A fog rolled in from the Atlantic Ocean, what the long time residents of Chaney Shores would call a ‘pea-souper’, so thick it all but blocked out the full moon, casting the beach into total darkness. The sound of waves lapping at the shore was the only thing that kept the young woman in the diaphanous gown from running straight into the ocean.


“Help me! Please! Somebody help me!” she cried despairingly and with no avail, as the only witness to her terror was Diana’s Chariot, which if not obscured, would have resembled a ashen, unblinking eye.


Still, the woman ran. She had no idea how long she had been trying to escape IT, only that if she stopped, or paused, or even slowed, whether she lived or died would depend wholly on IT’s sense of empathy. And the way IT toyed with her, getting so close that she could feel the hot, fetid breath on the back of her neck, then letting her break away, made the ingénue realize that her pursuer was not merciful.


“Oh-oof!” the woman tripped over a half buried limb of driftwood. She tumbled to the sand, prone, defenseless.


For several moments she kept her face pressed to the ground, unwilling to raise her head and recognize the doom that bore down on her.


Nothing happened.


Once the girl’s heart rate slowed out of the range of paralyzing fear, she timidly looked back from where she came.


A pair of blood red eyes stared back at her.


AWÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ!!!!!!!!!!


The woman opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. She was unable to protest as her hunter moved in for the kill, making her yet another victim to-


“The Curse of the U-Wolf!”


To Be Continued




Silver Aegis #7






Morning arrives, the sun burning away the mists that shroud the long stretch of beach. A different figure, with an altogether different purpose, can be seen running it.

“According to this gizmo Doctor Drang gave me, I’m making great time. Only a super science fiction spy agency like SPUD could build themselves a transistor radio that also works as a clock, phone, and camera,” Scott Scoggins noted to himself, “Another five minutes and I think I’ll- wait, up ahead- are those police?”

The incognito Star Spangled Sensation slowed his run to a trot, and then halted in the back of a throng of onlookers.

“All right, all right, that’s it. Nothing more to see here,” a large man in a deputy’s uniform strode over to the group, most of whom were clad in what the Silver Aegis would describe as peasant dress, and not the clothes one wore for a day at the beach, “You can go on back to your tents or wherever you carneys call home.”

There was a low grumble from the crowd, the sound of a group accustomed to the taunts of a discourteous authority, until one woman in a white blouse and long batik skirt stepped forward.

“Why won’t you let us see her, Sheriff Landon? What are you trying to hide?” she demanded.

The uniformed man watching the coroners place the enshrouded body on a dune buggy turned to consider her. Shaking his head, he sauntered over, “This ain’t the time or the place, Desmerelda. You and your people go home. I’ll send Huey over to pick up the girl’s folks so they can ID the body at the station.”

“How was Chavi killed? Was it like the others? We have a right to know!” the woman protested, dark eyes flashing.

“That’s enough, Desi,” Landon narrowed his eyes into a hard stare, “Get your clan off this beach or I’ll haul you in for unlawful assembly and interfering in a criminal investigation.”

“Excuse me, perhaps I can lend a hand here,” Scott came forward and presented his credentials.

The sheriff examined the badge disdainfully, wrinkling his nose as if it wasn’t just the clam flats that gave the morning its distinctive fragrance, “SPUD, huh? Well, Mister SPUD agent, as I recollect you guys are part of the Youuuu Ennn, which means you’re out of your jurisdiction.”

Silver Aegis blinked, “Yes, but-“

“You are wasting your time with this man,” Desmerelda tossed back her obsidian locks wrathfully, “Sheriff Landon is not interested in finding the truth, only protecting the concerns of some of those who live in town: the hoteliers, the night club owners, the ‘good people’ of Chaney Shores whose businesses would suffer if they learned of the beast- ohh!”

The gypsy woman gasped when Deputy Huey stepped forward and clamped his hands down on her pale shoulders, “You’re under arrest, for inciting a riot and civil disobedience. You have the right to – hey!”

Moving with the fluidity of the undulating tides Scott Scoggins stepped in between the law enforcement officer and his would be captive, “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said in a tone that made it clear the topic was not up for discussion. When Huey attempted to make it a debate by driving his elbow into Scott’s windpipe the man caught it and twisted the bigger man’s limb into a painful armlock.

