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IFQ Issue #48

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Arts and Poetry Mod

Joined: 10 Oct 2010
Topics: 122
Posts: 1858
Location: Surrounded by many beautiful naked men



PostPosted: Sat Nov 09, 2013 2:23 am    Post subject: IFQ Issue #48 Reply with quote

Yes, indeed folks. Our new Mayor is here and ready for action! Let us all wish the Mistress of Fantasy, Tikanni Coarzon, good luck!

Halloween has once again come to IF, and the ghosts and goblins and zombies have been pouring out of the Manor of the Macabre, and the locals have donned their very own holiday shrouds. Halloween night Stein and Rover took to the streets and managed to get snap shots of various IFians in their costumes and I've just finished getting them processed. So now, for your viewing pleasure, here it is!

The Halloween Parade!


The Airwings Oracle



Chilvarous Misogynst




Kalanna Rai







sir wax


Tikanni Corazon


Vikas and Vishal Muralidharan



In Loving Memory: Reiso

And that is all for the 2013 Halloween Parade! I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll see you next year!

Story by Mister Biz.

Helloooooooooo, boils and ghouls. Don't refresh that page. No...don't you change that channel. It is indeed, The Duke of Despair, The Master of Madness, The Ruler of Refuse, Sultan of Sorrow, King of Chaos, the one and only Mister Biz. Yes, I took a small little vacation. A small case of the Block hit me and I fled in shame for how could I, the fantabulous High Priest of Horror fall victim to such a fate, so I skittered off for bit. Tried to find my inspiration. My murderous muse. I am still in the process of getting the bitch back but I figured it was time to come back.

So here I am. But Biz, what did you do while you were away and why come back now? Very good questions, imaginary voice in my skull. I went and hung out on another site I had avoided and found something that started to get all those juices in my head a boiling. A roleplay. Between creating my character and then getting involved in the plot, oh some of my best writing came out of me and with a character I had previously discarded. Then as my mind started to kick on again, I looked to NaNo and like Ahab I decided that that was it. That was how I would get it back. So with one of my newfound friends from the roleplay on that other sight, I lunged at the terrifying beast.

And while the battle is still being waged, I can say that thanks to my battle partner keeping my morale up, I feel like I have a shot. I can succeed and as I start to realize that I can overcome this beast of burden, that I have a shot at winning NaNo for once. I get to thinking about I can possibly get rolling on my career but that involves conquering the beast of the Block as well and I know I can. I feel it.

And as I rolled these thoughts around, I realized that there is one place I belong. One place I had to go now that I could see my darkness in the tunnel again. The place that helped bring more creativity out of me than any other place. The City. So I'm home. While I would like to promise I won't disappear again, I won't. Just on the off hand chance that I can't keep it. But I will promise you one thing.

Daddy's back and he's gonna be bringing some of his best material, retiring some of the old, bringing in some new, and jump starting some more. Mister Biz's reign of terror over the Manor Macabre is beginning anew.

As always, I am Mister Biz and this has been my mindset. Love the fans, fuck the rest.

by Seraphi

It is...difficult to pick a favorite author. I enjoy most of what I read, therefore I enjoy most authors. So, instead of picking through the messy confines of my brain to try and polish off the name of an author I think is the absolute best, I will simply pick one that I return to often.

Eric Blair, or as he is more commonly known by the masses, George Orwell, is one of those author’s that has a special place on my bookshelf. He has written articles, essays (my favorites – yep, favorites – of which are “A Nice Cup of Tea” and “Nonsense Poetry”), short stories, and novels (both fiction and non).

The thing I most enjoy about the way Blair writes is he has a knack for feeding readers his views on the bleakness and ignorance of society without forcing them to eat it by shoving a funnel in their throats and telling them to chug. He is sardonic, witty, cynical and humorous. And that makes his stuff fun to read.

His most famous work 1984, which can only be described as a post-apocalyptic totalitarian society (say that three times fast) and a fairly acute prediction of what the world is coming to – or already is in parts, is perhaps the best summation of all these things. I read that book at least once a year. But let’s not forget about Animal Farm (who doesn’t love anthropomorphized animals wreaking havoc on their dictatorial farmer?), which gets a good read out of me at least once a year too. (And Down and Out in Paris and London and A Clergyman’s Daughter and *babbles on and on*)

So I guess what I’m trying to say is Blair/Orwell’s works are the embodiment of a large amount of awesomeness. If you haven’t read anything by him, go do it. And if you have, go read it again. *points two fingers at eyes then points at you* Seraphi is watching.

Once again we delve into the more rhythmic and paced side of the writing profession and bring you poetry by our illustrious poetic IFians. Shuffling through their works we will try to bring you some of the best of their published works.

