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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 1:

( Edward John)

When Mark Willington has a signing, it’s as if the entire world stops. Jack Mears isn’t much of a fan, he read the first novel and thought the guy was a hack. A poor man’s Poe, something he proudly proclaimed to his wife, Martha.

Suffice to say: his wife wasn’t overly impressed with the comment.

Martha loved Mark Willington, she waited three hours outside the bookstore for the hack’s third novel to come out. Honey, have you ever heard of the internet? Nobody waits for books anymore. Did she listen? Nope. It’s not about the waiting, she said. It’s about the experience, meeting other fans, that sort of thing. Jack didn’t understand, it probably had something to do with him not being much of a reader.

He glanced at his watch, how long have I been standing here? It was 10:15 PM, so that had to put it in the four-hour range. He glanced down the line, people were still joining it.

He didn’t think they’d get the chance to meet the illusive Mark Willington. Not all the way back there you don’t.

Jack still couldn’t believe he was doing this, standing in line to meet an author he didn’t even like. Why was he doing it? Oh, yes, that’s right: honey, I’m going to be out of town that weekend. You wouldn’t mind going for me and getting it signed, Kelly down the street said she would faint if I got a Mark Willington signature. You will? Okay, thanks.

Martha informed him that he would only be waiting half an hour, an hour at the most. It was well past that now. The security guys seemed fed-up, working well past their shift had that effect. They’ll announce the events cancellation soon. Jack was certain it wasn’t going to go on much longer. No, surely not.

Hopefully not.

‘Don’t worry folks, I’m going to get you all in!' Mark Willington said this with his, as described by The Village Voice; wonderfully charming southern drawl.

He was returning from a toilet break, he had been up and down multiple times over the last hour and still hit out with the same catchphrase. ‘Don’t worry folks, I’m going to get you all in!’ The fans still returned it with a cheer.

He casually strutted down the long line of waiting people, in his baggy shirt and jeans, his designer hair flopped as he did so. Come on buddy, thought Jack. I want to get out of here before tomorrow morning.

Jack glanced at the book he was holding, ‘A Haunted Heath, a suspenseful novel by Mark Willington.’ ‘What a read!’ Stephen King bellowed this in a caption next to the blurb. The cover was straightforward; a haunted house with an ominous mist. A straightforward cover for a straightforward author, thought Jack.

Jack let out a sigh.

“It’s been quite a wait, hasn’t it?” Jack turned, the voice came from the well-dressed man standing behind him. The man ran a hand through his hair, “I wonder how long it’s going to take, do you have any idea?” Jack thought, next morning?

“Sorry, buddy. No idea.” Surprisingly, Jack had spent four hours in front and behind someone and hadn’t even thought of talking to them. The woman in front didn’t seem too friendly, an odd woman with a creepy smile, she couldn’t stop phoning someone. Jack stretched his hands, “I’m actually here for my wife, she’s a massive fan.”

The man nodded. “Sounds like a good husband to me.” Jack laughed. “Yeah, that’s something,” said the man. “I take it you’re not a fan?”

“Not really, I read the first one.” Jack was carrying the third. The first novel was a critically acclaimed modern classic by the name of ‘Elma’s House.’ A ‘suspenseful horror’, according to Variety.

Jack held the third up, “I think I got ten pages into this one and stopped.” It was the man’s turn to laugh, which he did.

That’s when it hit him. Jack needed to pee, badly. He thought about it, and lose my place in the line? Nope, you’re crazy to go to the toilet now. Jack folded his hands, how come that hack gets to go to the bathroom? He mentally threw insults towards Willington. Don’t think about it. Don’t think … ah, you’ve gone and thought about it, haven’t you?

Jack did. He needed to pee.

He turned to the man behind him, “Hey?”

The man nodded.

“What’s your name?”

The man seemed stumped for a second then he said it, “Jordan.”

Jack nodded, “Jordan, could you keep my place in the line?”

“Why? Got to take a leak?”


“No problem, man. The women behind, she did the same for me.” He smiled, his face seemed crooked. “Oh, forgot to ask, what’s your name?”


“Alright, Jack.”

With that, Jack left the line. Something he thought he’d never get the chance to do. Where was the toilet? Jack wasn’t sure, maybe he should have asked Jordan.

He looked around, this had to be one of the largest B&N's in the country! He eventually asked a store attendant who unenthusiastically told him. Jack made his way to the bathroom, at the back of the book store.

He didn’t feel right, he felt hot, he felt weird. He got into the cubicle and relived himself. He stood for a moment then heard the bathroom door swing open. He heard a faint whistle as the man waited by the taps.

Jack went out, Jordan was standing by the hand dryer. What the heck is he doing, who’s going to keep our place?

Jack moved towards him, he tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, man. You get someone to keep our place?” Jordan turned, his face was twisted, horrid.


He smiled, revealing a group of pincers. He whispered something, Jack couldn’t make it out. He said it again, “What’s the matter?”

He laughed, a horrid sound. He slammed a hand into Jack’s chest, sending him crashing back into the cubicle. Jack was out of breath, he couldn’t believe what had just happened, the hack's book was sprawled across the floor, Jordan kicked it to the side.

He went into the cubicle, leaning into Jacks ear, “Your days just got a whole lot worse, friend.” He smiled then planted his mouth onto Jack’s neck. Jack tried to break free but did a poor job of it, Jordan was surprisingly strong. He felt light headed, drunk almost. Minutes seemed to pass, Jack drifted off.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 2:

( HollyGolightly)

The swoon from the blood is always disarming but this was extra, Jordan is off-kilter too; a little unusual, perhaps his new friend had been drinking bourbon all day? Second-hand drunk is how he feels.

Out of habit, he looks in the mirror, it’s always a bit alarming to not see yourself. But this time he gets a dreadful fright; there’s another face peering out from within, it glimmers and bleeds and screams, something from Hell has it by the balls. And then it’s gone. He beats himself back out the door.

All better now, the key to mastering your fear is to be the most fearsome creature of all! Though he looks the part of fearful monster, Jordan is the kindest of all the living dead. He is unique in his unwillingness to kill, he leaves them nearly dead, never mostly dead.

If all goes well, someone will call 911 and someone else will have donated the right blood and Mr. Mears would be rushed to the hospital for a transfusion, he’d be right as rain in no time--almost certainly…. maybe.

Jordan never hangs around to see what happens to the not quite dead he leaves behind. It’s enough to him that he doesn’t kill, he can’t bear it; though he does like to frighten and he loves a good row with a bloke.

Jack’s sudden urge to take a whiz was his doing. Without understanding it Jack was terrified and nearly pissed himself right there in line, as something primitive in him recognized what the man speaking to him actually was. And Jordan looked right into the very thoughts of Mr. Mears’ mind and recognized who he was, what he knew.

