Tag Archives: Fern Stalin^^+

00440407 (change)

“Don’t forget about Lichen’s 4 Stomach Tour,” I tried to ground Fern.

“Of course not. But back to immediate business. Black Wall.” Then she forgot. Again.

“Right, right.” I shook my head internally while nodding on the outside. Fern didn’t pick up on my doubts, which was a little disconcerting itself. Lack of recognition. Brilliant in so many other ways. But not irony — comedy in another form. I knew we were entering dangerous territory.

She drew more diagrams in the notebook before her, a gray Mead 5 star spiral with 22 holes and approx. 5×7 inch design. “Pre-1906,” she said, still looking down in a pause between scribbles. “Probably around 1893 or maybe even dating back to 1886, hmm. Anyway (she shook her head), we’ll see soon enough. So the Black, the White, the Green will all be in their proper place and not all mixed up during this period. She punctuated the page before her at the appropriate spots, apparently some kind of crude map as I understood now. “Auburn was still Slaughter with its Slaughterhouse Hotel, or close enough, before the scaredypants changed the name.” She scribbles some stuff on top of what I took now as Auburn on the map, near the old conjunction of the Green and White rivers as I knew from previous discussions. “Everything was right. We can even go there, you know — this Slaughterhouse.” She circles Auburn which she’s changed to Slaughter, with a little cartoon house with teeth drawn atop of it to reinforce the link. “Thanks to the magic of Our Second Lyfe. There we’ll meet Middle. Are you grasping this yet?”

“This… has already happened?”  I guessed, thinking of the snake, the tail.

“The Wheel is the middle of the Tarot, or at least the end of it (The Wheel, not the Tarot). 10… you met Tin at another hotel which is perhaps the same hotel — motel — in Room 10. You have arrived.”

“*You* have arrived,” I said. “What happened next?”

“I… drew my gun and opened the door”

“Yes?”

“She turned.”

“Right.”

“Then… black out. Loss of power.  But I recognized her. Tin for sure.”

“Ten,” I said. “The Wheel.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s where Lincoln starts his latest Brain Daze. Not 5 days ago. We’re looking right at it in the beginning. Sunset Motel in the Badlands again. Then he goes and hops on his motorcycle and heads back into town from whence he came, or at least the Rancho Coronado suburb. Leaves it at another service station there after walking around a while, finding stuff, interacting with people.” I end my quick review of the BD, wait for Fern to chip in. But she wasn’t there any longer. Where’d she go?

—–

“Are you Lincoln?” she said at the start, knowing it was truth.

“Yes? How’d–”

“You’re heading the wrong way. You need to go further into the desert.”

(to be continued)

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00440406

“It’s obvious that Hellboy (as she called him) is the Man in the Middle — this Middle Slaughter. And you know what that means?”

“No,” I said, lost in Fern’s brilliance per usual.

“It means we have to get to Slaughter before *it* gets to us. Black Wall. Diversion.”

Always the Black Wall for Fern lately. Where’s lighthearted Lichen when you need her?

“Pack your bags,” she then said. “We’re heading for Auburn.”

“Alabama?” I said. “What’s there?”

“Washington,” she corrected. “Like George. C’mon, let’s eat some cereal together and I’ll lay us out a plan.” She knew I was just a fill-in for Lichen but she had no one else at the time.

(to be continued)

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00440316

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00440315 (“*Montana*”)

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00440314

When they reached the top of Birdtail and looked over, a surprise awaited them, like a field manifesting between the two matching, pencil shaped (ached nipples?) projectiles sticking up there, except in the distance. It shouldn’t. The cursed thing known as The Flesh Pit, mystery no more, would follow them wherever they went now — since they were a part of it, *inside* it, actually. To the edges of the Earth and beyond.

Then they found it back down on the plateau over an edge as well, reinforcing the insidedness. More projection.

Back in *our* reality (Our Second Lyfe):

“Damn thing wasn’t pushing through here yesterday!” Leroy Jackson Jones Johnson reported back to A. Pond over the incessant, evil humming. Uncle Barnacles’ replacement. A fellow Northerner ready to be replaced himself. ‘Bout time for A. to finally head down south to the “Slums” to pick up some new recruits, fresh meat matching fresh meat.

(to be continued)

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00440313

“Oh Lichen. Why did you have to take me so far?”

By the time they climbed up to the higher plateau all the snow had melted from the night before. And Lichen had turned into A. Pond the true traveling companion as Fern was now Dr. Kelp.

“F-ck Dr. Kelp and her two timing ways,” wrote Rose T. in her journal that night, paraphrasing something similar from the morning entry. Two a day until she catches up, she’s determined. Catastrophe set her back.

(to be continued)

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00440312

“Montana!

“And 4 buttes.”

“Lemme see!” “Lemme see!” “Lemme see!”

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00440311 (Hellboy?)

He comes around when I sit down and slap him. He looks around. “Where are we?”

“Motel. Middle of nowhere.”

“Any specific Middle?” he intuited right off the bat, being the smart-ass psychic he is. They had to talk about Jonny. They had to talk about the relic.

I soon got this out of him anyway with a couple more slaps, turning his cheeks from orange orange to apple red: “The suicide model was just a prototype. *Arasaka’s* aims were always higher.”

Arasaka — the *Tree*, I think. Should’ve known. Add another hotel/motel to the growing list of hanging fruits.

(to be continued)

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00440309 (Rose T.)

She resided in Dairy so she thought it was appropriate to start her long delayed *diary* here. To begin: renaming the place after the book. Aisle of Diary it is from now on in the writing. Or Isle — either one perhaps, depending on, let’s say, the weather. Sunny right now. Isle, then.

Dear Diary,

Today I begin my life anew. Beautiful day here in the Isle, let’s call it. Edward D. is cooking up breakfast, no dairy. I’m allergic to dairy now. Milk, cheese, all of it. My diary makes it so.

I want to first talk about Dr. Kelp and how the two timing f-er stabbed me in the back and replaced me with A. Pond. I want to talk about the lie that is Edward D., because I made him up, name just off the the top of my head back there. Let’s see, 5 sentences back now. Oh here he comes now, breakfast in hand. “Thank you dearest!” I say to him, putting down the loaded down tray beside the keyboard in front of me, planning to nibble on it for the next hour or so. Writing and dining, two of my favorite activities. 5 sentences, 5 bites (so on). I don’t do dairy. I sip on the glass of milk he also provided (“Thanks again, dearie!”).

The breakfast turns into a sandwich loaded down with at least peanut butter as the sun becomes square and black, Skippy and Jiff both chipping in (skip). Aisle it is.

I think of po man’s George Washington (Carver) not for the first time today. Nor the last.

(to be continued)

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00440307 (in on the way)

On her way to work, Debbie drives past the old location of The Fern restaurant, lamenting its absence. Now a Crucial Fix coffee shop, still cool but not the same. She especially loved talking Plastic Cutlery with the owner Fern Stalin, a common love interest. Fern dated Plastic in the 00s and Debbie went out with Mr. Cutlery in the 10s. She wondered whatever happened to him. And her.

Later, walking back to the parking deck on her way home, Debbie wondered about the likewise missing Middle of the law firm Slaughter Slaughter and Slaughter, Upper and Lower still around. She makes a mental note to check up on that too.

(to be continued)

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