Mr. Biz – No Name

Last Night I dreamt
As most often do
It was so very vivid
I could've sworn it was true
I sat up and gazed around
At the morning in my home
A little voice whispered in my head
I was not alone
So I laid back down
I took a deep breath and then
Closed my eyes to think back
To the Dream and where I'd been

I sat alone with Van Gough
So I could watch him paint
His life splashed upon the canvas
So he could forget his pain
The world seemed to disappear
As he he sat with a brush in his hand
He wasn't called mad by a world
That refused to understand

I stood beside Hemingway
With a strong drink in my hand
He told me stories of his life
Of war, women and Cuban Land
A large smile sat on his face
As he spoke and forgot about his strife
I drank his scotch and thought
Could I be as great in my life

I laid beside Elizabeth Short
And I watched her as she lay
I heard her speak of fame and stardom
And that she would know it one day
With stars in her eyes, she told me
Her name would be known far and wide
And it pained me to know
That she'd be known for only the way she died

Then I sat back and gazed upon all three
With which I had shared my time
I took their words to heart
And stashed them within my mind
I could be like Van Gough
And focus my pain and fear onto the page
My blood is ink and I can wield it
Like some unholy Mage
I could be great like Hemingway
Forever destined to destroy myself
I could hit the top of the pile
And drown out the future with top shelf
I can be like The Dahlia
Forever dreaming of the day I'll be known
Chasing fame until the end
When my final fate is finally bestowed

VenomousAngel – Unrestrained

I once believed that i belonged in your world
Twisted my beliefs and desires
It was a moment of bliss that thinking back makes me hurl
I was once your wing man, hiding and watching in the briars.

I thought all of you had become my friends
Opening my mind and soul leaving me open and fragile
What a fool i was to trust in complete strangers
Breaking me down with little to no remorse

I wish nothing more to ruin you, smear everything you once knew
I feel the hatred as it boils deep inside me
tempting it is to grab my virtual axe, chop down all things around you
But what kind of person would i then be?

Take your careless nature, your beliefs and thoughts
Leave me be and talk to me no longer
One mention could send me reeling, making my blood hot
Time will only make my hatred for you stronger!

No longer am I going to let myself be your fool
I stand alone and pick up all the pieces putting them together
Remember this next time you try to reel in another tool
You will never be anything, You'll never be able to replace Heather!

Cyberworm - Tiger

Lost in stripes, found in eyes
Weak yesteday, tomorrow we strive
Today is yellow between two blacks
Filling of the cracks in the mirage of the cat

Some stand right, strong and proud
Some fall down, and still too loud
Among the echoes, the silence is my prey
Even though I wander, still I never stray

Only water can show my true reflection
Nature hides my shape from any close inspection
Walking on two feet, different, you can see
But what you cannot see, you're quite like me...

HalfEmptyHero - One Three Five Eight Seven

Five numbers written
on a paper long ago.
Five symbols waiting,
for a cause I do not know!

One. Three. Five. Eight. Seven.
To what purpose are you?
One. Three. Five. Eight. Seven.
I haven't got a clue!

PopeAlessandrosXVIII – Fox

I run swift like an arrow
Rain pelting my fur
thunder rolling overhead
The game has begun once again
and I intend to win
I will not be stopped
Cries of confused hound ring out
And my pride swells
The foolish hulking masses of flesh
They can not catch me
I know this well
I can feel it deep within me
They will never find me
Cowering in a corner
Fighting for my life
I elude them using the tricks taught me
By all the one come before me
And I remember my new tricks
for the many generations to come
For in this game
Man is taught his place
In this game
The fox is king

Submit your own poetry to PopeAlessandrosXVIII to get it published here in the IF Quirer!

Story by Tikanni Corazon

World Building ~ Part Three

Welcome to the final part of my World-Building class. Over part one, I covered the most simple method of starting out with building a world, then moved on to something a little more complex in part two. After I'd written it, I pondered whether the method covered in part two might be the most complex and time consuming of the three that I'm covering over this class, and I have to say I couldn't make my mind up either way, mainly because I personally think that the final method I'm going to talk about is more difficult to both read and write. But that opinion is based around my own dabblings into these different methods.

Okay so, I'm finishing off with what is probably a method that is primarily used in the fantasy genre. It's probably fantasy in it's purest sense, in that everything works. It needs no explanations, it has no boundaries, and it can come across as utter madness. Like a dream world, where nothing really makes any sense, and yet it draws us in anyway. I'm sure everyone's thoughts will immediately grasp on to a very obvious example of one such tale – Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, or Alice in Wonderland, as it is more widely known.

In both this and it's sequel, Alice Through the Looking Glass, the author Lewis Carroll takes the reader on an epic journey through a world based around fantastical nonsense. From talking animals, a grinning cat with the ability to appear and disappear as he chooses(which always creeped me out when I was younger personally), and food and drink that makes you grow or shrink, to a tyrannical playing card based Queen and her royal court, a croquet match using flamingos for mallets and hedgehogs for balls, and a white rabbit with a pocket watch who seems to be constantly late for something, the world is delightfully unfathomable and dream-like.