Jordan magics himself right up to the front of the line, mesmerizing and magic are more exciting dark arts to him than flying. Flying outside of proper machinery still makes him dizzy, it’s a hard thing to master.

Mesmerizing made him feel like an honored guest. He parted the crowd like Moses did the seas. There were other undead creatures among them, the newbs: they were powerless in his wake, though not completely enthralled as the totally alive were, they were in awe of the magnificent power that walked among them.

It never got old, being the superstar of the undead, he does a bow and sweep, grabbing a lovely to his left, dipping in – just a nibble really, no harm done, looking for all the world like a nuzzle in a tango. Ah, how he loved being himself.

Mark Willington, the not very impressive writer with ghosts, stared slack-jawed at the creature. His teeth were clenched with nerves, his bowels were loose and he’s trying not to let go. His hand began writing of its own accord, signing one book after another: to Marsha, to Scott, to Sunny, to DJ and Spidey, to FlakeNoir and Edward John, to Gazman and Kurben, to niro and Tery, scads of them!

He signed “The Most Overrated Writer of the Century, M. Willington.” with a little heart over the “i” in both places.

Oh, here’s one more, to a gal named “Martha, Jack’s wife”. He couldn’t stop, it was beyond his control. And the strong, handsome, dashing, shimmery man gathered them all, gave him a wink, blew him a kiss; and BOOM--with that, he lost his grip. The stench was overpowering. Jordan got out of there post-haste, tossing Martha’s book to the lump that was Jack as he departed.

Foulest stench is in the air. Not an original thought--you can’t take credit for every good thing.

As he goes, so he knows: there will be a car waiting, there always is; he summons, they arrive. Morgan, a lovely undead creature, reminding him of his dear Vampire Lily, is behind the wheel. She knows without asking where he needs to go next. They arrive at the Historical Emporium.

“Yeah, so original boss, you’re going as Roland?” She throws her head back with laughter. “You will make a ridiculous Roland, too hairy, too dark and too toothy."

“I was thinking so, but you disagree? What else? Who else?” Jordan is worried now, his idea was not very original, but he wanted to be Roland. Everyone wants to be Roland. Roland was the coolest of the cool guys in King’s universe. “But I really want to be Roland,” he pouted.

“How about the Road Virus?” she suggests. As he opened her mind he saw himself as she first saw him, a powerfully fearsome dreadful thing of fangs and irresistible sickening charm.
The idea appeals to him. He’s suddenly excited! He was born to be the Road Virus. Would they guess? It would be so easy to disguise what he is if he goes as the Road Virus. He would be the Road Virus traveling West. He was heading to Dodge City for the final Kon, the last hurrah. He’d meet his friends, many of them for the first and last time. He’s bearing gifts, he’ll look devilish. He can hardly contain his excitement. He’s floating with it even, levitating without meaning to. He wills himself back into his seat.

“Yes, let’s go find a Grand Am and some motorcycle boots,” he agrees!

Jordan relaxes back into the deep cushions of the limo, Morgan will get them where they need to be. Oh wait! With a panic he realizes he’d nearly forgotten all about Maturin, where’s his beloved turtle?

“Relax, man. He’s right up here with me”. Morgan’s dark arts are improving rapidly.

Unable to hide his pride, he has to admit to himself, like a proud father, he makes perfect vampires. Not a rogue among them. And there, peaking over the headrest is his sweet pet Maturin, his companion of many years. His eyes are smiling, his manner peaceful. Jordan & Morgan roll on.

The Vampire Jordan looks out the window into the night, and the screaming demon from earlier is peering back at him; face sharp like a razor, blood shining brightly, the silent scream pleading , this thing was begging for his help.


Mark Willington sat feeling dejected in his soiled pants and wondered if anyone had noticed. He needed some fresh clothes, he needed a break from the table and he needed a drink. He sent a text to his assistant, Tara MacFarlane, who was outside having a smoke. “SOS”. (Some-One-$hit)

Tara MacFarlane was absolutely, no questions about it – Mark Willington’s number one fan. She had weaseled her way into his inner circle and gotten the job of following him around to do his bidding – whatever he needed, wherever he was – she was on it.

Swiftly she moved to the signing table. ”Ok people, let’s give the man a break! Move back – talk among yourselves, we’re having some refreshments delivered, we'll be right back.”

As Tara prepared to whisk Mark away, she spied a very disruptive scene through the large front windows. Those people, she thought. THOSE PEOPLE from that ridiculous SKMB, that so-called Ka-tet!
There was a large group of people gathered in the green space outside having some kind of social event.

Are they trying to distract the Mark Willington fans, steal his thunder? Those, those, those farging bastages!! She mentally spat toward the group.

Outside she could see Baby Blue and Nomik (NoMeeK) were dancing with lampshades on their heads. Mary Strickland accidentally tackled her own side-salad as she tripped over Marty Coslaw's chair. Robert Gray and Religiously Unkind were doing the bump. Connor B was the disc jockey with his iphone and speaker blasting "Disco Inferno." “Burn, baby BURN”!

Debbie 913 and Blonde Bombshell were teaching everyone how to do the hustle. Richard X was arguing that you can’t do the hustle to anything but the "Hustle." Grant87 was arguing back that you just have to “match the pace and do it MAN!”

Rrty, Agincourt Concierge, Aussie12, Gerald, Ariel Racing, Chris2-4, Recitador, and Deviancy were roller skating around the parking lot train style!

Ebdim9th was filming it all with his ancient camcorder.

“Nonsensical idiots!” Tara shouted at them through the window. I was right all along, she thought with a smirk.

She whisked Mark away to the locker room, calling the driver to bring Mark’s travel bag to her. Then she ordered several dozen Lard Lad’s Donuts delivered - pronto! She’d dispose of the foul smelling clothes, give Mark a nice scrub down, serve some donuts and sing the praises of her favorite writer of all time. No one would be making fun of Mark while she’s around. Even when he's lathered in his own feces, she still adored him.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 3:

( niro)

Jordan wasn’t in the mood to take care of the things that would have to be done, not now. He still felt the effects of being second hand drunk. With Morgan driving and his pet turtle now to his left, he wanted to take a nap.


Meanwhile Mark Willington was back signing his precious books. The lady who had been waiting in front of Jack was now getting her book signed. “I am your biggest fan!” she told Mark.

Mark shivered every time he heard a fan enthusiastically tell him that. He could not put a finger on why that was, it must have been a movie he had seen or a story he had read in the newspaper. He managed to smile and said “Thank you.” The lady was pleased as she finally left.

