The Patron Saint of the Good-Looking Corpse

"Come in friend and take a seat. My name? Call me Jack....I run this establishment. I've been working this bar for the better part of a hundred years. Got a nice stage, we got entertainment later if you're sticking around?"

"Uh-huh. Well do you have time for a drink? Okay. What was that? The hundred years thing ? Yeah, friend, I'm a little older than I look. I'm a demon"

"I can tell from your expression that you've never bumped into one of us before. We do exist. I guarantee that by the end of this conversation, I'll have swung your opinion. Don't worry, I'm not a threat. Hardly good for business."

"And my business is important to me. On that stage you'll see some of the best talent in the biz. I consider myself a 'talent scout' without equal."

"I specialise in contracts for fame and fortune. I can give the lucky individual ten years of their dreams and then I come to collect. In return they play at my club for the rest of eternity. They almost never think twice. One catch, though. I can only make this deal with them whilst they are 17."

" I don't know why, I don't make the rules."

"Who do I have? You probably know a few of them. The first guy I signed was something really special. Created an entire genre by himself. Kid by the name of Robert, a real demon on the guitar, if you'll pardon the pun. It seems everyone and his brother knew about our deal, though. "

"Yeah, the crossroads thing. Well, it did make subject easier when I was talking to later pitches. Thing with Robert is he wasn't ready to give it up when I came to collect, so I had to grease the wheels, so to speak. Strychine poisoning can be incredibly painful, or so I hear."

"This is the thing. They are happy for the trade at 17, but the moment they hit 27 it starts to consume them. it becomes all they can think about. Some will use it to drive them to write as much as they can. Others will try and use the as many distractions as possible to not think about it"

"You know, drugs, alcohol, women. The good things in life. Need a refill there, champ?"

"This one guy, Kurt, now he surprised me. He worked out how to summon me, against my will I might add. Yanked me right into his goddamned front-room. Just as I'm about to give the shaggy haired fool a piece of my mind, he pulls out a shotgun and says that he is breaking the deal"

"Blew his brains out right in front of me. I mean, come on?! The deals are binding. Killing yourself just gets you here faster. I'm a freaking demon. My kind invented fine print."

"Another cat I should mention is Jimi. He was a rare one I tell you. The kid was tripping so hard when he got here, it took us a week to convince him he was dead. All he cared about was as long as he had a guitar to play. Now he plays every Friday night, packs the place out everytime"

"What?"

"Come on, I've worked hard for them, and now they work hard for me. "

"This bar is something I take pride in. I have some of the best entertainment in the world, and here I showcase it to any who know how to get here."

"You don't remember how you got here. Yeah, i've been meaning to talk to you about that. Something tells me you've got a little more free time than you realise."

"Fancy another drink?"

The Golden Dilemma

There is a knife that is not a knife.

It is a key.

It is about 9 inches long, with a golden blade. It has weaving blood channels along the shaft that seem to almost trace words, but no meaning has been found in them yet. The edge is keen and it is said that in the right hands it can slice silence. Fitted to the base of the hilt is a cut and polished ruby. Despite the apparent size of the gem-stone, it does not affect the weight of the blade. To hold the blade is to be possessed with passion and vigor for life. Your confidence will tower over other men, and it would be impossible to find doubt in yourself.

The artifact has been responsible for more crimes of passion than most realize, and most under it's spell are often unaware. But all of this is merely a side-effect of it's true purpose.

The blade is a key.

A key to any heart you desire.

Literally.

To be eternally loved by the object of your desire, you must slip the blade between the ribs and through the heart muscle. The blade will not harm if this is performed correctly, however the slightest mistake will render the injuries you are inflicting all too real, and they will shuffle loose from this mortal coil.

This is the choice you must face. Many would risk their own lives to be with who they love, but would they risk the lives of their beloved for the same reward?

And would they even seek their permission?

Survival Instinct

He was lost.

He stumbled across the sand-dunes. He didn't remember anything prior to when he woke up with a deployed parachute dragging him across the sand. He didn't even know his own name. He had wandered for two days, and the relentless sun and ice cold night was boiling away the little sanity he still retained. There was no shade to speak of and no means of working out direction. The horizon was featureless in every direction and he had no idea if he was keeping a straight line, simply walking to feel like he was trying to do something. He was aware that his chances of survival, outside of a miracle, were low. He just wasn't willing to lie down just yet.

He suddenly heard shouting from behind him.Turning, he saw a man sprinting down the slope of a dune towards him.

"Jimmy, HOLD UP!!!!!!"

He stopped and regarded the guy as he approached.

"Man, I've been following your footprints for hours. That got a little crazy back there"

He stared confused at the newcomer.

"I'm sorry, I think I hit my head......I'm having trouble remembering..........anything? Am I Jimmy?"

"Yeah, mate. You don't remember a thing? Jeez, we just bailed from a plane after one of the engines exploded. I saw what direction the wind carried you, and have been following you ever since. Do you know who I am?"