Now, this kind of fantastical world isn't really something that I can speak about with a huge amount of experience, as I've not really attempted anything like it before over an extended period. So I suppose the best way to illustrate how such a tale might be created would be to related how the man himself did it.

The first time that I read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, which was quite a long time ago now, it reminded me very much of the kind of story that one would make up on a whim. I'd heard tales much like it from relatives when I was younger still, just making something up off the top of their heads. Though Alice in Wonderland is far more preened and polished, the randomness that occurs throughout is very reminiscent of such a story. And that is pretty much how the tale was first created, I later found out.

Reverend Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, whilst on a five mile rowing trip up the Isis in Oxford, England, started to tell the story of a girl called Alice to his companions on the trip. One was fellow Reverend, Robinson Duckworth, and the others the three daughters of the Vice Chancellor of Oxford University, Henry Liddell, Lorina, Alice and Edith. In his story, the girl Alice became bored and decided to go looking for an adventure. The girls loved the story and Alice Liddell asked him to write it down for her. He began to do so, and embellished further upon the story when he and the three girls went on another boating trip a month later. After this he began to work seriously on his manuscript. He researched the natural history of the animals he'd used in the story, and had other children look over the book to see how well it was liked. Finding that it was well received, he then made moves to have the book published under the pseudonym Lewis Carroll , though he gave Alice Liddell her hand-written/illustrated manuscript on the 26th November 1964, before he did so.

So, though the original tale needed to be pruned and polished, the basic storyline started out as a random story told to children. It's quite extraordinary what the mind can conjure on the spur of the moment, and I think it's a method of writing that would be both interesting and beneficial to attempt using at some point. It's a way of getting a basic storyline set out, and one that you can embellish upon later. But the story is there ready and waiting to be made more full and solid. The ideas that crop up are unlike any that one is going to latch on to when sat giving serious thought to a storyline. Admittedly, taking it from the point of random storytelling to something readable isn't necessarily an easy task, but, as I've just laid out, it's certainly possible. Lewis Carroll with his Alice stories, J.M. Barrie with Peter Pan, and L. Frank Baum with his tales of Oz all prove that long-lived success is highly possible when using this breed of fantasy as a basis for a plot.

And with that my World-Building class is over. My thanks to Biz for suggesting that I use this subject matter for my articles over the last few weeks. I hope it's not been too boring or long-winded, and that it sparks the incentive in people to try out some new methods of writing and World-Building. Smile Thanks for reading!

“Dear Uncle Empy,

I’ve always been fascinated by the Northern Lights/Aurora Borealis, so my questions is…How/why does the Aurora Borealis appear?


Northern Lights.”

Dear Northern Lights,

There are two answers to this question, one is true and one is the real answer. Whichever one you choose is no reflection on you (but if you don’t choose the second one then don’t blame me if you get scoffed at.)

The first answer goes like this, really high up in the atmosphere (which is basically the sky) there are these things called photons (which is a really, really, teeny tiny thing that transmits light – thing is a loose definition to save time, they don’t have any mass) meet up with nitrogen and oxygen and get all “excited” because they have crashed into each other from the forces of solar wind and the magnetosphere (a part of space that is influenced by Earth’s gravity). These photons get funneled into our magnetic field and they start losing energy as they bump into other really teeny tiny things. This also explains why there are different colors, when it is oxygen losing energy the colors are green or a brown-ish red, when it is nitrogen you get blue or red – blue if it is coming toward earth from space and red if it is coming off the earth into space. There are other colors, depending on how high up these photons lets off their energy, green is the most common, then pink, then red and last is blue. I should warn you though Northern Lights, all of this is second hand information that I’m relaying back to you, so although since I have told you it, you must therefore conclude it is true, I encourage you to do further research of your own.

The second answer goes like this. There was once a great fox spirit, wise and kind, warm and loving. As with many creatures of its kind, it was greater than male or female so for now let us give it a name and with no other choices available to us we must go with the only one left and we will call it Nashim. Long ago Nashim created the world and all that inhabit it, satisfied with its creation Nashim would wander the earth walking ever northward.

On its journey Nashim came across two great warriors, locked in battle, covered in blood, sweat, anger and hatred. They had been in battle for so long they no longer knew they were not even alive anymore. Nashim shook its regal head and approached on soft padded feet, sat on its haunches and yipped at the two warriors. They stopped fighting, both of them locking their eyes with Nashim’s icy blue. The first warrior exclaimed, “I must kill him, he has stolen my land, the same land that belonged to my father.” The second warrior shouted back, “I must kill her; she has stolen my resources, the same resources that feed my mother.” Nashim yipped at them again, its eyes an emerald green. The two warriors’ swords lowed in unison, their heads lowering in shame. “Of course,” said the first warrior, “how can the land belong to anyone, we all are born onto it, live and love on it and in the end return to it.” “Of course,” said the second warrior, “how can these resources belong to one person, they were here before all of us and if not shared equally we all suffer in the end.” Nashim swept its mighty tail sending their spirits into the sky, to flash green for life eternal so that all people would remember this lesson.