Now that Jack and Jordan were gone, Bill was the next in line. He was there for his husband Daniel and his Dad to get two books signed. He himself had read the books as well, he wasn’t a fan but it had been Mark’s books which had helped Daniel and his Dad to connect and had made last Thanksgiving manageable.

They had all been a bit stiff when they’d sat down with their coffee cups around the old nice wooden table. Mark's books and good old football had worked as an icebreaker. He was still thinking of this when suddenly he was the next in line. He didn’t talk much with Mark, it was a quick affair. He was just reaching for his books when he felt the sudden urge to go to the bathroom.

Bill had to ask for directions, as he entered he saw the body of the man whom had been in line in front of him right away. They had not talked so he did not know his name.

He immediately called 911. “I am at B&N, please send an ambulance. Somebody has attacked a guy at the Mark Willington book signing, there is blood on the floor!”

The dispatcher asked if the man was conscious or not, Bill told her that he wasn’t. Bill got down to the ground and tried to hear a heartbeat which was slow but thankfully there.

Fortunately the ambulance arrived quite quickly. As Bill spoke to a police officer a bit later, the signing was finally over.


Jordan had napped for a couple of hours and woke up to the sound of “Old Town Road”. He hummed along and was tapping on-beat with his index finger against his upper leg. He and Morgan didn’t have to speak out loud when they wanted to communicate at this stage of her transformation. She decided she could use a little break and something to nibble on, so they followed the billboards toward a small diner. Jordan found those places somehow charming.

It was an urban legend that vampires do not have to eat actual food, as from blood alone no one could survive. They sat down and he had a burger and fries, he saved the lettuce for Maturin. Morgan had some pancakes and coffee. They would have to travel further as they still were days away from Dodge City.

Morgan broke the silence because it always made other guests suspicious if two people were just sitting face to face and eating their meal without conversation. “You will need to face this demon problem of yours.” she said in a low tone. “It's becoming way more aggressive each time it manages to appear.”

Jordan knew she was right. There were a couple of methods to get the demon away but he did not like them. He would have to think about those and finally decide what to do.


Jack woke up and saw neon tubes over him. He thought, you’re at the hospital. He could not remember anything else after standing in line at the Mark Willington signing.

Now the door opened and Martha came in. She was happy to see him awake. Martha told him that he had been attacked but that the police believed the attacker had been disturbed and left him lying there.

The doctors had told her that he had needed blood transfusions. Martha fainted when they told her this as she’d had a weakness to blood and trauma since childhood. She couldn’t even bear to think about blood. While passed out, she missed hearing that her hubby had been bitten, she believed he had been stabbed and sadly because of this--only days later she herself would be dead.

Jack had felt dizzy so Martha left him to rest. He had been lying in hospital for two days, he could not go to the bathroom by himself, so Jack was happy to see a male nurse. He heard some noise on the hospital floor.

The voices Jack was hearing belonged to the nurses. Word got around that the attacker had bitten Jack and drank his blood just like a vampire. Maria and her co-worker Gabriella would try to get around doing their jobs and having to enter the patient’s room, “Better safe than sorry!” Maria had said.
Since Jack was otherwise healthy, he would probably leave the hospital in a couple days or so.


The officer investigating this case was just two days shy of retirement. Cases with tourists always got closed more easily.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 4:

( Sundrop)

Like many other SKMB members, the three volunteer moderators had made plans to meet up and travel together to the final Kon in Dodge City.
Tery had already picked up Flake at the airport, and they were off to meet DJ at Devil’s Coffin. The place was a really cool rock formation that looked a lot like a 17th century stone coffin with a lid attached.
They had planned to hike the trail up to the coffin, take some photos, stop for a nice dinner and then drive on to Vegas for a fun ladies’ weekend, before catching a flight to Dodge City on Monday.

They arrived at the location before DJ, and were walking around the parking area, reading some of the historical plaques that were posted.
Suddenly, from the distance, they heard the unmistakable noise of disco music. As they looked up, they saw a glowing bright pink object approaching at a high rate of speed.

Tery and Flake stood in surprised silence as they saw DJ drive up in a hot pink 1958 Plymouth Fury. She had restored it and tricked it out herself, complete with a blinged out vanity plate that read, ‘Dirty Pirate Hooker’ on the front. She had "Disco Inferno" blaring from the speakers as she pulled into the parking lot next to them.
“Well dang Deej,” Flake giggled, “we didn’t exactly expect you to come riding in on a giant pink flamingo”. The three of them had a good laugh, exchanged hugs all around, and set off for their hike to the Devil’s Coffin.

As they walked along the trail, they chatted about the Kon, and how they hoped to meet so many of the online community that had become much more like family over the years. They wondered how some of the folks would be live and in person, and if they could guess the identity of each person before learning their names.

They were so busy talking and planning, that they were startled to see a man sitting on the coffin as they approached.
He was barefoot, wearing ripped jeans and a Motley Crue t-shirt, sitting cross legged at what would be the foot of the coffin shaped stone.
All three girls thought simultaneously that he looked a lot like Nikki Sixx, but what would he be doing out here at a cheesy rural scenic tourist attraction?

The man smiled, and greeted them each by name; he gave each one a gift. To DJ, he gave a skull and crossbones signet ring; to Tery, he gave a smooth jasper stone; and he gave Flake a silver coin with a labyrinth etched into it. He told them to be ever watchful, and then he levitated in a circle and disappeared.

The girls walked in silence back to the parking area. As they approached the cars, DJ said she needed a drink, and opened the trunk of the pink flamingo to reveal a case of Sparkle Donkey Tequila. She had been saving it to share at the Kon, but under the circumstances, decided that she, Tery and Flake should go ahead and open a bottle now.

As they drank, they discussed their encounter with the man and the gifts he had given them, and puzzled over what it meant.
They decided to think on it and discuss it further after they had checked into their hotel in Vegas. They drove back into town, ate dinner and made plans for the Kon.
After parking Tery’s car in a paid lot, they loaded up in the pink flamingo and headed down the highway, with "Disco Duck" blaring from the cassette deck.

It wasn’t a long drive, and they arrived at their hotel at around midnight. The hotel was a grand spectacle called The Marsten, and was located right across the street from the MGM Grand. As they checked in, the clerk told them they had been upgraded to the penthouse suite.
They were surprised and thrilled. It was going to be a fabulous weekend, and the Kon was going to be so much fun. Right now though, they needed to figure out who the man was and what their gifts meant.


