End Result!

Phyllis picked up her nametag at the front desk, basking, as she always did, in the looks of admiration from the event staff.

"That's Phyllis Melburn," one whispered. "She's taken top prize for the last five years!"

"I hear she's the favorite again," another said. "She's unbeatable!"

Phyllis had a lilt in her walk as she entered the auditorium. She was unbeatable. She would take the gold cup again this year. The only other entrant in the Tri-County Region Annual Cat Breeders Show that she considered competition for the trophy was Janet Harrison, who had won the Gilooly County Breeders Cup two months earlier.

And if it became necessary, Phyllis had a plan to deal with Janet Harrison.

***

"She's beautiful," Charlene said, peering into the cage where Mrs. Yolanda, Phyllis's pampered Persian, strutted back and forth. "She's sure to win it for you, Phyl."

"Thanks," Phyllis murmured, not really listening, her eyes darting over the other tables, scanning for potential threats. The Lipmans were entering a Maine Coon again. She snorted. The Lipmans hadn't won anything in years. Near the end of her row was a Russian Blue that looked nice, but she knew from experience that these judges rarely favored Blues.

"Did you see Janet yet?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Oh, uh ... she'll never win," Charlene said. "Just a scruffy old bobtail. I wouldn't worry if I were you."

But her face betrayed her. Phyllis analyzed Charlene's expression carefully, taking note of the way her eyes shifted to the right, the way the corners of her wide mouth shrugged slightly.

My God, Phyllis thought. She doesn't believe a word of what she just said. Janet must have something really special this year.

"Mind keeping an eye on the princess for me?" she asked. "I just need to powder my nose."

She left Charlene at the table, and casually wandered in the general direction of the restrooms. At the end of the aisle she took a hard left and made her way to Janet Harrison's table.

"He's exquisite," Phyllis heard someone say as they walked in the opposite direction. "I think this might be Janet's year."

And then she saw the cat — and it took her breath away.

Janet Harrison's prize feline was the most beautiful Japanese bobtail that Phyllis had ever seen. Its head was a perfect triangle, its body lean and muscular. The cat's white coat glistened, and the red markings on its forehead were flawlessly symmetrical.

Beside this glorious specimen, Mrs. Yolanda would look drab and dowdy. This was a showstopper.

Janet's back was turned; she was chatting with the breeder at the next booth. There was a little blonde girl nearby — Janet's daughter, perhaps — but her attention was likewise elsewhere. Phyllis knew she had to act quickly.

Years of practice had helped Phyllis master this sleight-of-hand. With the deft speed and precision of a cabaret illusionist, she withdrew a tiny bottle from her pocket. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking.

It was now or never.

So swiftly that if you sneezed you would miss it, her pudgy hand darted toward the bars of the bobtail's cage. A few drops of clear fluid sloshed out of the bottle and plopped in the center of the cat's water bowl.

An instant later, the bottle had been secreted away and Phyllis was headed back to her table. She took her time, stopping along the way to examine the other entrants.

Pathetic, the whole lot of them!

***

"Charlene!" Phyllis snapped when she returned. "I thought I asked you to keep an eye on Mrs. Yolanda."

"Oh, sorry, Phyl." Charlene turned away from the event staffer she'd been talking to. She wrung her hands. "You went and looked at Janet's bobtail, didn't you?"

"Hmph," Phyllis grunted, trying to appear undisturbed. She picked up her water bottle and took a few swallows, then cleared her throat. "Not a bad-looking animal, but I'm not worried. Actually, it almost looked as though its fur was about to —"

"Phyllis," a sharp voice said. "It wasn't poison, was it?"

Phyllis spun around to face Janet Harrison, who looked mildly alarmed. Janet's hand was clasped around the arm of the little blonde girl Phyllis had seen near her table.

"Phyllis," Janet repeated. "Was it poison? The stuff you put in my cat's water bowl?"

Phyllis's face went white.

"I ... what? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Listen," Janet said. "If it was poison, you really ought to get medical attention. My daughter says she saw you put something in my cat's bowl ... and, well ... apparently, she snuck back here and poured it into your water bottle."

***

"I know you're upset," Dr. Cashill said, frowning at the chart. "But there's nothing I can do right now."

"Look at me!" Phyllis Melburn shrieked.

Her face was pale and haggard under her department store simulated-hair wig and her crudely painted eyebrows. One of her false eyelashes was coming loose.

"I'm hideous!" Phyllis bellowed. "And you're telling me it won't start growing back again for months, if not years?"

"Well, that chemical was pretty nasty stuff," Dr. Cashill replied. "You're just lucky it didn't make your toenails fall off. Anyway, at least you can wear a wig. The one you've got on now looks very ... ahem ... very natural."

Phyllis started bawling again. Dr. Cashill wished he were playing golf.

“Are you sure you’re OK taking care of Hershey?” Lisa asked me for the hundredth time. I gave her my most reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Look – he’s already settled in.” I gestured to Hershey. The little brown fuzz ball was curled up in his dog bed, dark eyes staring adoringly at Lisa.

“You have my cell phone number, and the number at the spa. If there’s an emergency, I can be back here in two hours. The vet – ”

“The vet’s number is on the fridge. Don’t worry honey, we’ll be fine.” I gave her a hug and opened the door. “You go enjoy your girls’ weekend with your mom. Hershey and I’ll hold down the fort.”