Further north Nashim came across several weeping women kneeling in the snow, each one holding an infant child no longer breathing. Each woman, was frozen in grief by their own tears, salty, crystal and sparkling. Nashim approached the women on soft padded feet, sat on its haunches and yipped at them. The women spoke in unison, their voices a symphony of lament, “We cannot leave here, our children took their first breaths which were also their last. Our sadness has frozen us here, never to feel warmth again. Nashim fixed them with pink eyes and yipped at them again. Its stood and swished its mighty tail and the childrens' spirits came out from their bodies, smiling and laughing. The children held hands, one and each and began dancing their way into the sky. The women, feeling the warmth of their childrens' love, thawed. Nashim yipped at the women once again and each one began to weep again, but this time with joy and warmth. “Yes we understand,” said the women in unison, “our children will glow and dance for us in the night sky and all we have to do is look up to quell any sorrow.”

Along its travels, ever northward Nashim came across other mortals, be it child, man, woman or other, each one with a sad tale or a suffering to behold. And Nashim would swish its tail adding more colors to the sky, all the while her transient eyes grew more and more worried. Nashim came to the top of the world, where north meets sky, land meets spirit and ocean meets heart. Seeing the trouble state of man, woman and child, it decided to cease its wandering. With on swish of its tail and on soft padded feet, Nashim leapt into the sky joining the dancing children, the rested warriors and all of the other shades. Nashim shown blue down on the world, adding its own color to the ribbon of auroras, to remind all below it that Nashim will always be looking down, reflecting its love and kindness for all to see.

I hope this answers your question Northern Lights. And to all you other readers out there, do you have a question of your own; simply click on my name and PM me.

Advice sought by Uncle Empy should not be a substitute for professional advice. Due to the nature of IF Quirer some answers may be satirical or intentionally misleading in nature.

Sam had just complete his first day at school. “What did you learn today dear?” his mother asked.

“Not enough.” said Sam, “I have to go back tomorrow.”

Why did the man throw the thermometer out the window?

He wanted to see the temperature drop.

Billy: My dad just bought a Japanese computer!

Millie: Gee, how does he understand what he types?

Ghost One: My doctor told me to drink a cup of tea after a hot bath.

Ghost Two: So what happened?

Ghost One: I got half way through drinking the bath and nearly drown.

in-fa-my, adv and n. Another person's intent to exact physical punishment. ”Ever since I went on that crime spree, the cops have had it infamy.

Eddie's Perfect Present by Misterbiz - Winner of the March 2013 Short-Story Competition

Henry was awoken by the sound of an alarm clock. The world still seemed fuzzy as his eyes flickered open. Directly in front of his eyes sat the object behind the infernal racket. The image was slightly blurry but after blinking a couple times, he could make out the time that it read. 12:01.The room sat in complete darkness, so he could only assume that it was just after midnight. There was a slight crack in his arm as he moved it to shut off the alarm. For a while, he just laid there waiting for the rest of his body to catch up with his eyes and arm. There was a slight drool puddle under him and he could feel it on his chin. As the clock in front of him hit 12:15, he started to push himself up off of the bed.

His body became a symphony of cracks and aches as he sat up and finally stood. His head was still cloudy and he had no idea how he had ended up in bed. As his eyes looked to the alarm clock again, a small thought found its way through the haze. The alarm clock wasn't his. He knew it wasn't. The sound it made, its position in the room. It wasn't his. That small realization led to another larger one. It wasn't his clock. Then this wasn't his room. Staggering to the wall, he blindly fumbled for a light switch. He found one and flicked it on.

He looked around the room in a haste, desperate to figure out where he was. After a couple more minutes, another bit of fog lifted. This was his mother's house. It was different than the last time he had set foot here but it was definitely it. He reached up to run his hands through his copper colored hair but instead felt nothing but stubble.

Staggering out of the bedroom, Henry felt his way down the hall to the bathroom. As he turned in and flicked on the light, he was met by the first major sign of trouble. The room was in a complete state of disarray. The towel rack had been ripped from the wall. The shower curtain was missing. It looked like the contents of the medicine cabinet had been thrown about. Something was wrong. His mother was known in town for being notoriously tidy, especially since her husband passed away a couple years ago. Stepping in amongst the mess, he cast a glance in the mirror.

There was a spider web of cracks stemming from the center of it. There was some blood and hair in the center of it. Blonde. Just like his mother. Fear was starting to build within him. Something was very wrong. It was starting to play out like a horror flick. Looking away from the cracked glass, he saw something very surprising in the mirror.