As Jordan and Morgan finished up their meal at the diner, Jordan still felt like something was way off. He was dizzy and off balance, which was very strange for him.
He signaled for the check, and when the waitress rang it up, she accidentally knocked a large jar of jellybeans off the counter. Jellybeans spilled out all over the floor, and Jordan felt a sudden compulsion to count each and every bean.
As he knelt to the floor, Morgan stopped him, saying that while she was sure they appreciated the help, the diner staff could sweep the jellybeans up in no time. She helped him to his feet, and ushered him out the door and into the car.
As Morgan drove, Jordan tried to gain his composure. He had never suffered arithmomania before, and he was thankful that Morgan had been there to save him the embarrassment.
Something wasn’t right with him, but he wasn’t sure what it was or how to fix it. Maybe he would ask Morgan to make a side trip to Vegas.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 5:

( FlakeNoir)

Heading toward retirement can be a daunting experience for any career-driven person and was certainly no different for Detective Sergeant Shannon Ghost of the Salem, MA Police Dept.
The thought of leaving his team made him feel sick inside and he knew the best he could hope for in those last days was that he’d be able to clear out current files before his final shift.
No police officer gets away without at least a few cases that won’t leave them alone, but minimising these is what good police-work is all about.
Shannon knew this latest case was going to be a bastard.

The assault victim, “Jack Mears” had been bitten and had lost a lot of blood. A lot, of blood.
And yet the scene ‘…in which the victim has not been moved…’ showed very little blood loss. Shannon scratched his head uncomfortably. Well it went somewhere, he thought scanning the report.
“Uh”, he said turning to the next page.
‘Victim #2 is Martha Mears, 34 years – female. Bitten by husband Jack Mears in their family home, bled out at the scene.’

“Holy shiit.”

Shannon poured another mug of coffee, he lifted the photograph of his lovely wife and sons from his desk and silently wished he’d retired the year before.


Marsha DeFilippo formerly known as “The Kelly Girl” had been working with Stephen King since Adam was in diapers. She was the envy of his vast fan-base and the recipient of the most, at times bizarre questions:

“Boxers or briefs?”
“Can I get a tour through his kitchen?”
“Will he sign my mother’s second cousin’s (twice removed) brothers’ best friend’s dog breeder’s black and white photograph?”
“Can you get me some of his belly-button lint?”

She’d just smile through it all click-clacking out her replies while simultaneously answering phone calls, booking flights and accommodation for book tours, arranging interviews, oh and one or two billion other tasks of varying degrees.
Stephen knew what he had in his Marsha and he planned to hang on to her for as long as could.

Yes retirement can be daunting for some, for others it can call like a tantalising aroma drifting down a long hallway; picking up the richness of each delicacy it touches along its path.

While Marsha was excited for the next phase of her life, she knew as with any transformation there would be sorrows in parting.
She would miss working with Stephen and Jordan, as they had become a tight team. Together she and Jordan ran the Website, while Jordan thankfully dealt with other social media, he was perfect for the job; a tough ass when he needed to be, but hugely bright and very professional.
The website and message board had been running for many years and people would come and go. There was a regular core group that hung out almost every day, it was part of their daily routine and Marsha would miss this group a lot.
She was thankful then for the upcoming Kon in Dodge City, it would be wonderful to be finally putting faces to beloved names after all these years.


Gliding over the other side of Devil’s Coffin the barefooted middle-aged man was pleased with himself. The girls hadn’t guessed his true identity at all. He supposed that not using your real name on a message board had its perks. You can’t Google someone that doesn’t really exist.
The SKMB people knew him as Out of Order, or more recently Triple O, he was somewhat of an enigma; he came and went without warning, would often be gone for long periods. But once returned it was like he’d never been away.

Triple O suspected that the gifts he’d passed on to the moderators were going to cause quite a ripple once the Kon was underway. He had received his orders from the very top and though fearful of the consequences of betrayal, he was just curious enough to have held one object back.
It was meant for Marsha, but by golly it sparkled and glowed and fully held him enthralled… and if he turned it just so and inhaled, it smelled very much like his favourite beer!
Triple O closed his eyes and put the small jar of coloured beads into his right front pocket. He looked back at the girls once more and then disappeared over the hill.


Morgan glanced back over her shoulder. Jordan was snoring, good she thought. Road trips always made her hungry and diner food never quite left her feeling full. She hummed quietly as she drove, eyes on the road ahead.

As Morgan pulled around a bend she saw someone standing in the gravel with his thumb stuck out, it was a young man--looked to be around 19—he had blonde shoulder-length hair and a wide smile. Morgan flicked on the indicator and pulled over.

“Where are you headed, kiddo? “ She said with an easy grin.

“Where ya going?” Replied the young man.

“Dodge City eventually, side-trip to Vegas first.”

“Sweet! Dodge it is!” He said and walked toward the trunk with his bag. As he passed the back window of the limo he tried to peer in, the tinted glass blocked his view, he shrugged his shoulders and thought: Ah whatever mate, she looks pretty normal to me!

Morgan stepped out of the car, scanned up and down the road for other traffic and opened the trunk for his bag.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“You can call me Cappy.” He said.

Morgan’s eyes widened slightly. Whoa! She thought. I know this kid! It’s CriticAndProud from the message board!
She’d been very good friends with him for a long time. Thinking on her feet, she wonders: Would a loved-one's blood taste sweeter?

“Okay, Cappy it is!” Morgan licked her lips and took his bag.

Cappy moved up next to the front passenger door, looking in the reflection of the glass he saw the weirdest thing. A bright red fountain began to spurt from an open wound on the side of his neck! He became aware of sudden pain and nausea, sharp and strangely (thrilling?!) exhilarating.
You sick f’k, he thought as his gorge rose up and he blew chunks all over the side of the black car. Turning, he began to fall, he was surprised to see that the car’s driver was attached to the side his neck and face!

Huh? What the hell?! He thought, as he began slipping down toward the blackest of nights.

On seeing The Captser's vomit fly across the side of her beloved car, Morgan immediately threw-up in unison. She hated vomiting, it was the worst feeling in the world to her and as strange as it may be (considering her diet) she had a very weak stomach.

“Brat!” She spat out at Cappy’s lifeless corpse as she dragged him by the ankles toward the trunk of her car.

“Make me puke, will you?" She heaved him up and dumped him into the trunk.

"You’re off my Christmas-card list now, boy.” She slammed down the lid and strode back to the driver's door.

Driving on, Morgan gave Jordan the side eye. Still sleeping. Good, she thought. Some things are better kept private.


Vegas was a stronghold for the undead. Plagued by increasingly-frequent visitations from his personal demon, Jordan suspects he knows why:
It’s very hard to be the vampire that doesn’t like to kill. Sure he enjoys playing with his food from time to time, but killing just makes his stomach turn. It becomes a bit embarrassing though when you get together with the boys around the campfire.
And this last feed had left him feeling so out of place, he wonders if he’s beginning to lose the taste for blood?!

Morgan pulled the car over. She nodded toward Maturin, "I'll keep him company while you're gone."