I felt a surge of satisfaction as Lisa pulled out of the driveway. It seemed like a small thing, but I knew this was a major milestone our relationship. She had entrusted me with Hershey, miniature poodle extraordinaire and the current love of her life.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. I ate, then fed Hershey. He nibbled his kibble and settled back into his bed. Unlike a lot of small dogs, Hershey was even-tempered and mellow; I was starting to understand why Lisa was so attached to him. This was going to be the easiest relationship builder I’d ever done.

The whining woke me up sometime after midnight. At first, I thought that my fridge was on the blink; then I realized that the strange noises were coming from usually-quiet Hershey. When I got up to investigate, he took off for the back door. I opened it and watched as he ran to the nearest tree.

He finished his business and was on his way back when I noticed a small, black animal wander into the yard. Hershey took off barking, ready to defend me against any and all danger. But about ten feet from the creature he suddenly stopped – then turned around and came charging towards me as fast as his little legs could carry him. The animal stepped further into the yard.

And I saw the white stripe down its back.

Hershey almost beat the smell back to the house. My eyes watered as he ran past me; Lisa’s little darling had taken the full brunt of the skunk’s spray. I searched my cupboards for tomato juice – but I knew I didn’t have any. I looked at the clock. 3:05. The Quikie Mart was closed. I grabbed the phone and punched in Johnny’s number.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Do you have any tomato juice?”

“Dude, you called me at three o’clock in the morning – ”

“Hershey. Skunk. Tomato juice. Got it?”

“Oh man, that sucks. Hold on.” I listened as Johnny searched.

“Dude, no tomato juice. But I have some V8. Will that work?”

I looked at Hershey, curled up in his bed, whining. “Bring it. Hurry.”

Five minutes later, Hershey was in the bathtub covered in vegetable juice. Once-fluffy brown fur was plastered against his skinny body. And he still smelled like skunk.

“Man, that isn’t working. Lisa is going to kill you.”

I shot Johnny a withering look. “Thanks for that thought. Now what do we do?”

“Try something else.”

Ignoring Jimmy’s brilliant suggestion, I rummaged through the bathroom. Toothpaste, shaving cream, aftershave – we tried all of them, but nothing erased the smell. My glance landed on a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“Last shot.”

Covering Hershey’s eyes, I soaked him in the hydrogen peroxide. His fur foamed, hiding him; he looked like a giant cotton ball. But the stench started to fade. Relieved, we waited a few more minutes before rinsing him off.

“Whoa. He’s a blonde.”

The hydrogen peroxide had removed the smell – and left Hershey looking like Marilyn Monroe. I looked at the clock – 5:35. The Quikie Mart was finally open.

Johnny came back with Honey Chestnut Brown Number 37 with Extra Conditioner. Within minutes, we had mixed the hair color and applied it to Hershey’s golden tresses. Then we waited.

In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to read the instructions.

The shade Johnny had picked was a perfect match for Hershey’s original color. Excited, we rinsed off the color – and watched his once-again-brown curls gather in the bottom of the bathtub.

The hair color company had never tested the combination of skunk oil, V8, assorted men’s toiletries, hydrogen peroxide and Honey Chestnut Brown Number 37. But the vet is hopefully optimistic that Hershey’s coat will someday grow back, though it may never return to its former glory.

Lisa isn’t as optimistic about our relationship.

It was a beautiful spring day and the children had been cooped up in the house for long enough. The boys needed haircuts and I needed peace and quiet. My husband, Joe, was on his third cup of coffee while reading the newspaper and I sweetly said to him, “Darling, why don’t you take the kids outside for awhile? The girls can play while you give Tommy and Jacob haircuts.” He rolled his eyes, set down his cup and newspaper, and looked at me like I’d suddenly grown horns!

“I’ve got a lot of chores I can take care of today. Why don’t you take the kids outside and give the boys a haircut.”

Remaining calm and determined to get my quiet time I simply said “But you are so much better at that kind of thing with the boys than I am. Here are the scissors, the clippers and the cape.” I quickly left the room to avoid any further discussion and scored a victory for myself.

I went directly to my bathroom where I intended to have a nice soaking bubble bath. While I was drawing the water, I opened the window to catch the wonderful breeze and looked out into the back yard. My precocious daughters, Emily and Jackie, were happily playing make-believe with their dolls in the shade under the big maple tree. Emily is the eldest, Tommy and Jackie are twins, and Jacob is the baby at age 3. The boys were running wildly around the yard in obvious rebellion. Joe was standing at the picnic table laying out the capes, scissors, and trimmer. Despite the appearance of mild chaos, I was determined to have my bath so I closed the blinds and turned off the water. I lit a candle and sank down into the hot, relaxing water.

I could hear the laughter of my little girls and occasional screams of “You can’t catch me!” from the boys. Joe was trying to be calm as he continued yelling “Tommy. Jacob. Both of you get over here right now!” I could picture the scene outside with Joe just sitting at the picnic table expecting the boys to come to him. I had a good 10 minutes of relative peace and quiet before all heck broke loose in the back yard. I could hear Joe frantically screaming at Tommy and the girls cackling with laughter. One of the boys was crying. I got out of the tub and quickly dried off, and put on a pair of sweats. Despite my best laid plans, it was time to go see what was going on.

I couldn’t believe my eyes! There was my husband all twisted up in the hammock with Tommy just standing there laughing and pointing at his Dad. My darling daughters were with Jacob at the picnic table cutting his hair with the scissors! Jacob was crying as the girls hacked away at his beautiful head of curly blonde hair. I ran to the girls and took the scissors away. I sat them down and exclaimed, “What happened?” All the kids started talking at once. “Hush up,” I said as I walked over to my husband who was trying desperately to free himself from the hammock. After successfully entangling him, I told everyone to get into the kitchen and sit down.