It was his reflection but at the same time it wasn't. He no longer had a head full of copper locks. His entire head had been shaved. There was a fresh cut above his nose and dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in a black button up T-shirt. One he didn't recognize. He took a step back and raced through the house, turning on every light he found.

In the living room, a steel folding chair was set up facing the television, beside it sat a couple water bottles. It looked like the ones that his mother had stored in her shed for any time she had a big event or gathering, which wasn't often. This was definitely something out of a horror story. A few feet past the chair, he noticed that his mothers green velvet curtains were missing. His eyes scanned the area for a moment, settling on the electronic clock that hung on the wall. His mother loved it because it not only told the time but it also stated the date as well. It was 12:25 AM. Monday. As he read the full date, a random thought occurred. It was Mother's Day. His mother was missing on Mother's Day.

But, wait.

It was Monday. The last memory he had was from Friday at Midnight, right before...

A nasty thought hit him.

Looking back at the chair, he felt himself drawn to it. He allowed his feet to lead him over and then sit down. The rest of his actions seemed to be powered by some invisible being. He reached down under the chair and grabbed the TV remote. He turned on the TV and then pushed the play button as soon as a picture appeared.

The picture on the screen was of himself, sitting in the exact same chair he was now. Blood covering his face. His face was already cut and his head was already shaved. Even though the haircut seemed to be fresher on the video. The man on the screen smiled and let out a little chuckle.

“Heya, Henry, by now I bet you're confused and worried about what happened in that time you don't remember. That's ok. After all, that shit that Stephenson gave you was definitely potent. I mean, shit. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was a murder attempt.”

A small burst of memory came bursting into Henry's skull. He had fought with his mom. Argued about whether a life without his father was worth living. He said yes and she disagreed. In anger, he visited a friend who offered him an experimental new designer drug. He called it The Poole because it made you feel cool and relaxed. He added an E cause he thought it looked cool. It was guaranteed to make you feel like a whole new person.

Henry had just taken it for about a month. On Friday, he had tried calling but he and his mother fought again. Same problem. She was contemplating ending it. He took some more and then...blackness.

“Guaranteed to make you feel like a new person,” the screen said. “It worked. Because you took it and I showed up. Name's Eddie. Now, I've done you a big favor, buddy. Well, us. Done us a favor. I worked tirelessly over the weekend to get your mom the best Mother's Day present I could possibly find. Trust me, once you figure out where she's waiting, it will be deliciously epic. You may want to get hydrated first. That drug took a lot out of us.”

Eddie rose from his chair and looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and in case you were wondering, I took the curtains. You'll see why, don't worry. Hey maybe if you take a peek out, you'll get to see Harley doing some of her nude yoga.” He let out a chuckle and then the screen went black. Henry just stared. It was him. The drug had made him go insane and do something horrible. But what? Where would he have taken her? His eyes moved to the window. And why would he have needed the curtains? As he tried to forcefully remove the mist in his mind a sharp pain overtook him. With a deep breath, he knelt down and grabbed a bottle. Even though every part of him said to not drink anything that “Eddie” said to, he didn't listen.

As he drank, he thought back to when he had first laid eyes on those curtains. They were a gift from his father. While to most, curtains would not be a good present, they were the same ones that hung in her house as a child. Henry's father had managed to find the house while it was being sold off. He made a deal with the current owners that he just wanted the curtains. Five minutes later he had them.

Henry polished off one of the bottles and then started on the other as he walked to the window where the green velvet had once hung. The image of the cul-de-sac his mother live on was quite eerie at this hour, under the glow of the streetlamps. The only other source of light came from the next door neighbor's place. From this window, he could peer straight into their living room.

His mother had always hated that. Her neighbor was a snoop and a grade-a gossip. Henry's mom had always called her Harley the Harlot. He never minded her. As he looked into the light living room, the hairs on the back of his neck rose up. Something was wrong over there. He knew it. He didn't know how but he just knew that if he went over there right now that whatever he found wouldn't be good news. More mist faded and a brilliant light bulb lit up in his dome.

Dropping the water bottle on the ground, he raced to the front door. He had to know if he had done something. If this dark version of himself, Eddie, had done anything to her. With a speed, he didn't know he was capable of he ran of and practically knocked the door off its hinges as he raced in.


The living room was trashed. All of Harley's pictures had been knocked off the shelves. Some blood sat on the wall and there was a large hole in the dry wall.

Eddie had been here.

Quickly backing out, his mind tried to process everything that was happening. Tried to put together where his mother was and why he had done this. After all, it was so unlike him. He had been the perfect son. Always doing what his mother asked of him. He had gone to the school she wanted, was studying to become a doctor like she wanted. After his father had died he had becoming especially attentive to her. So why would he do this, even under the influence of drugs?

Not wanting to waste any time in trying to find her, he walked to the house, closed the door and made his way to the garage that sat attached. Upon entering and flicking on the light, his eyes landed on yet another surprise.