"Yeah, okay thanks." Jordan was disappointed to hear his voice waver. He was a big man. A strong man. He didn't like feeling out of control.

He exited the vehicle and headed into the ‘Walking Dude’, an upmarket bar situated on Las Vegas Boulevard. He made his way slowly up the winding staircase and prepared to speak with his mentor, Bev Vincent.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 6:


Jordan opens the door and sees Bev Vincent sitting in a chair with a pint of beer in front of him. He looks really comfortable and Jordan is relieved to see him. He needs some advice about his problems when a voice starts screaming inside his head: ”Kill! Kill! Kill” it says.
He tries to resist but feels an irresistible urge to obey it overwhelm him. He doesn’t want to kill Bev, or anyone else for that matter, but what he wants and what he must do are two very different things.
It feels like he is looking at himself from above. Jordan moves close to Bev who is smiling a welcome and then suddenly Jordan’s teeth are deep inside Bev’s neck.
Bev’s hand struck out but only hits his pint of beer that falls to the floor and mixes itself with his lifeblood. Jordan goes on sucking until Bev is completely lifeless.
Then he comes to himself with a start. ”What have I done?” he asks himself rhetorically.

Looking down once more on his friend he sees that he is now just another corpse. Rushing down the stairs Jordan passes three women going up. One of them turns around and shouts something after him, but he is too disturbed to listen. He throws himself into the car making Morgan jump.

”Hey, what’s the matter?” Morgan asks.

”I just killed Bev!”

”Killed! You’re kidding?”

”I wish I was. I tell you I drained him completely. It was like I couldn’t control myself, like something just possessed me for a while.”

”He is really dead? Not just wounded?”

”Dead as a door-nail. I left hardly a drop. I have never sucked someone dry before. It was me but still not me if you see what I mean?”

”I think I do, a kind of Jekyll and Hyde thing? Never heard about it among Vampires before.”

”Exactly! And regardless of what you’ve heard of before we need to get away from here. Police can’t be too far away!”

”OK, where to?”

”Dodge. And as few stops as possible. We don’t want a repeat of this”.

”Right. I’ll take the I-40, it’s quickest way. We don’t want to miss the Kon.”

With that she shifted the car out of park and headed towards the I-40 entrance.


Dana Jean, Tery and Flake were going up the stairs where they had booked a meeting with their old friend Bev Vincent. Flake had never met him and was a little excited. She had read some of his stories and liked them. Dana Jean and Tery had met him before and Dana Jean had arranged the meeting. She thought that would be a nice surprise for Flake.
On the way up they were almost run over by a man who nearly fell down the stairs, he was going that fast. Dana Jean swung round and shouted at him but she was also fairly sure it was Jordan!

But it couldn’t be, could it? Not here in Vegas. He should be on the way to the Kon by now.
She shrugged it off and continued up the stairs. Flake, in her eager way, was first through the door. She had her head turned to say something to Tery, when Tery screamed.

Flake looked forward and saw what she supposed was Bev Vincent laying on the floor in a puddle of beer and blood. She was convinced that it was a fake that Dana Jean had arranged for her. Dana Jean’s sense of humor was a little strange sometimes. Sinking down on her knees beside the man, Dana Jean took his pulse.

”He is dead.” she said in a flat no-nonsense voice.

”Dead? But he can’t be, I mean…” Tery’s voice silenced and turned to small sobs.

Meantime Flake had confirmed Dana Jean’s opinion. This was no joke. This was real. In a faraway part of her brain she thought this is what happens when you go to the States, you stumble over dead bodies. Flake’s sense of humor was also a little strange sometimes.

”Shouldn’t we call the cops?” Flake said.

”You know that guy we met on the stairs?” said Dana Jean. Nods from the other two. ”I think that was Jordan. But what he’s doing in Vegas, I don’t know.”

”Jordan? But Jordan can’t have done this. He is the kindest guy!” Tery said.

”I know. But Bev hasn’t been dead long and if we call the cops we’ll have to tell them and then they will chase him. And he was in a hurry when we met him.”

”Jordan? You mean our Jordan from the board?!” asked Flake.

”Yes, I want to talk with him before we call the cops. He is family. He is part of the Ka-Tet.”
The others nodded again. Whatever happened Ka-Tet was a bond between them across all borders and rules. They left the room and headed for the exit.

Half an hour later they had collected their cars and decided on a course of action. They would skip Vegas this night, never-mind their hotel bookings. Dana Jean had a radar device that you could listen in to the police radio on. When asked by Flake what she needed it for, Dana Jean had answered, “Don’t you know I’m a Dirty Pirate Hooker?" They had all laughed about that.

Bev’s body had been discovered by a waiter just a few minutes after they’d left. Across the police radio they heard that three women were sought for questioning, included was a vague description of their appearance. Jordan wasn’t mentioned.
The cops would be at the hotels so they decided to take the I-40 towards Dodge. They would meet Jordan there or along the way.

Flake chose the backseat in DJ’s car because she just had to sleep a few hours. This is great Flake thought sleepily; I have hardly landed on American soil and am already a fugitive from justice, only in America. With that thought, she fell asleep.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 7:

(Tery )

Dodge City was still slumbering under the stars as Dana Jean, Flake and Tery sat on the hood of the Fury. Having the extra day had enabled them to drive through Utah and Colorado, reaching Dodge just before dawn. They decided to do a bit of star-gazing with the extra time. The encounter with Triple O had faded but the items he'd given them were still in their pockets.

The last strains of "The Garden" were fading out as they silently observed the Milky Way. The choice of music had been Tery's and she sang along softly as Geddy Lee's tenor faded away. "It's a measure of a life..."

DJ slid off the Fury's hood. "I don't know about you ladies but I'm hungry."

Flake stood up, "I could eat."

With a sigh and a final refrain Tery joined them. "I think I saw a Denny's sign down there."


On the southern end of town, Morgan guided the limo into the sleeping streets as Jordan snored in the back seat. The drive up had been alternately breathtaking (New Mexico) and boring (the Oklahoma panhandle) and she was ready to catch some well-earned zees. Since they wouldn't be able to check into the Marriott for several hours, she pulled the limo in at Wright Park, killed the engine and fell into a deep sleep.


Over at the Dodge City Regional Airport flights began arriving from across the country. SKMB Tet were literally descending on the town. The place where the Wild West was personified, where legends were born and died, would never know what hit it. The Dodge City Marriot was now the epicenter of Mid-World. Sitting as it did on a joint between the worlds, GNT's choice seemed much more than a whim. Other forces were at work here.


That afternoon, the tet-mates greeted one another as they filled the small, yet ornate ballroom. The elegant room featured crystal chandeliers above and large, gilded mirrors along its walls. Reflected in them were the joyous meetings of friends long known but never seen.