Once inside, I surveyed the damage. Tommy had managed to avoid the haircut altogether by making his Dad chase him around the hammock and we know how that ended. Poor Jacob was still crying and he looked like a kid in a bad punk rock video with his hair cut at all different lengths! The girls knew they were in trouble and remained quiet with their heads down. Joe just looked at me with his reddened face waiting to see how I was going to fix this.

“Tommy, Emily and Jackie, just sit there and not make a sound. Joe, go out and bring in the cape and trimmer. Jacob, get up here on the counter.” I barked out the orders like a general. I helped Jacob up on the counter. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but Mommy has to fix this so it will grow out right” I said to him as he slowly quieted down his sobbing. I then proceed to shave off all that remained of his beautiful curly hair. I ran my hand over his beautiful bald head and proclaimed, “There, that’s much better. You won’t need another haircut for quiet awhile.” He looked up at me and smiled.

“OK, Tommy it’s your turn.” He knew better than to argue with me. Tommy liked his hair a little on the long side but I decided it was time for a change. To his horror, I shaved his entire head. “Now, you look just like your brother.”

The girls were laughing now and pointing at their brothers’ shaved heads. “Now it’s your turn, Miss Emily.” Flabbergasted and protesting, Emily, with her shoulder length blonde hair, hopped up on the counter. I finished with her and gave Jackie her hair cut as well. My children sat there quiet and calm, running their hands over their heads. Joe looked at me in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that.”

My four children now have the perfect summer haircuts. I have two girls with very short pixie cuts and two boys with heads as bald as babies’ bottoms.

Grandpa Jones took his small granddaughter to the pond. It was a familiar place for them. Cynthia liked to look at the small creatures that made their homes around the edge of the pond, while grandpa liked to pretend to fish. He never caught anything though, probably because he never bothered baiting the hook.

On this particular trip, Cynthia was intrigued by the frogs, one of whom was sitting on a lily pad catching an occasional fly or other low flying insect.

“Grandpa, how did the frog get that tongue?” Cynthia asked.

Her grandfather sat back and thought, then told his story.

Well, way back in time, when animals could still talk so you could understand them, the frog didn’t have that tongue. He had a short one, and he had to work a lot harder at getting his food. Now the frog also had a red fur coat, finest you ever could wish for...

“Really?”, asked Cynthia, not quite sure she believed that.

Really, confirmed her grandfather. He was proud of that coat too, though it caused him no end of trouble.

“What kind of trouble?”

Well, he couldn’t swim as well, the fur was a drag when it got wet, and besides it made him cold. When he came onto land to dry off, he couldn’t hop very well with all that extra weight, and besides he couldn’t jump to catch flies like that.

“What did he do then?”

He made do with ants and beetles, they didn’t taste as good, and he had to work harder to catch them, but they were food.

“So how did he get his tongue?”

I was getting to that part. Now quit rushing me. Well Mr. Fox was in similar bad shape. He had whiskers, and a white tip on his tail, and fur on his paws and ears, but that was about it.

“He sounds like a poodle,” Cynthia giggled.

Well, yes, I suppose he might have looked a bit like one. But he also had a long tongue which didn’t suit him very well - it got in the way and stuck to his food. Well he was cold, and hungry one day when Mr. Frog hopped past him chasing a butterfly. He wasn’t having much luck catching it though.

“Sort of like you fishing.”

Well yes, sort of. Anyway, Mr. Fox started thinking about how grand it would be to have Mr. Frog’s fur coat. He thought about it a bit more, and decided to do something about it. He bounded up to Mr. Frog.

“Good afternoon sir,” he said in a sincere voice. “I couldn’t notice that hot and itchy coat you are wearing.”

Frog turned and looked at him. “I don’t know what you are talking about. This fine coat of fur keeps me warm at night, and keeps my butt cushioned when I land.”

Then frog started thinking about Mr. Fox’s tongue, and he started scheming how to get it himself. Mr. Fox wasn’t the only sly one around the pond.

“So tell me Fox, how would you like to be rid of that silly looking tongue? I can take it off your hands for you.”

Fox thought about that for a moment. Frog’s tongue seemed much more useful then his. “I will tell you what, I will trade tongues with you if you give me your coat.”

Frog just laughed. “I can see I get the worst part of that bargain,” he said, as he hopped away.

He hopped along until he heard a strange noise. He hid under a leaf and watched. A man was wandering up the path with a cart full of bear hides. He was talking to himself as he pulled the cart. “These hides are nice, but rough. What I really need is a fine small hide covered with red fur.”

Frog kept still until he passed, then quickly hopped back to where he last saw fox.

“Fox, I have changed my mind. It sounds like a fair trade to me.”

The fox readily agreed thinking himself to have gotten the far better part of this bargain. The two wandered off to find the wise old owl, who knew a spell that could change body parts. The owl agreed to do it for two mice, which the fox caught and brought to him, and the deal was completed.

The frog hopped happily off, snatching gnats and flies and butterflies from the air until he had his fill. He then hopped into the pond, and took his place on the lily pad where you can see him to this very day. And that is why the frog is completely hairless as you can see.

“But what about the fox?” Cynthia asked.

Well the fox was happy with his share of the bargain too. He pranced across the forest strutting his fine new coat in front of the other animals. Then one day he came across the man. He had to run for his life then, and learn to avoid all sorts of traps to avoid being turned into a pair of mittens and a hat.