A big black pick-up truck sat where his mother's car had once been. Even without inspecting it, he knew he it belonged to and he knew just how busy he, or rather Eddie had been in the couple of days he knew longer remembered. The truck belonged to a wannabe cowboy, whom he had caught his previous girlfriend fucking in the shower. They had both left and hopped into that same truck and sped away. He had hoped to never see it again. Brain cells began to spark and he had a creeping suspicion what was happening.

His mother had hated Harley and she was gone. She had loathed how his girlfriend had fooled around and ran off with someone else. Whatever had happened was the gift Eddie had mentioned. He was cleaning house. Moving to the truck, Henry opened the door and saw that the keys were still inside.

Again, his body took control and he strolled to the garage door opener and pushed the button before moving back to the truck and moving into the driver's seat. He figured that this must be Eddie trying to guide him to whatever he was supposed to know or to find. After all, it was his surprise and he was there, hidden in the mist of Henry's mind. He had already guided him to the video and discovering Harley's disappearance. Whatever he had done or had planned, he wanted Henry to find it. Placing the truck into reverse, he backed out of the garage and sped off into the night.

For a while, he just drove in silence. His thoughts bounced around in his skull as a billion different memories played. He remembered watching his father die slowly and his mother whither on the inside as a side effect. The love of his life ran off with a cowboy who had never set foot outside Signet City. Watching his neighbor come home with many of her different gentlemen friends.

After about an hour, he couldn't stand the sound of his own thoughts anymore. He reached down and turned on the stereo. Loud, heavy metal music blared from the speakers. Eddie's taste in music certainly was different as well. He turned it off and returned to his own thoughts. The haze that he had felt since he woke up still hadn't lifted but he knew he had to get past it and fast.

He played through Eddie's message again in his mind before reaching down and pushing the eject button on the radio just to see if Eddie had been nice enough to record a CD as well. He didn't. Apparently, he was supposed to have all the information that he needed. Over and over again, Eddie's words echoed in his skull. The fact that it was his voice troubled him.

Hurry up, Henry. Momma's waiting, a voice said, interrupting his thoughts. Not just any voice. It was his. But at the same time it wasn't. It held a sick amusement. A darkness that shouldn't be there. Eddie's voice. But it couldn't be. Eddie was in him and he hadn't said anything. Did he?

He looked up and glanced in the rear view mirror. He was smiling. Or rather Eddie was. Yet, he didn't feel it. His eyes jerked back to the road, just in time to avoid crashing onto the curb. His heart was racing. Eddie was starting to peak out again. The thought of that scared him. He needed to save his mother. And anyone else that Eddie has taken, if they were still alive.

Think of your mommy. All alone, just like after good ol' Daddy passed. She's just waiting on her White Knight to ride in and save the day. Just like always.

This time the voice seemed to emanate from within his own skull. Eddie was toying with him. Peeking out from the shadows in his mind. Taunting him. Teasing him with the prospect of information where none existed. It was vile. It was...

“What have you done?” Henry asked aloud.

What you wanted. To get your mom the best present you could. To be the attentive son. Seeing to whatever she desired. Like the good son.

“You're not her son and I'm sure kidnapping wasn't on her wish list.”

Oh, I am her son. Technically, since I inhabit your body, that makes me you. Just the fun side. Willing to do whatever is necessary to make your life, our life, as pleasant as possible.

“And how would you know what that is. You're just a psychotic delusion brought on by whatever it was that Stephenson gave me.”

No. Sorry, Henry. I'm far more than a delusion. I'm your inner demon brought to life. I'm that primal side that you have always repressed. Every hint of rebellion you've ever held back. I'm that imaginary friend your mommy took you to a shrink for when you were six. The Poole just brought me to the surface. It destroyed the barriers between you and me. The only thing it didn't do was make us one.

“No. No. I just had a psychotic break because of a drug binge.”

We'll see, won't we, sport.

Eddie chuckled and the mist in Henry's mind started to blow away. As it did, a thought hit him like a ton of shit. He knew where she was. Where they all were.

His father had a cabin in the woods about fifteen miles outside of Signet City. Stepping on the gas, he couldn't believe he hadn't put it together right away. Everything Eddie had done was for her. It was where his father had proposed to her. Where he had found her in a drunken stupor after his father had passed away. It had to be it. Everything came back to her.

He sped through town like a maniac and out into the city limits while Eddie laughed inside his skull. The trip lasted about half the time it usually did and as he pulled up, he leaped out of the truck and slammed through the door of the cabin. It actually did fly off of its hinges.

Henry's mother was sitting in a chair on the far. She appeared to be duct taped to it. Her head was drooped down. He ran over to her and lifted her head up.

