Freaks and Geeks: S.S.D.D.

By Max Bowen

“I hate Louisiana,” breathed the larger man, mopping his brow for what had to be the 10th time in the past minute. His kind was supposed to prefer dank, humid environments, but he seemed to be the exception.

“And I’m sure they despise you just as much,” replied his comrade.

The sweater looked around to catch the stares of passerbys. Since they got off the train, he had endured that silent torment, the glares, the disgusted looks, the wide-eyed gawking of what had to be everyone in the city of New Orleans. He glared right back, and snarled at a few, causing them to quickly back away and go back to whatever business was so important to draw them out into the stifling summer.

“Oh yeah, that’s good. Real good. Nothing endears government spooks to the populace like threatening mannerisms,” said the smaller man.

“The hell with ‘em. I ain’t interested in ‘endearing’ myself to anyone, unless it’s those Mardi Gras girls. And where are they, anyway?”

“Probably at Mardi Gras. Two months ago.”

A police officer walked up to the pair, a questioning expression on his face that quickly disappeared. Obviously his question had been answered. Trying to hide a look of revulsion, and failing with incredible skill, he carefully approached the pair. “Torukane Sampson and Jebediah Ameri?” asked the officer, as if he didn’t already know.

The two only nodded, their faces expressionless. Messing with the local police was something of a hobby to them.

As the officer led them to a waiting cruiser, he tried to strike a conversational tone. “I’m glad the Department of Paranormal Invesitgation could spare you to look at this. Frankly, we’re just out of our league here.”

“Just leave everything to us, officer, and pretty soon you’ll be back to catching purse snatchers and skateboarders,” said Torukane.

The officer rounded on the two investigators. “On second thought, maybe we don’t need you. A couple louts like yourselves, you’re more likely to get hammered at the bars than actually solve the case.”

Jebediah could only smile at the cop’s bravado. “No problem, sir. We’ll just head on back to the office and tell our bosses how the murder of half a dozen innocents will go unsolved because the local fuzz couldn’t take a joke.”

The cop’s machismo seemed to leak out of him like a punctured tire. Without a word, he stormed to the car. Torukane and Jebediah quietly followed.

The scene that awaited them was grisly to say the least. Six women, all around the age of 25, lay dead on the floor. Ancient writing adorned the walls, carefully done. The room itself, a hotel room in the worst section of town, had been trashed. Furniture had been torn to pieces or burnt to ash, and all the lights had been smashed. Daylight though the single window didn’t reveal much.

No police were inside the home. Three had vomited on the spot and another ate a bullet.

Torukane and Jebediah, on the other hand, entered looking for all the world as if they were going to the neighborhood watering hole. The large man received more stares from the officers, stares which he was used to. Trolls had a way of standing out.

Calling forth a globe of light to get a better look at the scene, Torukane carefully studied the markings written on the walls, floor and ceiling. They looked familiar, definitely Curse magic, but very powerful, not something you could learn within the hallowed halls of Sherizad, the mage’s school located in Washington, D.C.

Jebediah examined the bodies, using his magic to enhance his vision. The women had been stabbed three times in the neck, once in the front, and once on each side. “Any idea why we were called in on this?” he asked the police, who were trying their best not to vomit on the crime scene. “Plenty of other investigators with nothing to do. We musta had, what five open cases?”

Torukane held up four fingers, a silent correction.

“No clue,” said the officer who had driven them over, . “The woman over there,” he said pointing to a deceased brunette wearing a pink T-shirt, “Her sister asked us to contact you. Said you were the best.”

“She’s not wrong,” said Torukane. “But there are others almost as good as us a lot closer.”

“Like I said, she said she wanted you to solve this,” said Matheson.

Torukane traced the letters with his hand, mumbling the English translation. “And when the light of Soli falls on these words, the lost will-oh, crapཀ” he said, dousing the globe with a swipe of his claws.

But it was too late. The ancient text glowed. The entire thing had been a setup. The lights were destroyed deliberately to make it hard to read the words, and once a magical light illuminated them, the last part of the spell was complete. It was Curse magic all right. A very elaborate trap.

The women stirred to life, or at least as close to life as undead demons get. The officers screamed and drew their guns, opening fire. The two mages dove for cover, in as much danger of getting hit as the ghouls.

The officer’s aim was true, as they riddled the animated corpses with gunfire, but the bullets failed to return them to whatever plane of existence they had recently occupied. Fingers outstretched, they threw themselves at the humans, and would have torn them to bloody ribbons if not for a hastily erected shield.

“Get out of hereཀ” yelled Torukane.

They needed little encouragement. The ghouls turned to the officer’s saviors, eyes filled with otherworldly hatred.

Jebediah pulled on a pair of brass knuckles. In a human’s hands, they were lethal weapons. In his, they were the Fists of God. “Methinks this is too convenient an occurrence. The murder, the spell, our presence requested. Maybe an old friend of the family?”

Torukane flexed his claws, malice plain in his eyes. “I really thought we were done with these bounty hunters.”

Four of the demons flew at the troll, while the others attacked Jebediah. Torukane concentrated, and with a word and a gesture, summoned a lightning bolt that incinerated a pair of the children. “Remember, you gotta destroy ‘em completely,” he growled as the others closed in, howling for his blood.

The smaller man smiled, and fired a right jab before the ghouls were anywhere near him. While the strike itself did no damage, the resulting shock wave was sufficient to disintegrate one of the girls. The second he dispatched with a knee to the jaw followed by a left to the face, obliterating the skull.

The two remaining undead slashed at the troll, thought their claws did little damage to his hide. He gabbed one by the neck and set her aflame with a word, leaving her a twisting, shrieking wreck.

The last ghoul went for the mage’s exposed back. Without a glance, he caught her with a back kick, then juggled her with three successive kicks. Before she landed, he incinerated her with another fire spell.

The demon Jebediah rendered headless was still in the game, struggling and thrashing. He was about to finish her off when Torukane grabbed the headless doll. He held her close and spoke ancient words Jebediah could not hear. Perhaps for the best, for as soon as the troll stopped speaking, the ghoul crumbled to dust.

“Counterspell,” he said, brushing off the powdered bone and flesh. “Ya gotta be able to drop these things quick in case they turn on you. Zombie allegiances fade fast.”

Jebediah nodded. Though committed mind, body and soul to Physical magic, as were all mages who chose to follow a single sorcerous path, the knowledge was worth remembering. Torukane, on the other hand, was an All-Mage, practitioner of every type of magic, yet master of none.

“Never gonna get rid of the smell.”

When Sara Jacobi saw the police come to the front gate of her manor, she greeted them with wide smiles, convinced they were here to tell her of the tragic fate that had befallen the mages she had hired.

Her elation quicky faded when she saw the troll and his partner standing before her.

“No. No, you can’t be here,” she stammered.

Torukane tossed the charred skull of her undead sister at the woman’s feet. “Next time you want the bounty, don’t insult me by sending these worthless husks to do the job.”

Sara looked down at the skull, then back at the troll, hatred blazing in her eyes. “Sirian, tolas, bari-,” she began, but was cut off in mid-curse by her kin’s claws, which at the moment had invaded her large intestine.

She collapsed to the ground, her hands trying in vain to staunch the blood flow. Before Death took her soul, Torukane clasped her head in his clawed hands. “Tell your whore of a sister that I’m sick of this. She sends one more bounty-head after me, I’m gonna stop being mildly upset and just get plain aggravated,” he said as her heat beat its last.

As Torukane left the formerly pristine manor grounds, the officers could only look on in horror and a little retching. “Same shit,” he said, once more wiping the Mason Dixon sweat from his brow. “Same shit, different day.”