“Sometimes it is better to enjoy what you have,” Cynthia concluded.

“Sometimes it is. It depends on whether you are the frog or the fox,” her grandfather finished as they started to walk back to the house for dinner.

3am.

A mother sits staring at her daughter through the thick glass, silently weeping. She watches the nurse, her uniform reinforced with breathing mask and gloves, change the bag of fluid on the drip pole and take terse, arcane notes on the pad at the end of the bed. And for all the help the nurse is providing, she can’t help her bitterness rising. All she wants to do is be close her baby: to hold her tight as she first did at this same hospital 22 years ago or even just the chance stroke her pale, smooth forehead where chestnut bangs once sat . . . Instead, she sits on the blue sofa in the family room, watching as her daughter, now almost alien to her with her bald head and profusion of tubes and machinery around her small body, starts to slip steadily from her reach. She breaks down, sobbing heavily as the nurse leaves the ward and the now familiar sound of the decontamination shower hisses in the background . . .

Rewind twelve hours.

The doctor switches off the projector, the magnified slide of micro-organisms flickering and contracting into a horizontal black line before fading away. The room is silent as the potential gravity of the situation sits heavy in the air.

“The bottom line is that we don’t know what this bacterium is. We can’t explain where it came from – although we’re narrowing that one down rapidly – and we can’t explain why the patient has reacted in the way she has. This is unlike anything we’ve seen before. In chemotherapy, in cases of thallium poisoning, we could expect this kind of extreme, total-body hair loss but we have found no traces of elevated radioactivity in the patient and we have found no other precedents to date so far.

“As Prof. de Vries has already pointed out, the strain of bacteria identified in this patient is one that appears to be previously undocumented. We don’t know where it has come from, or how or where it has entered her system. We are fairly certain she hasn’t contracted it subcutaneously, despite the presence of a few minor cuts and insect bites, however given her activities on the day she fell ill, we still have some further investigation that needs to be done and we’re examining the possibility of food or environmental contamination as the most likely cause.”

The doctor paused and took a long sip of coffee, facing the hospital executives and Department of Health representatives in the room “But I just want to stress at this point that I’m not saying we’re facing a potential pandemic. However, considering the rapid downturn in an otherwise healthy young woman and the presence of what appears to be a completely new, rather virulent bacterium, we really need to be careful how we approach this . . . "

Rewind twelve hours.

A young woman stumbles down the hallway in the dark, tripping over the vacuum cleaner that had been left out unused for two days. The impact with the floor knocks the breath out of her and another clump of hair dislodges from her scalp. She lies on the carpet, panting and sweating for a moment, before her body clenches up and she vomits once more on the carpet; tears spring up in the corners of her eyes as the pain throughout her body starts to intensify. Gasping for breath, she feels her way along the wall to her housemate’s room and knocks on the door.

“Huh? What?” her housemate calls, her voice full of sleep and irritation.

“Please, Caroline, can you drive me to the hospital? I’m really not feeling so great right now and I really need your help . . .”

Rewind twelve hours.

It’s three in the afternoon on a lazy late-spring afternoon. A young couple lay on towels now covered in sand, twisting in an embrace in the warmth of the sun and trying unsuccessfully to avoid the mosquitoes and sand flies. Earlier they went swimming, playing and teasing each other in the dark green-blue of the crowded, suburban beach. Their time in the water was cut short when she caught her foot on a razor-sharp shell and had to call the lifeguard to administer minor first aide to stem the bleeding from what they jokingly referred to as the “mother of all papercuts”. Later when the beach gets too busy, they will buy some cheap soft-serve ice cream and eat a late lunch of take-away pizza and beer before returning to his house where they will shower together, make love, and then watch a movie. The girl will complain of a headache and feeling a little worn out, which they will put down to mild sunstroke and after an affectionate goodbye she will drive home, feeling both incredibly happy and slightly unwell at the same time.

Arriving home that evening, her housemate will offer her some fish and chips and a beer but she will decline and head straight for her room. “I think I’m just going to go to bed, I’m feeling a bit out of sorts at the moment . . .”

The doctor blinked at her. She sat on the edge of the table, swathed in a paper robe, swinging her bare legs and looking at him expectantly.

“Now, let me see if I have this correct, you want me to infect you with Alopecia.”

She nodded, the thin fuzz of copper covering her scalp gleaming in the overhead light. “It’s a disease where the body fights hair,” she began. “Many people who have the disease…”

“… are completely hairless. I know.” This had to be one of the nuttier requests he’d ever heard. He couldn’t wait to tell the guys on Saturday when they played poker.

She blushed. “Right. You’re a doctor. I almost forgot.”

“Ms. Fields, Alopecia is…”

She cut him off. “Tangie. And yes, I know it’s a genetic disorder. But there have been advances in genetic medicine in the last decade…”

He checked her chart as she continued to very carefully explain the disease to him. Tangerine Fields? What a name. No wonder she was bonzo: The schoolyard teasing must have been merciless. When she finished chattering, he gently, firmly, told her that Alopecia Areata was a genetic disorder and that under no circumstances would he even consider “infecting” her with it, even if it were possible.

She did not look at all surprised, she just sighed, her little heart shaped face pensive.

“I understand. I guess I was just looking for the easy way.”

“I’m glad you understand Ms. Fields,” he began.

“Tangie. And I do understand. Really. I guess I’ll just have to go through the chemotherapy then.”