“Mom, I'm here, I'm here,” he said. She lifted her head up and jerked away as her eyes fluttered open. Of course, he was the bad guy here. Eddie may have done it but it did it wearing Henry's face. She tried to back up but couldn't. Henry took a step back and lifted up his hands in surrender.

“Look its over,” he said. “I don't know what happened but its over now.”

“Don't lie to the poor woman, kiddo,” Eddie's voice said, pulling itself from Henry's lips. 'We both know that its just time for the surprise.

“No,” Henry snapped. “Whatever you have planned its not...happening.”

In the blink of an eye, the room was filled with the light from a few well placed oil lamps. The truck outside was off and the door was fixed. He was standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the living area, as his mother struggled against her restraints. Sitting opposite her were three objects. Two of them were concealed by the green velvet curtains that had once hung in his mothers home. The other was under the white shower curtain that had also resided there. With slight hesitation, he walked over and pulled the coverings from each one.

Under their coverings were the bound and gagged forms of Harley, his ex-girlfriend Rebecca and her new boyfriend Tex, or Thad if you knew him before his cowboy rebirth. They were each unconscious or appeared to be. After another blink, he found himself standing behind them, a knife clutched in his hand.

Eddie was starting to have more control. His mother was staring at him in terror and he didn't blame her. He was doing all of this and didn't realize it. He didn't know how Eddie was able to do it but he was. A small chuckle from Eddie and the rest of the mist vanished in his mind. The water bottles. There must have been some of The Poole in there. Enough to bring him out but not enough to grant him total control.


“What do you want, you son-of-a-bitch?” Henry asked.

“Why, to give your mother a gift. Just like I said. Together you and I are going to dispose of three biggest obstacles in her happiness. After all, you just want your mother to be happy, don't you?”

“Yes but...”

“Come on, I'll even do the first one for you.”

Henry tried to keep his eyes open but he couldn't. He blinked and when his eyes opened, Harley's head was tilted back, her throat was slashed open. The knife in his hand was dripping with blood. He stared over at his Mother and as far as he knew was showing an expression of remorse. Then again, Eddie could be in control with his sadistic smile.

“Now number two, Rebecca, I know you can do this one,” Eddie's voice said.

“No, I can't,” Henry said.

“Yes you can. I know it. She broke your heart. She fucked this limp dick motherfucker beside her with no consideration of you. Then she had the gall to blame you for the decline of your relationship. She is a miserable little wench who deserves this blade. Do it.”

Henry took a step over behind the redhead who was seated screaming in her seat. Henry paused. He knew that if he didn't do it, Eddie would. Eddie had control. Henry just wanted to get his mom out of there safely and if obeying Eddie would do that then he was willing to. It wasn't as if he hadn't fantasized about it. Every jilted lover had dreams of slaying their exes. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back so that he was staring into her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said before bringing the blade down into her forehead. He withdrew the blade slowly and watching as blood poured from the wound.

“Right in the face,” Eddie laughed. “Now number three. Thadeus Minimus. The guy who boinked your woman and stole her away. Didn't he even sock you in the jaw when you caught them together. Called you weak. A pansy. Said you were undeserving. You two spent high school together and even then he was nothing but brutal to you. You know you want to do this.”

Henry marched around him so that he was standing in front of him. The faux cowboy stared up with tears in his eyes. He mumbled something against the cloth over his mouth. It went unheard and Henry liked it like that. Nothing he had ever said was useful or intelligent.

“Who's the big man now,” Eddie's voice said. Though for once Henry became confused, because that was the thought that ran through his mind. Was it really Eddie's voice now? Or was he becoming him?

Henry shoved the thought away as he plunged the knife forward into the cowboys throat. Releasing the blade, he looked to the ground. Remorse was starting to eat away at him. He couldn't believe that he had just killed two people. No. Three. Eddie may have been in control but he had been the one clutching the knife.

“Is that it?”

“No,” Eddie said, “The best part is next. Your mother's final gift. The chance to be with your father once again.”

“You mean we're going to kill her?”

“No. That's all you. That argument you had last month. That's the reason I'm here. She was right. She needs to be with him.”

“No. No. That's not the way.”

“Of course it is. Subconsciously you know its the right thing to do. I know because I know this. Everything I do is in our best interests. Including this.”

Henry blinked and as his eyes opened, he was standing in front of his mother, knife in hand. She stared up at him and screamed something against her the cloth that was gagging her. Reaching out, he gently brushed some of her hair out of her face, staring down into her frightened blue eyes. He couldn't believe it but he was actually agreeing with Eddie. The last thing he remembered was her saying she wanted this. She was going to do it herself. He was doing her a favor.

Leaning down, he kissed her forehead.

“Happy Mother's Day, mom,” he said, before plunging the blade up into her stomach. Pulling it back, he plunged it up once more into her chest and stayed right next to her as she let out her last breath.

Deep down inside, he could hear and feel Eddie laughing.