Spidey squealed with glee as Tery, MadamMack, Beta Dana, Jo Noonan and Tommy met her and her daughter with bear hugs. Doc, neesy, Ghost and Tina were chatting at a table while Anni kept Cola in the loop via Facebook. Edward John, niro, and Sundrop joined Dana Jean at the door as they tried to match faces with names as people entered the room. HollyGolightly and Gazman were Face-Timing with Kurben about getting a story together for the Weekend Playground, the founder of which was Skyping with skimom2, fushingfeef and Marsha. Frank was picking Ms. Mod's brain about running a message board. Over at the open bar, fljoe0 joked with Drawn to Ka-tet as Di0 scanned the room for stray conservatives while in a heated discussion with PatintheHat.
Staro, Kingricefan, Pegasus and Swiftdog were dancing to Hoss and EFlat's impromptu guitar concert as Mrs. Smeej sat at a table writing a poem about the whole thing. Delighted shouts and laughter filled the air as the Mid-World Ka-tet drew together.

It was Dana Jean who alerted the crowd when she looked down the hall. "Jordan's coming!" Everyone gathered excitedly near the door. Jordan and Morgan were here.

Jordan entered with a big grin, stopping a few feet inside the door. When the group gasped, however, his expression changed. He saw the mirrors too late. Morgan did not. She gestured frantically for Jordan to come back to the door while they could still blame it on a trick of the light. The tableau was frozen for a long moment: Jordan with no reflection and the Tet doing the math. Finally Flake spoke up.

"How long you been a vamp, then?"

Jordan had no time to answer. He turned slowly to see the mirror. A demon was climbing out of it.

"Oh, shiit." Morgan murmured.

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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 8:

(Dana Jean)

Mal’s Buzzballz exploded. While he stood there and dripped “sweet apple with a fiery kick of cinnamon rum,” the temperature dropped and the guests stood stock-still.

The demon extracted himself from the mirror followed by a tall lanky guy. This second man moved so close to the demon that his face stayed hidden and obscured.
“You.” Jordan said with disbelief. “You’re sh*tting me, right? Pun intended, because I left you sitting in a puddle of poo!”

Mark Willington forced a smile. “Look. This is the third book signing you’ve come to where I’ve sh*t my pants, and I’m done. I tried to scare you off with the reflections. You saw me, but refused to believe. You just couldn't back off! Now it's come to this." He rolls his eyes in disgust.
"The publicity is wearing thin and I’m looking bad. The fans used to bring me gifts of t-shirts and drawings, now they bring me adult diapers.”

Behind Mark, the mirror bulged and shimmered again. Through the looking glass came the oddest of couples. Pushing a wheelchair that held Bev Vincent’s corpse, Triple O/Nikki Sixx made the scene. He needed to give Marsha that jar of colourful, beer-smelling beads, but they would remain in his possession. He was swapping out Bev’s absconded body in their place. Surely the quartet could use his remains instead, along with the ring, the rock and the ruble. The 4 r’s of Demon and Vampire maintenance.
"Here you go guys." he said, releasing the wheelchair. "Time spent working is one less beer, I'm outta here!"
Fulfilling his duty, Triple O/Nikki Sixx spun like a teacup, bid everyone a "Toodleoo!" and blinked out like a fly in a zapper.

Marsha jostled forward and gave Bev a strong hug. “Why are you in a wheelchair? And my! You’re so cold! Love the toe tag babe, so fun! How was your trip? Did you bring books to sell? Never mind with the questions, we need to get moving. Robin, Glenn and maybe Richard (who always says he’ll come and never does) are waiting for us! We’ll be back people!”
With all that said rapid-fire, Marsha didn't wait for any answers or replies. She grabbed the handles of the chair, spun Bev around and headed out.
No one seemed to notice Bev’s lack of animation. He’d always been a reserved, scholarly man of few words. He’d get through the working lunch without having to move a muscle, eat a bite or make a sound.

Mark Willington swelled like a puffer fish and presented himself to the crowd. His parasitic friend peeled away long enough to give everyone a clear view.
They giggled! They cheered! Hugs, tears, high-fives! Stephen King was in da houzzze! But, the noise and exuberance died quickly.
Something wasn’t quite right. Dimwitted and drooling, his thin arms snatched the air. A jerk here, a lunge there.

Mr. Willington turned on the crowd, “Give it a rest you number one nerds! He’s just a face for the brand.
I, ME, Mark Willington wrote all those books you love so much! Not this guy! I gave you Carrie! The Stand! The Institute! And yes. Even your precious gunslinger was my creation! While you hounded, groveled, criticized and adored this numbnutz, (flicking his thumb in SK’s direction) I lived a life free of you! Filthy rich and free! He is, was and always will be the Ratso Rizzo to my Joe Buck; the Renfield to my Dracula.

Jordan’s mouth was so dry, his lip curled up and stuck to his fangs revealing how badly he needed Invisalign. With an outstretched arm he slowly swept up Morgan and they took small shuffles backwards out of the room as Mark Willington filled the space.
It took Maturin two hours to make it to the ballroom from the limo and with one well-placed step, Jordan accidentally kicked him to room 237.

“I am your God!” Mark Willington continued. "There is fame; and then there is FAME. Being mid-level Mark Willington gave me just enough adoration. But now? I want that Stephen King mojo, MY mojo. I’m old and I come to bathe in your glory. Time is short and my needs are many. I need it all!"

Ceefor walked up to him, “Welcome!” “Happy Birthday!” Mark Willington shoved her in the face, hard.

Dana Jean weaved through a gauntlet of Kon members to stand face-to-face with Stephen King. “Say it ain’t so, Steve. Say it ain’t so.” And with that, her heart gave out and she sagged to the ground pissing herself all the way down. Dead. Stephen’s head listed to the side like a sad old dog and took her in. And then he slowly bent down, gently lifted her face and licked the fly off her eyeball. “Yum.”
He spied the skull and crossbones ring. “Purty.” And he pried it from her limp hand and slipped it onto his own finger. He changed. It was a small unnoticeable thing, but it was the seed.

The grumbling started low. “What? Wha? Huh?” Gallina sputtered grabbing Distance 87's hand.

“Did that guy just say he wrote all those books?" Alexandra M. asked, scrunching up Urrutiap's collar in a rough fury, pulling him close to her face.

“I’ll Misery his ass,” Scratch said.