“Ms… Tangie… you don’t have cancer.”

Ten minutes later, he steered her to the door by her elbow with a referral to one of his poker buddies. Let Don deal with her; he had the degree in psychology. Closing the door firmly behind the wacky little pixie faced woman, he wondered if he had time for a quick nip of scotch before his next patient.

* * *

Tangie stood in front of the chipped sink in her bathroom. She sang songs under her breath, counted backwards from five hundred, bounced on her toes, and tried to ignore the burning sensation that covered her from head to toe. The depilatory had been on for over twenty minutes, but it was her experience that forty five minutes did a better job. In a weird way, the burning felt right. She decided to kill the last fifteen minutes tweezing her eyelashes.

Afterwards, it was still no good. She’d tried waxing, of course, but there were so many parts of her that she couldn’t reach and she couldn’t afford to have it done professionally. Electrolysis was out of the question. She was on disability - being inherently evil meant she couldn’t work - and she had hoped to have the problem covered medically; what else was Medicare for?

She spent the next week pulling out her eyelashes and checking the rest of her body carefully to see if the evil would return. Sure enough, as soon as her scalp started to develop faint red fuzz, she started thinking about fire. The wickedness grew and she couldn’t put on more hair remover because she’d get chemical burns again and they’d put her back in the “home”. The “home” was Hades. They wouldn’t let her have depilatory or razors or even tweezers, and she always had to lie and tell them that she felt better in order to leave.

“Fire, inferno, infernus, explosion, expulsum.” Once, the words helped. But not anymore. She thought them out loud and they chased away the evil for a time, but as the red covered her, so did thoughts of fire.

Blaze, burn, fire, flame. Words to drive the evil off and candles to keep it at bay. The evil crisped away from the fire with the smell of Hades; even the smallest of them couldn’t withstand the cleansing heat. Sometimes the fire needed help. Lighter fluid was good. Incinerate, incendia, fire, ignus, fire, purgo, burn. Sometimes the nonsense worked, but fire worked every time.

Pacing around her shabby house and running her hands over her body, feeling for signs of evil. The burns hurt, but not as bad as the evil and burned skin didn’t grow hair. Home was Hades and Hades was home so she had to be careful not to burn herself too badly. Abyssus, incedia, fire, blaze. The mark of evil was in the roots of her hair which sprouted over her body like tiny flames. She couldn’t stop; it would grow, so she paced and screamed the words, but the evil grew, and the fire burned.

She thought at first she was dreaming again. She heard the words and her own voice from long ago intoning and screaming,

“Reprobo veneficus ut abyssus per incendia! In incendia Abyssus! Send the witch to the fires of Hades!” She tried to struggle free of the flame but it was all around her; it was on her. It was agony and she knew she was dying, but before she did, she remembered burning the witch.

She had persecuted the woman, condemned her to torture by insisting that her red hair was the mark of evil. Tangie had lied and testified, and she had personally lit the pyre. When the torch touched dry wood, the woman had cursed her, lifetimes ago. For one brief moment, Tangie was sane and she remembered burning herself time and time again, and she despaired, knowing she would burn in her next life too. This was her curse, and it was as eternal; she bore the roots of all evil.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you to join me here,” said Jacob, pacing the floor of his wooden tree house. That was an understatement- I was a good ten or so years his senior, and he and my little brother had been rivals almost as soon as we’d moved into the neighborhood. Still, if there was one thing we’d learned over the years, it was that the easiest way to silence Jacob was to play along with his schemes for awhile. I’d probably be able to escape after twenty minutes- either Jacob would be too bored to continue, or he’d be too busy arguing with Isaac to care anymore. Oh, kids. I’d like to say I never had that short of an attention span, but I’m sure that’d be an outright lie.

Jacob’d put a lot of effort into this, too. He’d somehow managed to get two chairs and a table into the tree house, set up like a classroom so that he could lecture to us. Sitting on the table were two objects hidden under a cloth so that he could have his dramatic reveal. I looked at the table, looked to my brother, and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, rolled his eyes, and looked back forward.

“I brought you here today so that I could gloat at you stupid-heads,” he said, raising his head proudly. “For I, Jacob Cartwright, have invented a teleporter.” Brandishing the cloth like a matador’s cape, he whipped the fabric away, revealing two small cages. He placed an apple into one cage, and pressed a button. I couldn’t help but laugh- the flashing lights were just too comical, especially the way their colors illuminated Jacob’s face.

So imagine my surprise when it actually worked.

“How did you do that!?” I exclaimed, my eyes opening wide. I glanced sideways at my brother, who, even more surprisingly, looked bored with the whole display.

“Really, Jacob, is that the best you can do?” he said, cocking one eyebrow. Isaac pulled something looking like a toy water gun out of his pocket. “Moving matter is child’s play, next to reshaping it.” And with that, he fired at the apple- a blue laser of energy hit the apple, turning it into a slab of chocolate.

Jaw dropping, I diverted my gaze to stare at my brother. Calm and collected, he was staring into Jacob’s eyes as if they were both skilled swordsman preparing for a duel. “I merely wanted to start with something simple,” said Jacob. “Of course I can do better, just watch.” Taking out a lumpy stick with circuitry on it, he tapped the chocolate- it turned into a sparrow, and flew away.

“I could do that,” said Isaac, crossing his arms defensively. “Do you think you’re so special just because you can create life?”