“Help! Get him off me!” Huey pleaded as he sank to the sand.

“Everybody calm down,” Sheriff Landon entreated, glancing at his deputies so they would keep their pistols in their holsters. He walked up to the grim-faced interloper and said softly, “Last thing I want to do is make a federal case out of this, as it was, so why don’t you let my man go and we’ll just chalk everything that happened here up to high spirits?”

The Patriotic Powerhouse released his hold on the overzealous police, “Not everything. There’s still the matter of the dead girl. And what is this beast Miss Desmerelda mentioned?”

“Bah! That’s nothing but gypsy hokum! These folks want us to believe that they’re being stalked by a werewolf.”

Desmerelda quickly objected, “It is the truth! The Stavrosos Clan has been marked for death by a fiend of great evil! It strikes at the fringes of our family now, taking a victim here and there, but soon its hunger for vengeance will be so great it will come to take us all!”

“Lady, that’s pure Bull-oney! There ain’t no monster here in Chaney Shores.”

Scott Scoggins wasn’t sure which person to believe: both were passionate in their convictions. He had seen a lot in his role as Agent of the American Ideal, but werewolves? Then something on the beach caught his attention.

“Perhaps, then, Sheriff, you can explain those?”

He pointed to the prints. They were long, like a man’s but that was where the similarity ended. Four large toes topped the print, each one crowned with a thick pointed nail. Between each digit there was a concave crescent, as if the foot were webbed.

The crowd gasped when they recognized what the marks were. Desmerelda clutched at the pendant around her neck and said a prayer. The sheriff and his men were uncommonly silent. It was-

“The Mark of the U-Wolf!”


To Be Continued

Silver Aegis #8
Scott Scoggins rode his 1942 Harley-Davidson WLA towards the gypsy camp. At first, he made excellent time, but as he travelled further away from Chaney Shores the road became less tended and thus, a rougher ride. When he spied the turn off Scott was surprised to learn it was not even paved.

“For a place that relies so much on the tourism trade the people sure make it hard to get from one place to another sometimes,” he mused, thinking back to the difficulties he had had at the hotel getting directions, “Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be so shocked: Romani culture is often viewed with distrust by the rest of society.”

The surrounding forest grew darker around Scott. The oaks here were tall and thick, and long vines of ivy crisscrossed their moss dabbled trunks and drooped from their branches as lush, green veils. What meager light the late afternoon sun offered was soon blocked out by the canopy of branches.
“Just a few hours earlier, I was enjoying clam fritters and a frozen lemonade while strolling the Chaney Shores boardwalk. Now, I might as well be in another world.”

And discovering the gypsy’s encampment added to that perception. Brightly painted wagons encircled the clearing, the field inside dotted with tents and lean-tos. There was a row of closed kiosks on one end, a paddock on the other. The largest structure was a single story barn with loft, and while Scott’s ears and nose alerted him to the presence of livestock, it was obvious there weren’t enough beasts of burden to pull the caravan. The people living here had done so for quite some time, and didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

The road ended in gravel covered plot that could have been used for parking. Several young men loitered there, some of them smoking. All of them warily eyed the fit stranger in the leather jacket as he coasted his motorcycle in and stopped.

“Good evening,” Scott said as he removed his half helmet and tucked it under his arm. He pulled his goggles down so they hung around his neck.

No one spoke to him, but one of the boys muttered something unintelligible. The others snickered.

“I beg your pardon? I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”

The oldest, a long-limbed fellow in jeans, a white shirt, and leather vest answered, “Usim said he thinks he can see reflection in your hair.”

Scott grimaced. One of the belated side-effects of being pulled from the other-dimensional oblivion of the Plot Hole to this world had been the silvering of his hair. Dr. Drang had assured him the transformation had no ill-effects on his health, and while that may be true he couldn’t say the same about his dignity.

“Ignore Usin. He has no manners. No respect for old people,” the speaker turned and cuffed Usim on the side of the head before chiding him, “What is wrong with you, Usim? Making fun of poor lost man.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Then why are you here? The circus is closed.”

“Boyan, he was there this morning at the beach,” another boy spoke up, “He argued with the sheriff.”