Jimmy shook his head, his mind bringing forth no data. The new guy continued.

"I'm Mick? We've flown together for a couple of months? We were just taking a cargo plane to an airfield on the far side of this desert. Any easy jaunt, at least until the engine had something to say about it."

Jimmy relaxed. At least a second person here would improve his still low chances of survival. Mick put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder.

"Two days without food must be taking it's toll by now"

Jimmy nodded. Mick suddenly slipped something out of his pocket and his grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Because I'll tell you something Jimmy. I am so fucking hungry."

The blade of a Swiss army knife plunging towards his neck was the last thing he knew.

What is in a Name?

Steven was a graffiti artist.

He wasn't any means the best in the world, but he was an up-and-comer who was making a name for himself. The general world knew him by the name "Skribe", which adorned a great deal of blank canvasses the City of London provided.

He had scaled the heights of the cranes in the Docklands and daubed his tag in a ten foot high mural. He could see it from his bedroom window, as long as he used his Dad's binoculars.

He had personally seen to so many trains that it was impossible to ride for more than one stop without seeing his name.

And he was so far the only person to have broken into the local airport at night and create the first plane under the company name "Skribe Air".

Tonight was about something else. It was 3am and he was currently south of the river and heading into enemy territory. Parts of the city were considered to be off-limits, the stomping grounds of some of the most well-known artist. Unrespected tags were considered an insult and quickly defaced.

He had recently become aware that some of his tags were getting whitewashed and a new name painted in his place. The name didn't matter, only the offense. Weeks of questions and favours called in had finally given him the address of this wannabe-nemesis. He had no idea who he was and didn't even know what he looked like.

The target lived in one of the sprawling council estates that were growing across London, and reconnaissance of the area had provided Steven with the perfect wall that would be the first thing the offender would see when he left his building. Setting to work, he started to outline his tag against the wall.

Working furiously, he soon became aware of someone stood behind him. He realised that he had been aware of them for a while, but he had felt no threat. He looked around.

It was a kid, not much younger than himself, scrutinising his work. He wore the same clothes as most others; baggy jeans, hoodie, trainers.

"Are you Skribe?"

Steven smiled, turned to the boy and took a bow. Wordlessly he returned to his work.

"You are pretty good"

Steven turned agin, and nodded and said,

"Thanks man. The nature of the art makes compliments tricky."

He returned to his work and eventually completed it. He had styled the letters in a cartoonish, Rob Zombie-esque style with a detached hand at the end flipping the bird.

He stepped back, inspecting for any forgotten details and finally assessing it ready.

"So you are finished?"

He turned to the kid and confirmed this with a thumbs-up.

The kid tilted his head to one side and suddenly looked quizzical.

"I do have one question. Why do you do it? I mean, making the effort to place your name in so many places?"

Steven considered this for a second

"I guess you could say that everyone just wants to be remembered in some small way. Me? I just want people to know my name and what i can do."

The kid took this in. Steven started packing away his tins when the kid piped up again.

"You should be careful with your name. In the old days, they used to believe that if someone knew your name, they had power over you. Last thing you want to be doing is giving someone such an advantage"

Steven stood up hefting his backpack onto his shoulder. The kid continued.

"But you don't have to worry about anything like that anymore"

Steven stared at the kid confused, but the kid was no longer looking at him. His gaze focused on the wall behind him. Steven spun round and saw words starting to form, charring against the brickwork above where he had placed his tag. Within seconds he realised it was a contract, a contract of servitude. Symbols painful to the eye lashed around and refused to be identified. He realised that his name now filled the signature strip.

"Not all contracts are written on paper"

Steven looked back at the kid, but something was different. The eyes were blood red and some of the symbols that were present on the wall slid across his face. He backed away until he was pressed against the still wet paint. His mind boggled at what he was witnessing and he could not get a grasp on it.

"And someone should have read the fine print"

At this point, the entire wall bulged forward and split, pushing Steven to ground. As he turned over a multitude of arms reached out from the divided and grabbed his legs. He screamed as he was dragged into the void, his last sane image a laughing boy waving him goodbye.

The Missing Step

Have you ever gone to the top of the stairs, miscounted and stepped onto air? It can often be jarring as the fear sets in and your foot slams down awkwardly. Under certain circumstances, if you can stop the fear from breaking your concentration you can continue to ascend. This can be tricky as you cannot intend to miss the step. it needs to be a genuinely intended step.

The moment your feet leave the stairs you know, you will be enveloped in darkness. Up ahead will be a twinkling light, resembling a star. This heralds a place that will allow you to enter, but not to leave. it is a veritable paradise and it could fall under the definitions of what some people would label Heaven.

You will want for nothing.

Don't try this at the bottom of the stairs.