“I certainly do!” said Jacob, laughing. “You never noticed you were living in my virtual reality!” He turned around, and slammed his hand against a blank section of wall. A button appeared there- but more shockingly, the clouds disappeared from the sky. The grass changed hue, and several of the houses lost their vibrant colors.

“Oh, please,” said Isaac, shaking his head. “Give me some credit.” He pressed a button on his watch- every time he did so, the world switched back and forth between realities. I took a deep gasp at this point- I had been forgetting to breathe.

“Oh yeah?” said Jacob, his brow wrinkling from either fury or pouting, I couldn’t tell which. “Well, I’m a superhuman genetic creation!” He started floating six inches above the ground, and lifted up his shirt to prove his point- Jacob had no belly button.

“Well, I’m not impressed by that,” replied Isaac. “Because my brother is a robot- I built him myself to keep me company. Both he and my parents have false memories as a cover story.” He calmly walked over to where I was standing, and unbuttoned the lower half of my shirt. Sticking his finger into my belly button, I could only tremble in fear as I hear the sound of a fingerprint scanner. Moments later, my abs hissed with the release of hydraulic pressure, and he lifted away my stomach as though it were a metal covering.

How could I have possibly never known this!? I stared at the blinking circuitry of my body, having transcended my shock and amazement into a state of odd acceptance. I took my stomach plate back from my brother, who had been continuing the argument.

“I can divide by zero!”

“I can count to infinity!”

My reality was crumbling before my eyes. I didn’t know what was truth anymore- and I suppose it didn’t matter. I felt I had but one course of action before me, and I decided to seize it.

“I’ve found a number that satisfies the Pythagorean theorem, that number being higher than two!”

“I can reach temperatures below zero Kelvin!”

------------------------------------------------------

I looked into the mirror, rubbing my hands over my now-bald head. It was apparently the only hair I’d ever had on my body. I was now completely hairless. I had done it willingly, but it would still take a bit to get used to. Well, so would everything else in my life from now on.

“Your paperwork checks out!” replied the clerk, smiling widely. “You are now a proud member of the Foreign Legion!”

The door into the mountainside was vast, made from solid steel. It had been buried for thousands of years before it was uncovered by the lone adventurer.

Built like a tomb, he knew this place was important but had no idea why. The temple was hidden well, and the terrain was forbidding. It seemed designed to repel investigators, which was incentive enough for him.

There was an inscription next to the door, one in the dead language his ancestors left behind during the Dark Times. Learning heiroglyphics or ancient Chinese was easy compared to this language, its phonetic basis made it impossible to understand without understanding the spoken language. He was one of the leading experts of his time, but his knowledge of the language was sparse at best. He wrote down its strange script and moved on.

The thick metallic door took a lot of effort to shift: The cutting gear he was using would not even scratch it. Cutting through the stone wall was the solution. It was hard work, his tools blunted quickly. It was times like these that he regretted working alone. He tunneled his way through the massive stone walls, eighteen feet of stone and concrete. He wriggled through the hole, and, switching on his torch, entered the chamber.

The brutalist architecture shocked him. Bare walls. Had tomb robbers been here first? He was not sure that this was a tomb. He recognised some of the words on the plaque on the front of the tomb: One of those words was honor. Most of the words felt out of place, but “honor” was a word often inscribed on tombs, but it did not feel like a tomb or a mausoleum: Stark. No decorations. Mausoleums normally had decorations. This place too... functional. Internal doors led further inside, these not being much less massive, but they were on rollers, and were easy to open. Whoever had sealed the outer doors must have believed that was enough to deter even the most ardent thief. There was a round symbol of these doors, possibly a religious symbol. More inscriptions, many faded, all indicipherable. This door was surprisingly easy to open, and he stepped through. On down the corridor, carrying his torch and cutting equipment,he came to another solid door, and studied the opening mechanism. It would open only after he closed the door at the other end. He closed that door, and opened this one. To the right was a storage area. There were the remains of clothing, possibly ceremonial in nature. What was left of this clothing was yellow, and surprisingly heavy. It seemed to cover the whole body, even having a darkened visor over the headpiece ensuring nobody could see into it. This clothing was certainly not built for comfort, it had to have some ceremonial purpose, but still... what ceremony would require such cumbersome clothing? He walked on, towards what he assumed to be the inner sanctum.

When he opened the inner door, he heard a click at the other end of the room. He ran back: It had locked automatically. He now had no choice. These doors were impenetrable using his cutting gear, and the walls in this area were made of the same stuff. With nothing to lose by now, he went into the Inner Sanctum.

No altar. A long crypt of locked doors, All sealed. No handles, welded shut. Going further down, there was one door which had rusted over the millenia. Stepping through a puddle, he felt a warm sensation in his foot. A warmth that also penetrated through the degraded metal. This was his best option for finding out what lay within, so he started cutting.

The door finally fell away, and he could feel a burning heat. The Sacred Relics held such supernatural power, that he instantly felt weak. His skin started to burn. He staggered out of there.

His skin was bleeding. He staggered out of the long crypt and slumped across the floor. Whatever that was he felt, he knew it had lethal power. Unable to get out, he made himself as comfortable as he could, and waited for the inevitable. He looked at the copy of the inscription that he took down outside the mountain, and spent his last few hours attempting a translation.

Hundreds of years later, other archaeologists came. They had, over the years, been able to discipher the old message left by the doors of the Yucca Mountain Complex:

This place is a message… and part of a system of messages… pay attention to it!
Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.
This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.
What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.
The danger is in a particular location… it increases toward a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.
The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.
The danger is to the body, and it can kill.
The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.
The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.

