re a loan shark, one who kills people who don’t pay their debts on time. You’re right, buddy: you are a real thug. Those staples hurt like hell, whereas a bullet would end someone’s life right away. You’re not a murderer. You’re a torturer. You’re like me except without the slimy body.”

“Alright, boy, I see your point. Let me get some cheddar real quick. Stay right here,” said Marco, who reached into his secret panel and pulled out a ten dollar bill. He waved it in front of the Boogeyman’s face and said, “With the kind of bitches you’re looking for, this is all you’re going to need.” The gangster then stapled the ten dollar bill to the creature’s forehead, eliciting a much louder howl of pain than before. “We’re done for the day. Now get your ass off my front porch or I’ll turn you into a Swiss cheese, bitch!”

Marco slammed the door shut and locked both deadbolts. He shook his head in disbelief and said, “What the hell was all that about?” as he stumbled back to his bedroom, not wanting to wait another moment to get some shuteye. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks before jumping back into bed. The sounds of the Boogeyman screaming in agony were drowned out by the thickness of the front door. If anything, they were like a lullaby to Marco Said’s ears. He drifted off into the dream world without further incident.

By the time the staple gun gangster woke up, he saw that it was noon on his digital clock. She shoved it off the nightstand and cursed under his breath. Marco sat on the edge of his bed rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and contemplating the events of last night. Who in the hell was that guy? Why was he covered in goop? Why did it even matter that he looked like a creature out of a sci-fi movie? He threw on his same shoes and socks as well as a basketball jersey that was laying on the floor in a pile of unfinished laundry. He also grabbed his staple gun and reloaded it before heading toward the front door to start his day.

He dropped the weapon and stared at the gigantic hole in his door with wide eyes and furrowed brows. The door was covered with acidic slime and the floor had green footprints leading elsewhere. His secret money panel had been broken into as well. “What the fuck?!” he yelled before picking his staple gun back up again and following the footprints ever so slowly.

The closer he got to the closed bathroom door, the louder the sounds of muffled child screams echoed throughout the hallway. Marco’s blood boiled and his trigger finger got itchy. His menacing business stare turned into teeth-clenching, white-knuckle rage. The muffled screams were deafening and the sounds of goop slurping about were even more obnoxious. He was somewhat afraid to touch the door handle since it too was covered in that disgusting green filth.

With his hand tucked in his jersey, Marco slowly opened the door to see the Boogeyman laughing it up while the muffled children’s screams were behind the closed shower curtain. The creature shouted, “It’s complete! My revenge is complete!”

Not caring if that made sense or not, the gangster stapled the Boogeyman’s forehead, chest, and groin repeatedly, splashing green blood against the vanity and shower curtain. The monster curled up next to the toilet in a pathetic ball of pain while Marco shouted, “I told you what was going to happen if you kept messing around with me, motherfucker! I ain’t playing no games with you! I’ve got staples for days, bitch! I’ll do this shit for as long as I want! Those Guantanamo motherfuckers are pussies compared to me! Your ass is in for a long ass night!”

After the initial wave of torture wore off, the Boogeyman laughed in rebellion as if he didn’t care about Marco’s wrath one bit. When asked what was so funny, the creature said, “Don’t you get it, buddy? I didn’t need those children for a good time. Nah, I needed them for a little bit of revenge.” When asked what he was talking about, the Boogeyman said, “Did you ever wonder why those kids turned to prostitution? To pay their bills of course. Their parents couldn’t do it because they were killed by a certain staple gun gangster, who by the way didn’t like late payments and collected with interest.”

Marco looked down at the monster with solemnity before shouting, “Bullshit! This is all just a game! Your ass is having a laugh!”

“Trust me, Mr. Said: there’s nothing funny about growing up in the hood with no parents and no other way to pay bills than having sex with strange men. If you need proof, just ask them yourself,” said the Boogeyman before slowly standing up and drawing back the shower curtain.

Marco’s eyes widened with horror for the first time in a long while. He was shakier than a woman’s sex toy at the sight of black teenaged girls covered in slime, just like the Boogeyman. They drooled, droned, and gurgled as they screamed for vengeance and hungered for blood. The Boogeyman placed a not-so-loving hand on Marco’s shoulder and said, “My name is Kip Kyle, but you’ll remember me as the father one of these children. Surely, the name Kip Kyle means something to you, right? Maybe the name of a former customer?”

The gangster’s heavy nervous breathing turned to cowardly whimpers as he curled up against the bathroom sink holding his staple gun with a quaking arm. Kip Kyle raised his goopy arm and brought it down with his finger pointed right at his murderer, signaling for the little slime balls to chomp, chew, and devour their way through Marco’s body.

The gangster would have screamed, but blood was in his throat after a girl gnawed on his neck. Soon enough, the staple gun gangster was nothing more than a pile of picked bones, bloody rivers, and slurped organs. The teenaged girls’ hungers for vengeance and human meat were both satisfied to the point of fat bellies and bright brown smiles. One of them even let out a loud burp to the others’ laughing delights.

Another one of the girls asked, “Can we go home, Daddy?” in a gargling voice.

“Yes,” said Kip. “We can all go home now. The last one to the sewers is a rotten egg!”