Good job, sport. Don't worry about clean-up. I've got this.

Henry blinked and next thing he knew, he was standing outside and the cabin in front of him was burning. He let out a sigh and felt himself smiling, just as Eddie had.

“And with that, mother, my gift to you is complete. May you enjoy it forever.”


For the chance to have your own story published in the IFQ, you can enter this month's Short-Story Competition! The winner each month will earn their place here!

- First off I would like to address the saddest news that has come to IF in quite some time: We've had a death in the IFian family. On June 4th 11:20 pm, Reiso, one of our older members, passes away. Though I know no blood binds us here on IF the way it does for most families, I know we all feel the loss as if we've lost one of our beloved kin. I personally only met him once, but he left a positive impression on me. If you wish to say a few words on his behalf, or reminisce with others that knew him, please check out his Memorial Thread.

Reiso, in his career on IF won some fine rewards, including: Storygame of the Month December 2004 and April 2009, and two 2005 IFys for Best Character and Best All-around Storychat Author. His last unfortunately unfinished work, Sector 17, can be found in Skiffiville. Rest in peace Reiso, and may those wings of yours carry you to a happy place.

- In happier news, we've seen a few new and old faces returning to IF! Stein has reported seeing a faceless businessman by the name of Chilvarous Misogynst and another newbie Black TearsWolf wandering around in the Linear District, and I myself have been serving Sheik, Sir Wax, and Crunchyfrog at the Inn. I pray this is a good sign.

- New Storygame started recently:

The Uedas

- Improv by King Key and his team has become quite the event around here. To find out more look here!

And that's all for general news this last month! If you feel you have a bit of news you'd like to see in the next edition of the IF Quirer, feel free to contact the Chief Editor PopeAlessandrosXVIII at any time during the month.

“Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… The ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… They push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.” - Steve Jobs, late co-founder of Apple Inc.


This issue has been brought to you by the IF Quirer Team - Chief Editor~PopeAlessandrosXVIII, Reporters~Misterbiz, Seraphi, and Tikanni Corazon. From all of us, thank you for reading!

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Tikanni Corazon
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Joined: 25 Oct 2009
Topics: 75
Posts: 1286
Location: Running through the plains of my mind, my wolf spirit at my side (but doing so in the UK!).



PostPosted: Sat Nov 09, 2013 11:57 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I suppose really I should have changed the header banner, as in reality my reign will very likely be at it's end soon, lol! But the issue was great Pope! Nice to be represented in the Halloween Parade by such a...well, 'hot' image. So accurate to reality! ...Not really, lol, but still, I'm flattered. Razz
.... there is no religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham....
Black Beauty by Anna Sewell, 1887

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PostPosted: Sat Nov 09, 2013 5:58 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yay, its finally out!!!

I don't know what it is, but there is something about the Halloween parade is always so cool to me. Loved mine.

Hope everyone liked "Ask Uncle Empy"
A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the other one. - Baltasar Gracian
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PostPosted: Sat Nov 09, 2013 8:26 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yay my quote! XD

It's very well put together Pope Smile
Plenty of interesting things in there for everyone Smile
I now have three SGames! "Mist in a Cave" Chapter 5 is in the works

"The Freedom of Magic" Just got its THIRD chapter up!

Hope you all find the time to read them Very Happy *goes off to look for an SG to read*

Note to self: The Elven Moon; Coin; SVI; Black Animals; Two Wolves; Angel Cat
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PostPosted: Sun Nov 10, 2013 10:50 am    Post subject: Thanks! Reply with quote

Thanks so much for reading guys! Tikanni-chan, you're too modest, I bet that's you to a T *Grin* and I always have fun hunting down new and interesting planets for you Emperor! KK< it's a fine quote! Again, thank you all for reading, and glad you like yer costumes!

To Be A Knight
And my first Finished work Death Day
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PostPosted: Mon Dec 09, 2013 10:37 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

A wonderful issue, Pope! And I love my costume.

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PostPosted: Tue Dec 17, 2013 5:27 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Great edition Pope - clearly a lot of work has gone in to this by yourself, and numerous others.

Love my picture ... quite inspiring for some writing actually. I'm most intrigued by that glowing pendant.

Happy Writing Smile
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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PostPosted: Tue Dec 17, 2013 5:34 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Great edition Pope - clearly a lot of work has gone in to this by yourself, and numerous others.

Love my picture ... quite inspiring for some writing actually. I'm most intrigued by that glowing pendant.

Happy Writing Smile
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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PostPosted: Sat Jan 18, 2014 1:57 pm    Post subject: Yay! Reply with quote

I'm glad I got some more of you to come around to read this. Makes me happy to see some of the old faces checking out the editorial team's hard work. I'ma be dragging the team back soon as I can to get out the next edition, I hope you all come back and give it a read when it's finished! Thanks again for reading!

To Be A Knight
And my first Finished work Death Day
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