The body of the Archaeologist still lay there, made hairless and sterile by the radiation, mummified by the dry air.

He was the stealthiest, fastest and greatest at getting the steaks. Straight in the butchers, round the counter, a swift grab then back outside. Everyone loved him. He did it so expertly and waited until the butchers were busy, or weren’t looking, this way they never knew he’d even been there. Except one thing. He was a hairy dog, wherever he went his hair left telltale messages to those with a keen eye. Despite managing to evade all the extra security and managing to escape with fresh meat, his hair gave him away.
They all rallied together in the alleyway, finishing off a selection of ribs caught this morning. They were being evicted from their home behind this butchers, although another had been located several streets down, yet to have had a single visit from their speedy friend. But this isn’t the first alleyway they’ve had to leave, this isn’t the first butcher who has become wise to their tricks. Eventually they will run out of butchers, which means no more meat, and no more meat means a hungry bunch of dogs!
They moved to the new alleyway that day and pushed the bins together for shelter from the starting rain. A conference was held, they knew no one else could get the meat quite so stealthily, so another solution must be found. Many ideas where thrown into what was fast becoming a debate rather than a discussion, many were rejected. Others put themselves forward to be the ones who tried to get the meat, but they were too slow, too big or even too small to be effective. The mood dropped as they began to realise they may never eat fresh again, and the bins might be all they are good for.
One morning, while rifling through the freshly put out bins from the neighbouring apartment block, a discovery was made. Rushing back to the group, item in mouth and making a general ruckus, one of the smaller dogs proudly presented his idea. He’d found a razor. Eyes widened as all realised what was being suggested, his hair was the only thing that gave him away. Remove the hair and you remove the problem. Now the idea was sound, in fact quite logical, and now they had a means to implement it. But as the weather grew worse and winter approached our speedy friend was reluctant to oblige.
The mood had not improved with this decision, they couldn’t force him to have his fur removed, especially as he had a point, without his fur he was exposed to the elements. But they began to resent him for it all the same, their little community was hanging by a thread. The laughter and play was gone, their food was low and less palatable, and it seemed there was nothing which could be done. Standing by the entrance to the alleyway they watched the humans go by, laughing, smiling and warm. But they don’t have fur. They have clothes!
It was time to use his skills of speed and stealth, it was time to retrieve something that was needed to continue. This time, however, it was not meat he was after. Diving into the store he ducked between shelves and items on hangers, skidding on the polished floor but making no sound. Soon he made the discovery he longed for. Jumpers, sweaters and warmth. Quickly, and quietly, he snapped up the warmest he could find and was out the door in a flash. Back to the alley he ran, straight to his friends with a smile in his eyes and wag in his tail. No one knew where the jumper had gone, or where the strange hair had come from.
Everyone was awash with excitement, they had much to do, with one razor and no hands they got to work. Some held his tail while another stroked the razor across his fur. Others searched bags and bins to find more equipment that could help. It was a long tiring job, for he did have a lot of hair. But they worked hard until light would fade, his hair collecting in a pile at the back of the alley. He could feel the chill starting the more hair he lost, but knew this was a sacrifice he needed to take, to help his friends and to keep everyone together. A week passed, he was ready.
Looking dapper in his new jumper, one which was warm but light to wear for movement and speed, he checked the coast was clear. Then he was gone in a flash, into the butchers and round the counter, into the steak and out the door. The dogs cheered and jumped with joy, the butcher didn’t even notice the meat was gone. The community thrived, the mood changed, immediately everyone praised our fast and stealthy friend. They made the alleyway their home in the knowledge they’d never need to move again, thanks to their teamwork and hairless friend. He did of course require upkeep, and extra shaving, but it was a small price to pay to keep everyone together and the hunger at bay.
So if you ever see a dog in a jumper walking in the street, make sure you keep an eye on where you keep your meat!

The zoom of the electric company’s truck pulling away left me feeling even more in the dark than I already was. It was getting dark outside so I started scrambling for the candles to make it through the night. Thankfully my mom had given me a bag of ½ used ones, as she could never light a candle twice. I set them all up and decided it would be a good idea to take a shower before it got too dark and knew putting off lighting all the candles for as long as possible would be the best thing to do. I knew Chris would be home from work soon and at least I could be clean for scream fest 2009. Into the shower I went and before I knew it I was washed, dressed and starting to make fluffer nut sandwiches for dinner since the electric stove wasn’t going to run off batteries.

I sat down in the family room and waited for Chris to get home from work. He was running a bit late and thought maybe he stopped at the bar after work with the guys. I called him on his cell phone and told him about the electric being turned off and how we would have to use his overtime check to pay to get it turned back on in 2 days. He was upset and I think also made him stay longer at the bar. I was just glad that it would be a little bit longer of peace and quiet (and darkness) before he came home and the storm began. He always has had a short fuse when it comes to simply handled matters. I had my shortfalls too though and we learned to live with each other in spite of these issues.

In the meantime, I decided I would clean out the shower from my bath and get rid of all the overstock shampoo, conditioner and body wash bottles. It was starting to look like we collected hygiene products for a living! I also needed room for the new products my mom gave me along with the candles. I opened the box she gave me to find lotions and shaving creams and more shampoos and conditioners and body wash and face masks. My mom must have been crazy giving all this away, but it would definitely get used up in this house in no time.

