Tag Archives: Allen Martin

Blue

At the beginning of the blue path near Osborne’s Woody’s house, Sikul Himakt The Musician spotted him, sitting alone on a high perch overlooking the Magenta Sea.

“I had it all, Musician,” the figure spoke without turning. “A fantastic new woman in my life, a faithful son now free from possession. Investigation over. No one died. And then it was all taken away. Woody became Allen, and the 4th wall was erased, just like in the hit film ‘Purple Rose of Cairo.’ Ever heard of it? Stars a man named Baxter, but not Ted. I don’t think.”

The man never turns around, but The Musician knew who it was, of course. Recently deceased Allen Martin.

“Jasper is waiting,” he said cryptically to end his dialog.

The Musician glances behind him, wondering where Colon was. But the snake had vanished, just like Morris before him. And then, in turning around, Allen Martin had disappeared too. The Musician was alone. Time to find Woody.

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Around Town

Baker Bloch marveled at the constantly changing furniture in a VHC City store called Prim Possible.

Wheeler mulled over multiple realities surrounding the death of Allen Martin while sipping expresso at News and Views across from the famous hotel.

Snowmanster kept spinning around and around in his CB Dylan Dresser at Bemberg Towers Apt. #6, unable to enter this dimension.

Across the tracks in a tiny two story house, a fly got stuck in Pitch Darkly’s wine red nightcap.

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OPD

“No Woody, you cannot be a Musician in this story as well. Now put that away and get ready. It’s time.”

“Hello my love,” Old Man Allen Martin said. “For the last time.”

Wheeler could not help. She just had to watch. And, yeah, it was painful. Very painful.

Then it was done. Correct reality locked in.

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Piggies

It was somewhat before sunrise when Allen Martin began writing to his deceased wife Carol again.

Dearest Muffin,

I hope you had a peaceful night. Me… not so good. I have some news for you. I don’t want to hide anything. You know my devotion to you my sweetest will never be over. Marriage is not, until death do you part. It is forever in another, special way. Yet, things do happen in physical life. Time moves forward. I’ve met someone else. I don’t know if it will work out but I just wanted to be straighforward and honest with you. This is not a usurpal of our love. Not atall. It is a continuation in a strange way.

He paused; peered over at his now ordinary looking son Doogie snoozing away after another tough night of transmogrified grilling on the part of possessor Petty. Victim this time: Allen Martin’s landlord Summerhill Nova. Emerald tablets? What’s that mad inspector on about now?? He returned to his scribing.

I know my feelings are real in this case, but we are the rock, the foundation. This is just a new branch sprouting on an old, old tree.

He paused again as Doogie let out a loud snort.

I want to reassure you our son is fine. Do not hate me for what I, we, did. The gas station was about to be repossessed. I had to provide for Doogie. Irony, eh? Possession for possession. I hope and pray it will be over soon. But Petty is going off onto so many tangents. How about the actual *killing*, sir. Address that for a change.

He put his pen down on the desk. It was no good today. A proper letter to his wife would have to wait. He sat up on its top, looking east this time instead of west.

Wheeler. What demon are you as well?

She also snorts.

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t&a

In his newly rented, creepy basement apartment, Baker Bloch rezzed the entire “Wall of Ass.” created a number of years back now for the Biggie Gallery in Sunklands, only to delete most of it in favor of Salvador Dali’s last painting, “(The) Swallow’s Tail”. Seemed appropriate.

A knock at the door, then. Strange, Baker Bloch thought. No one knows I’m here yet except the landlord. Should I even answer it? It’s the dead of night. Vampires most likely. Fresh blood smelled. The knocks resumed, then a voice. “Baker, it’s me. Martin. Allen Martin. And Wheeler.”

—–

“Nice hat, Martin,” Baker Bloch spoke.

“It’s Allen, actually. Martin is a last name.”

“Oh right. Like the bird.”

“I suppose. Have we even met? I know your sister Baker Blinker, of course. She was my landlord over in Collagesity North.”

Baker Bloch ignored the sister misnomer re Baker Blinker. “I don’t think we have. But there’s a lot of characters in the Collagesity stories now. Perhaps our paths have crossed already and we’ve forgotten. Yes — come to think of it, I believe I saw you eating alone in Perch one night.”

“I did that sometimes, yeah.”

“I understand you have a son.”

“Doogie, yeah.”

“Something has happened to him?” He looks over to Wheeler for help. “See, I was over at your apartment just last night, Martin, er, Allen. Sorry. I was called over there by Petty.”

“I see,” states Allen Martin, repositioning himself in his chair. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Queerly,” answers Baker. “Odd accusations being tossed about. Stuff that doesn’t seem possible.”

“Like what?” Wheeler remained queerly silent. Then she was gone. Baker Bloch turned to Allen Martin, who just shrugged.

“She’ll get back here,” he said. “Go ahead… continue.”

As Baker spoke, the rest of the “Wall of Ass.” disappeared behind him, leaving Dali’s paintings alone in the apartment.

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It didn’t take them all that long.

They’ve found the secret rooms.

Clown Central.

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Merging tracks

“Ahhh! That face!!”

“We app-re-ci-ate your time in our fair ci-ty,” OD continued in its clipped manner, suddenly detached from the wall and looming larger. The wegee planchette had stopped spinning. “We have ass-im-il-at-ed the bird, zip, the man known as Mar-tin. Sanc-tu-ar-y is with-in reach. You can go ab-out, ping, a-bout your way. Thank you for vis-it-ing and come back again ver-y, zip, fair-ly soon.”

The Musician fled the scene, running upstairs. Wheeler stood her ground. She pulled out a large, futuristic gun from her coat. “Get back on the wall, buster. We’re not finished here.”

—–

Meanwhile… Allen Martin appeared to be dead at the very same spot Renaldo O’Donnell lay early.

But then he stood up. “Just a pose ball,” he muttered. “No murder atall. And my son… all that change and attached grief for nothing, it seems.”

He moves around the corner to the next area, being careful to head *away* from his apartment (unlike Wheeler earlier). A break room?

Maybe the stupid people responsible for this charade. The thought crossed his mind that VHC City is just a giant stage set for some kind of film being made. Horror story?

He then sees something more interesting appearing in the next area: a purple spheriod thingie. No: green; no: blue. He checks the description of the now golden object. Jeez God, he thinks, an “alien egg tree.” This *is* a horror story.

He walks between pipe and chair to take a closer look.

Nothing else really that odd about it except the name. And a dead end in this direction. He’d have to retrace his steps.

But then, a monster bursts forth through the wall in front of him, turns around, then leaves through same. A giant crocodile, it appears!

He may have to go back to the apartment to get his heart medicine before advancing further.

—–

Allen Martin then heard a female voice call his name from the direction of the “break room.” Wheeler.

They met in front of this gate on the far side of the room, the Fate Gate they would later call it. From this point on they would move forward together. Holding hands again, they passed through.

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