“That’s right. And you were there too. I thought I recognized you. My name is Scott Scoggins,” he offered his hand.

Boyan gave it a look that would make one think it was crawling with maggots, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Inwardly Scott sighed, “I knew gypsies were suspicious of outsiders, which was why I didn’t come in costume. For many the Silver Aegis was a hero and a champion to the downtrodden, but this crowd would probably see him as a stranger hiding behind a mask.”

“I came to offer my sympathies for your group’s loss, and to offer my help.”

Usin stepped forward, “You lie! You’re here to make us leave, like- ACK!”

SMACK! Boyan struck his young compatriot a good deal harder this second time, and ordered him silent, “And you can help us how?” he asked Scott good-naturedly.

“I have had experience dealing with situations like you are the rest of your clan is facing.”

The group was silent, so Scott clarified.

“And by situation I mean curses. And monsters. I’ve stopped both in my time, and would like to help you with yours.”

“Emil,” Boyan said to the chubby boy who had recognized Scott from the murder scene, “Run and tell King Rajko we are bringing a guest to the camp. Tell him he wants to help the Stavrosos Clan with our…. situation.”

Scott was brought to the middle of the camp. Some of the homes were lit, others not. Lanterns hung from posts along the path they walked, providing illumination. Out of the corner of his eye Scott could see people coming to their cottage windows or pulling back the flaps to their tents to watch him pass. At one cabin his escort halted.

“The girl who was killed; Chavi, her family lives here,” Boyan said quietly, “Rajko is inside with Father Jean, offering comfort.”

The door to the home swung open, and a man strode out. He was older, but powerfully built. He wore an open silk shirt that exposed his smooth torso and loose fitting jodhpurs over riding boots. His scalp was as bare as his chest, and his eyes blazed with an intensity that rivaled the torchlight. When he spoke it was in a deep, commanding baritone.

“I am Rajko Stavrosos. Who are you, and what is your business here?”

Scott stepped forward, “My name is Scott Scoggins. I met some of your people earlier today at Chaney Shores, where the girl’s body was found. And since the local law enforcement didn’t seem particularly helpful, I came to offer mine.”

Rajko was unimpressed, “You are just one man, and an outsider at that. What makes you think you can stop we Stavrososes cannot, and have not for centuries?”

“I’m… well-travelled. And I have certain connections that may be of assistance.”

“Your words are chosen to be deceptive, and your meaning is unclear. If you continue with your riddles you are of no interest to me,” Rajko waved at him dismissively and turned to go back inside.

Scott walked up onto the cottage’s tiny porch and put himself in Rajko’s personal space. Leaning forward, he softly said, “I’m a superhero with close to twenty years experience in fighting every kind of crazy evil thing you could think of, from Aztec mummies to Zoroastrian spirits. I think something somewhere in-between is what’s troubling your people, and I have the skills to stop it. If you let me.”

Rajko’s eyes narrowed briefly before he threw his head back and laughed, “Ha! Ha! You are a very bold man, Scott Scoggins. But, you may also be mad.”

“Only one way to find out for sure.”

“Yes,” the gypsy stroked his chin thoughtfully, “but not the one you may expect.”

*****


For as long as the Stavrosos clan had made their home in America, there had been a Shuvani among them. She had usually been a woman whose age had brought knowledge of the herbs and techniques that made them gifted healers, and wisdom that let them serve as advisor to everyone in camp, even the king.

Then there was Desmerelda. As a child she appeared to have the “Gift” to see what others could not, to look beyond the natural world and into the spiritual. The “Gift” had to be honed; so much of her youth was spent studying the instruments of the oracle. It was a lonely time for Desmerelda. She was isolated from her friends while they worked in the carnival that supported the clan, but what she did would one day be important too. And she knew it, but it was still difficult sometimes to watch them choose their paths in life, to learn a trade, to fall in love with each other or outsiders, to have children of their own. Desmerelda’s path had been chosen for her by the Fates, and as thus she had no such luxuries. The beautiful young woman had seen her future, and it was in the cards. And the crystal, and, tea leaves, and the other tools of her trade.

There was a knock on the door to Desmerelda’s wagon. She rose from her couch to answer, but not before straightening the purple velvet scarf that kept the rich swells of her jet black hair free from her face, and adjusting a corset, while matching the headband in form, was unnecessary in regards to function.