Finally, I here the car pull up and I get the sandwiches out of the fridge and on a plate so Chris can eat and get a shower as soon as he gets in the door. The faster he can get comfy, the faster I get to have peace and quiet again. Thankfully this time he wasn’t as upset about the electric being shut off as he was when our cable was shut off last month. You would have thought that the sun was turned off for nonpayment!

He grumbled the whole time he ate his sandwich and I tiptoed at the idea of him just getting a shower and going to bed since there would be no video games tonight. I also knew this meant there would be no getting out of sex. When there’s no power, no video games, sex is usually the next best thing on Chris’ mind. So off to the shower he went and grumbled and moaned about not wanting to deal with a candle and could find his own body parts in the dark well enough to wash them. I hear the water start to run and the zip of the shower curtain close. I think I may have heard the beginning of a hum as well.

My attention turned to the flicker of the candle in front of me and I thought about how my mind might be able to make the flame dance. Well, wouldn’t you know, my time of meditation was cut short by a scream and several explicatives followed by a wet naked soapy man standing in front of me. Did I mention, with no hair on his head?! Before I could even say anything I was doubled over laughing uncontrollably. The only thing I could think of is that he must have used the Nair hair remover as shampoo! What do you get when you mix no electric with multiple bottles of hygiene products? A pissed off, wet, hairless cranky man that you have to convince that the Mr. Clean look is still in fashion to.

It was a scorcher of a day; the dry sun was relentless since six am in the southern county of Dublin, Carolina.
In the dead center of town, one side of the boulevard was Suzanne's Sweet Bakery and Manny's Everything for a Dollar boutique, and yet across the street was a field that lead out into the horizon where you could see acres of rolling fields, with row upon row of Peach trees.
The favoured peach, it was Dublin's mascot. There was the May peach fair then folks lined up for the children’s Sunday Peach Festival every Sunday in September. Strangely though after October, Dublin County's population just about disappeared into their homes until spring, no one knows why.
Kate Leary was taking in the rich fields.
"Look at all those Peaches" Doug Hepper smiled proudly as he stopped in Kate’s path to comment on what sounded as if he owned the mass of pride and joy swaying in the distance.
Kate noticed a dark figure moving under the Peach trees miles away, skimming through the fields probably seeking refuge from the heat.
Kate smiled "I must be on my way, Have a great day!" Kate started up the busy boulevard towards her Aunts store and arrived 5 minutes later at the storefront window, a large dramatic peach drawn in the center with animated characters working to shine and protect it. It was friendly and welcoming, the kind children talk about when they walk by with their parents and hoping to stop in and see all the jars of different flavoured peaches.
Kate made her way inside the dimly lit store, a sweet warm aroma of toast and jam danced lightly through her nose.
"Morning Aunt Audrey how goes it?" Kate beamed as she saw her aunt.
"Good Morning child, bright as petals in spring, sit yourself down, I want you to try this new product." Her aunt chimed as she disappeared into the back room.
Kate propped herself up on one of the wooden stools routinely occupied by children hoping to try the fruits of Miss Tailor's labour but today the store was vacant and quiet. Audrey reappeared with some scones and a small jar of her latest creation. "Here you are Katie, its banana-peach honey spread"
Kate took a generous teaspoon onto one of the scones and took a bite, her tongue savoured the smooth banana with the tart peach mix, and it was a perfect blend and a hint of honey, not too sweet and not overpowering the other two flavours.
"Its magnificent Aunt Audrey, you have really out done yourself now! We better get to work on your finances so you can keep up with the demand."
Kate majored in Finance at Berkley and offered to help her Aunt out with some of the bookkeeping this summer. "Bean Counting" as her Aunt put it wasn't her area of expertise. It awestruck Kate how this small world away from the fast pace of bigger cities folks didn't need to do much multitasking here, everyone seemed to play an equal part in the daily life of Dublin County and it appeared to her that anything away from that would upset the natural balance of this place.
That night Kate retired to her Aunt's small bed and breakfast where she was occupying a guest room for the summer, as Kate prepared the shower she felt a strange rash on her arm, she inspected it further and realized that her the tiny hairs on her arm had mostly disappeared. She raised a foot atop the vanity and inspected her leg, stared in frighten amazement, her body hair had completely shed! Scouring the rest of her body she was grateful that in spite of most or all hair gone she still had the locks on her head. She decided to take her shower and inquire in the morning to her Aunt if something out of the ordinary would be contained in the ingredients of her latest jam that could have caused this. "It can't be" she thought frighten.
The next morning Kate awoke feeling rested and dazed, as if she slept for a week. She walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror in horror!
All of her hair, eyebrows were gone, she was completely hairless!
Kate grabbed her housecoat in a panic and ran down the stairs into the kitchen where she could smell her Aunt cooking breakfast, stopping dead in front of Audrey, Kate screamed,” Where is my hair?!" she frantically pulled up the sleeves of her house coat and demonstrated further with limbs outstretched her bare skin with no small soft protection covering her in any area of her body!
"Shhhh," her Aunt cooed "sit down here and stop raving like a lunatic, its not forever dear!" Audrey sounded as if this were a bad breakup that would pass in a few days, she certainly wasn't surprised at all about the news Kate displayed before her.
"Its the prick of the peach my dear, you see in Fall, the towns people all become bare, a secret ingredient ensures that when they lose their hair in the fall, they believe my jams hold the power to restore their hair follicles to normal by spring time. I needed to ensure that this latest batch works the same, so I required a visitor to try it out. Please don't be angry it’s my secret, and it’s kept me in business for 30 years! You know my dear Katie; this will all be yours one day."