A Good Night Out

There is a green in the center of Cambridge, in England, that goes by the name of Parker's Piece. It sits at the hub of the city and is a vast, square expanse of grass the size of several football pitches, with two diagonal paths crossing it. At the intersection of these two paths is a lamp-post. At night it is literally the only source of light in every direction for hundreds of feet.

No-one fully understands the circumstances under which certain events are allowed to transpire. The only agreed upon points are that firstly it must be night-time. Secondly, you must be alone. Finally, You must have been celebrating something earlier. A degree or test, or even a birthday.

Bear in mind that Cambridge is a student city, and students are masters at finding reasons to celebrate.

There are more obscure parameters involving your movements around the various pubs in the city-center, but unfortunately the quality of informative sources breaks down.

If you do meet the criteria, you would find yourself walking towards Parker's Piece, then onto the tarmac path towards the shining beacon. As you get closer the general din of the city will start to quieten, and you may become aware of something being "off". This may concern you enough to look around. Everything will be reassuringly normal.

Until you reach the lamp-post.

You will immediately notice that there is source of light other than the bulbs in the lamp. About eye-level from the ground, two words will burn with a malevolent orange glow.

"REALITY CHECKPOINT"

The moment you read and comprehend these words, as much as us mortals can, the game begins.

You will hear the sound of smashing glass, but will not be able to discern the direction from which it came.

Don't bother looking anyway, because by this point you should be running.

As you scramble as fast as you can away from the center you may catch the sound of a hunting horn and the bays of what you hope are hounds.

Now understand this isn't one of those "you can't look back" arrangements. You can. What you see will probably motivate you to run that much faster, and at this point additional speed can only be beneficial to your well-being.

Sprinting along the path, your attention may be drawn to the police station, located on one of the sides. Do not leave the path to run towards it. Leaving the path will break the agreement. They have agreed that this race will be fair. it can just as easily become unfair.

Approaching the end of the path, the noise of the hunt will rise to a crescendo, then abruptly die away as you leave the green. Scrutinizing the lamp-post from here will only reveal a short flurry of shadows that will quickly disappear.

And for this you will receive the reward.

The other side of the veil has become aware of your celebration and offers you a gesture.

Tomorrow when you wake will be the best day of your life.

For some, they may write a song that will live for ages, or a story that will resonate through all.

Others may meet their soulmate or find their direction in life.

it's truly unknown how many success stories that originate from Cambridge can be attributed to to the green.

One final thing to note is that any who complete this trial and achieve their perfect day will forever have a "trophy" of sorts. When ever the cross Parker's Piece again, night or day, if they touch the lamp-post as they pass a resounding howl can be heard.

Some people will convince themselves it is a dog.

The hunted will know better.

The Sandman by Neil Gaiman

For a long time, this series was my favourite comic. I do not say that lightly. I stumbled across the series with no hype reaching me, and as a result it blew me away. It is a saga following the life of one of the seven "Endless". The Endless are physical anthropomorphous personifications of aspects that are apparent in all life;Death,Desire,Destruction, Delirium(formerly Delight),Destiny, Despair and our protagonist Dream.

Dream, or Morpheus, is a tall pale individual who bears more that a passing resemblance to the Robert Smith of The Cure.He is detached and distant,due to being so old, yet is still capable of  naivety and immaturity. He resides within the realm which all people frequent when they dream, and his main duty is to continue to allow people to dream. Despite his distant demeanour, he surrounds himself with a plethora of personalities that make for some downright surreal interactions between characters.

One of the most interesting aspects of this universe is the fact that every religion is correct and that all the major deities exist. This includes all concepts of the afterlife depending on what the individual believed. This is explored through the complex relations and politics that exist between these individuals and pantheons (and on a side note, the Norse Gods are an interspiritual incident waiting to happen).  The endless are not subservient to the deities, and they address each other with a mutual respect.

The start of our story finds Dream having been held captive for several decades by an occult obsessed cult leader. He  eventually makes his escape, not before visiting his revenge on the parties responsible, then returns to find that his absence has allowed his home realm to fall into stagnation. The story then follows all the events that occur from this initial trigger, and allows you a whistle-stop tour of the entirety of creation. 

This series is considered by some to be one of the crowning jewels in the DC comics crown, alongside such titans as Watchmen and The Dark Night Returns.It is well earned and the entire series will change the way you look at stories in general.  Cameos from lesser-known DC characters occur, with notable appearances by John Constantine, Dr Destiny, and even Batman and Superman shortly at the end.

The series itself ran for 75 issues, but that figure does not address the numerous spin-off titles and characters that originated from this. This series was the first to define Lucifer as a doppelganger for David Bowie, an image that stuck with him through his own series later. it ran from 1989 to 1996 and helped to lead the way as one of the flagship titles for the Vertigo label alongside Swamp Thing, Black Orchid and Shade:The Changing Man.

This simplest and best thing I can say about this story is that it made me remember why I enjoy stories.