The King of the Gypsies stood outside and he had brought with him the man who had tried to help Desmerelda earlier that day.

“Hello, King Rajko,” Desmerelda curtsied slightly.

“Greetings…. Daughter,” Rajko smiled and drew the girl into his arms. After they separated, he introduced the guest, “This is Scott Scoggins.”

“We have met before.”

“Yes, we have. Hello Miss Desmerelda.”

“Mr. Scoggins says he is here to help us with our….. problem. He claims to have experience in such things. I would ask him to prove such things, but it is not as though we can make curses appear on a whim so that he may break them. And I doubt very much he has a resume’ handy for us to inspect. So I turn to you, my daughter, our Shuvani, to divine the truth,” Rajko nodded at Scott, and then stepped back.

Desmerelda moved away as well, back into her wagon, “Please come in, Mister Scoggins, and submit to a reading?”

*****

“Nice place you have here,” Scott looked around the parlor appreciatively, “Cozy.”

Desmerelda lit another candle and set it on the table in front of her. The light scent of jasmine filled the air, “The accommodations of a Vadros, can be a bit snug.”

“That’s my recollection. Of course, at the time I was hiding under a pile of carpets for three days while being smuggled across the Bulgarian border, so my perspective may be a bit skewed.”

The young woman smiled, “It sounds as though you have led an interesting life, Mr. Scoggins.”

“It would be fair to say it’s been extraordinary. And please, call me Scott.”

“Very well, Scott. Now, please, hold out your hand. It is time to learn what kind of man you truly are.”

Scott shrugged, “If you like, though I must admit most of the fortune tellers I’ve come across were doing little more than peddle Grade A bunkum. A person’s future isn’t something that’s set in stone.”

“It’s not your future we’re interested in, Scott, not at this moment,” Desmerelda took hold of his right hand (“Which shows the past,” she explained) and examined it.

“Hm, your hand is round in shape. That means you are a man of action. Very impulsive. You tend to work best with a deadline. Your fingers are straight, which tells me you are honest.”


“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Scott chided genially.

“Yes, and this confirms it,” Desi smiled back before turning the hand over to inspect the lines of his palm, “Your heart line is curved, and ends under your second finger. This shows you to be a giving person, someone who is willing to make sacrifices for others, and that you are idealistic, even romantic.”

“I’m afraid in my line of work I haven’t had much time for romance, Miss Desmerelda.”

“Opportunity isn’t the same as tendency, Scott. Now, let’s move onto the head line. This gap here,” she pressed tapped the spot with a long lacquered nail, “between the head and life line means you were very independent as a child.”

“That’s true,” the man who had lost both his parents by the time he was six was forced to admit.

“Haven’t everything I said so far the truth?” Desi asked before turning her attention to Scott’s life line. It was strong and clear, “You are a strong and healthy person, and the line curving outward towards the Mount of the Moon, that’s the fleshy part of your palm, says you are very adventuresome. The fork at the end of your life line means the same.”

Lastly, the gypsy woman examined his fate line. Starting at the bottom center of his hand, this meant Scott was very self-motivated and self-assured. She traced the groove up until it vanished, “This, this is interesting. There is a gap in your fate line. Not long ago there was a period of strong stagnation, of inactivity, in your life,” Desi received a burst of intuition, “And not by choice. It was only recently that you were pulled free out of this malaise.”

“Doc Drang calls it a Cosmic Sinkhole in the Narrative, but I suppose it could be considered a ‘malaise’,” the Silver Aegis smiled, “That was fun, Miss Desmerelda. Very illuminating. Of course, almost everything you told me could have been spotted or guessed by a person with a good eye for detail.”

“I’m not trying to con you,” Desi stated, her dark eyes flashing, “I have nothing to prove here. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“That’s true. I apologize for implying your motives were less than pure. So, do I pass muster?”

Desmerlda’s expression softened, “I believe you, Scott. About everything. You want, and can, help us.”

She stood and straightened her skirts, “Come, so we may see King Rajko, and you may learn of the curse that has return to trouble the Stavrosos Clan.”


Next: “The Legend of the Ü-Wolf!”