And then,




The earth rumbled and the 1970's orange peel-and-stick tiles started popping! The Marriott ballroom in greater downtown Dodge split. Smoke spun and sparks whirled from an ever-widening chasm. A portrait of Jesse James painted by César Hernández-Meraz ripped down the middle, jagged and ugly.
Her mouth stretched open in a silent scream, the painting crashed down and punctured Doyou’s uvula and she bolted, tripping over Notaro’s bunions.
Losing control, their arms and legs independently spazzed, weaving them together in an award-winning Bimini twist. Thekidd12 and mjs helped themselves to the knot champion’s forgotten scallops.

In the back of the room, Grandpa sat like a lone wolf, taking it all in. He whipped out his notebook and started jotting down his observations.
Because this is what he did.

He had documented his climb up the longest armpit hair on the largest Buddha in China; he’d shared remembrances when he dated a yak in Mongolia with the approval of his long-suffering wife back in Colorado; he reported his attempt to rescue a tribe of pygmies in Gabon when surrounded by a herd of wild warthogs on the summit of a recently discovered volcano. Grandpa pygmy-tossed every man woman and child into the crater, realizing too late it was active. The pygmies shot back out like red-hot cannon balls, raining down on the warthogs with explosive, fiery results. Right here and now, he would faithfully record this moment in history.

The ballroom and the people in it detonated! It wasn’t the Demon’s doing. It was the uncontrollable rage of Fandom. Hell hath no fury like a Stephen King Fan. The Sparkle Donkey tilted. Bodies ran, fire raged, screams and chaos! Blood and rock and debris and clouds of poisonous gases filled the area!
Lightning bolts shot through the charged atmosphere, one hitting Kingfamilyfan between her eyes. The pain was exquisite, but it restored perfect sight. She did a fist-pump and a victory leap and fell through a window onto the hotel’s front lawn where she lay with two broken ankles.

From the trench, a creature's hand stretched skyward clutching Tery’s Achilles heel, pulling her into the pit. Flakers, ever vigilant, kept her head while those about her were losing theirs. She vaulted over the rolling severed noggins of WayoftheRedPanda, HedlessChickn and Wolfphoenix.
She grabbed a tablecloth, two swizzle sticks, a crouton, Grin Willard's toupee and the stick of dynamite she always carried in her purse and with quick, steady hands, fashioned a grenade.
Flake handed the device off to Tery who shoved it into the creature's chest throwing the beast off balance just enough to extract her foot from its clutches. She then crawled back up out of the abyss and lay on the dance floor staring at the fireworks above. Not paying the slightest bit of attention, en masse, doowopgirl, GeorgieFan2003, Tiny, The Nameless, Cowboy and Lily Sawyer twerked and Conga-ed their way over Tery's massive bosom into the explosion.

A side door opened and CoriSCapnSkip entered wearing a Martian-green t-shirt with "2020 Ray Bradbury Kon" printed loud and proud on the front. She assessed the situation and went to call a handyman.

Detective Ghost got his Kon lead from Muskrat and Carrie’s younger brother back at the Salem, MA police department. They were jailed for Failure to Appear. He followed their clues to Dodge and now all his skills were needed. He managed to get himself to the perimeter drawing his AK-47 semi-automatic with
power steering.
He took a bead on that Willington douche, but rolled his ankle and fell into the salad bar where he gashed his cheek on the sneeze shield; sunflower seeds stuck to the side of his face like pock marks. Realizing no one had his 6, 7 or 8, he decided to stay down and roll his way outta Dodge.

At this moment, Arista, one bad-ass warrior, let out a battle cry. She sprang onto the table and grabbed the chandelier screaming, “I have fought cancer and won you mutha’, and now I’m going to kick your ass!” With a banshee screech, she swung her body forward. The Demon Mark Willington stepped with ease to the side and Arista swung past, twisting her hip bone into the mirror. She let out an "oof!" and swung back to her starting point.
Like a pendulum losing steam, back and forth, her arc slowed and she came to a dead stop. “Never mind.” Arista said. “I meant to do this.” And out of stubbornness, she remained hanging in hopes no one would really notice.

Unfortunately for her, two someones had. Jacobtlong and AnnaMarie applauded her effort right before a significant chunk of ceiling fell, smashing them face down into their bowls of gloop.

Crawling on all fours at the back of the room, kellieblue, Lepplady, riot87, leif and prufrock21 moved through the torn-up landscape towards the broken window. In quick succession, they scrabbled out through the opening, each piling onto the prone and groaning Kingfamilyfan, breaking her ribs.

Joining their hands, SusanNorton, Sheemie, Steffen, Jojo, notebookgirl, Charms7, Hill Lover35, Rudiroo, Shoesalesman, Terry B. and Mr. Nobody all focused their gaze on the mirror and together they chanted, “Willington, Willington Willington.” Nothing happened.
Except, while rolling his way out of the banquet hall into retirement, Detective Ghost’s big toe somehow slipped his shoe and got tangled up with the AK's trigger spraying the group of chanters with lead, killing them all.

Scott saw the carnage and taking a football tackle-stance, he charged full steam across the room, gathering Kingricefan, Gazman and scooping Shannon Ghost up by his waistband into a man-meat huddle, saving the bromance.

Jordan and Morgan fled. Stephen King gnawed on a grasshopper. Mark Willington sneered. Bev Vincent--Dead. The ka-tet imploded. And Grandpa saw it all.
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Dana Jean

Dirty Pirate Hooker, The Return
Apr 11, 2006
The High Seas
Chapter 9:

(Gazman )

Jordan dashed from the ballroom, dragging a mewling Morgan behind him.

“Madness!” he cried, “How did I not see it? How did I not sense it? A Demon with a pull that strong!”

Morgan offered no reply, Jordan wasn’t expecting one.

Thoughts tumbled through Jordan’s mind, everything happened so fast, Tet members, friends for years gone in an instant. He had to do something, all this Dark power and his first reaction was to flee.

He grabbed Morgan tighter, eyed what looked like a utility room and hit it shoulder first mid stride. It flew open scattering bottles and containers to the corners of the small room.

Morgan was still useless, he focused on her mind and seized it. Shouting at her in the mind speak that they had become accustomed to. “MORGAN, I need you."

The effect was instantaneous. Her head whipped around, her eyes narrowed.

“Jordan! What the hell happened to everybody? Did you see all the crazy shiit that was happening? People swinging on chandeliers, AK-47’s, jiving into bottomless pits, bodies and chaos everywhere." Her voice wavered, “And look what he’s done to King!”

Jordan eased his grip on Morgan’s shoulder, “We need a plan and we need it quick.” he whispered. “That thing wearing a writer’s skin will be looking for us.”


Willington stood in the middle of the ballroom, eyes closed, chin up, basking in what remained of the last King Con.

The Ring of Maleficarum worked better than he could have imagined, the old text attributed the mass hysteria in Salem to the power of the ring, he was skeptical but the proof was all around him.

He was old, but had no intention of seeing what awaited him on the other side of life. This was what he needed, years he had stoked the fires of fanaticism to create this situation. Now all he had to do was draw the souls from the surrounding carnage to rejuvenate his life force. He’d clean up here then find that Vampire, his soul was worth 100 others.

He scanned the large ballroom for survivors and began to hunt.


After the explosion Tery and Flake had retreated to a dark corner of the ballroom. Hid behind an overturned table they cautiously took in the scene. Bodies were strewn across the floor, Tet mates gone before they ever got to know them. They could hear sobs, moans and groans all around them.

“Poor DJ,” Tery said with a whimper, "did you see what happened when Stephen put on that ring?” She reached into her pocket and took out the gift that she had received, a smooth Jasper stone.

Flake rummaged for her gift too. “We never should have trusted that cheap Nikki Sixx rip-off.” she said as she flipped the old silver coin in her hand. “If these have similar powers maybe we can use them to our advantage.”

Flake saw some movement out of the corner of her eye. Further down the long room she noticed a small group of people huddled behind a large curtain. It was Scott, Gazman and Kingricefan with that cop.
Tery’s hand shot across her vision pointing at something, it was Willington, he seemed to be three feet taller than he was before, Stephen skulked behind him. Willington had noticed the curtain moving and was stalking towards it. Without thinking they both let out a scream, “SCOTT, WATCH OUT!”

Scott looked directly at Tery and Flake and peeked around the curtain. He motioned to Ghost to move to the other end of the curtain. They both picked up a chair and seemed poised to make a move.
They burst from behind the curtain and went straight for Willington. Ghost raised the chair and smashed it directly into the demon’s face. He barely flinched.
Scott reached him a second later, Willington whipped out his right leg at an unnatural speed and kicked Scott in the chest, he flew twenty feet and crashed into a pile of tables. Willington grabbed Ghost by the neck, lifted and squeezed, his eyes blazed blue as Ghost slumped in his grip.

Flake and Tery both gasped as Willington seemed to change again. He dropped Ghost to the floor and surveyed the room.

“This is your fate,” his voice boomed, “come to me now or you will all suffer.”

Slowly, Tet members began to slink from their hiding places and make their way to the front of the room.

Tery offered Flake her hand and she took it. She wished she could be out of this god forsaken ballroom. Suddenly, the jasper stone heated up in her palm, the room pulsed and her vision went black.

When it returned she and Flake were in the corridor outside the ballroom. Tery looked at the jasper stone in her palm and saw a fine crack right through the middle. Finally, she thought, something going our way.

“I’m judging by the way you appeared out of thin air that you have the stone.” Tery and Flake jumped at Marsha’s voice. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, flanked by Jordan and Morgan.

“Do you also have the coin?” Flake nodded and hesitantly handed the coin to Marsha.

Marsha turned to Jordan, “The coin and the stone will help but Bev was gone too long, there were only loose threads of his soul’s essence remaining, I hope the coin and stone will be enough.”

Marsha sounded confident but Jordan had known her a long time, she was worried, that damn demon had made him take Bev’s life too soon, his sacrifice may have been for nothing.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, “We have to make it work.”

She lifted her chin and straightened her back, “We need to end this Jordan, you know what to do?”

He nodded and headed for the door of the ballroom with Morgan in tow.

Even though he was a vampire, Jordan had seen it all now -- Marsha, a witch!

When he and Morgan had bumped into her, she knew exactly what had to be done.

Jordan paused outside the ballroom, looked at Morgan then threw open the doors.

Willington looked up at the intrusion, “Jordan, how nice of you to join us." He was in the middle of the ballroom, the remaining Tet members kneeling in a long line spread out in front of him.

He had already drained a number of them. Jordan could see he was out of time. He reached for the darkness inside him and embraced it.
Large fangs protruded from his mouth, his fingernails grew long and pointed.

“Leave them be.” he growled.

“Make me.” Willington mocked.

Jordan drew on every fibre in his supernatural being and pounced.

Willington didn’t even move. Jordan’s right arm punched through Willington’s chest, bursting out his back. Willington looked down, grabbed Jordan’s arm and twisted.
Jordan let out a guttural howl as Willington ripped his arm from its socket. Willington leaned in close meeting Jordan’s eyes, “That’s all you’ve got? Pathetic."

Jordan smiled, “I was just the distraction."

The room pulsed again and the last remaining lights flickered, instantly Marsha was behind Willington, she slammed the silver coin into the base of his neck whispering an ancient Greek curse. The coin slid into his skin and disappeared.

Willington’s eyes glazed as he dropped to his knees.

Morgan rushed over to help Jordan up, “What will happen to him now?” Morgan asked.

“The coin will keep him trapped in his own mind; he won’t be bothering us anymore.” Marsha replied.

The remaining Tet members came to their senses helping each other up and gathered around Marsha, Jordan and Morgan. Someone helped a disorientated Stephen King into the group.

“What now?” Someone in the back asked.

Jordan, holding his bloody stump spoke up so they all could hear, “Well, my plan, before everything kicked off was to offer all of you a chance to become like me so the Tet could live on through the ages."

“I don’t see why that has to change, anyone interested?”

Jordan saw the glint in the Tet’s eyes and thought that maybe this wouldn’t be the last KCon after all.


Marsha read the last line. A smile crept across her face as she turned the page.

She looked up from the loosely bound collection of pages she had been studying for the last 30 minutes.

“What do you think?” he asked. The smile continued to creep as she looked at the man for whom she had worked for so long.

“Stephen, this is great, wait till I tell everyone on the board about this. They’ll go crazy." She turned the manuscript over and looked at the first page. There it was, half way down the sheet, the title of Stephen's newest short story: “The Biggest Con."

She looked at the dedication on the second page again and read it aloud.

“To all of my most constant readers on the SK message board, I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, thank you for your support and entertainment over the years. (I logged in once a week, mainly for Hot Topics.)

I fled across the literary desert and like the gunslinger, you all followed.
The board's Ka-Tet will always live on....S.K.”

“Too brief?” he asked.

“Just perfect.” she replied, “I’ll try to get some copies printed before the Kon.”

“Great idea," he said pushing himself out of his chair, “don’t forget to book me a flight too, I think I’ll come along, that’ll shake things up a bit.”

He was out of Marsha’s office before she could even reply. She couldn’t believe it; wait till she dropped that bomb in the Cantina. She spun round in her chair and powered up her computer.

She was about to log in when Stephen stuck his head back in through the doorway, “Might as well book them in for a kitchen tour while you’re at it, I’m feeling generous.” he said with a grin.

Laughing out loud she thought, Better get onto Jordan, this could break the message board.

The End​

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