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DOOM MAGNETIC!! - CHAPTER SEVEN:
DOOM CONTROL
William Pauley III
Maundin wasn’t ready for the light, but it was ready for him. The sand grew hot and it was beginning to fry his skin, and even though the sun’s rays were whipping mercilessly at his flesh, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being frozen down deep inside, like a microwaved burrito. When he finally opened his eyes—sunlight burning, morning blurry—he noticed a giant purple cloud polluting an otherwise clear blue sky. When his eyes adjusted, the purple cloud became a face, but only for a moment, then it was gone completely.
Maundin pulled himself to his feet, not bothering to shake the dust from his clothing. Memories of the flaming cactus played like a broken reel inside his head. Was it real? Had I just imagined it? Thoughts were forming so quickly that his brain suddenly felt crowded. He envisioned his thoughts melting from the friction, leaking out his ears in the form of hot goo, dripping down and making a mess of his shoulders.
The purple cloud curiously reformed and dissolved again, as quick as a blink, right in front of his tired bloodshot eyes. He cracked his fingers and readied himself to draw his gun from its holster, strapped loosely around his waist.
“Alright, you fuckin’ devil,” he shouted, “Go on. Show yerself.”
The purple cloud continued to pulse in and out of existence.
“I ain’t got all day. Now you comin’ or goin’?” Maundin looked around for any trace of the purple cloud. “Where you at?”
“I’m not…” a strange, whispering voice answered, “anywhere.”
“Well, you must be somewhere. Few seconds ago you was right here,” Maundin points at the empty space in front of him where the purple cloud had formed.
“I am nowhere and everywhere, all at once,” the voice whispered.
Behind Maundin, a hand materialized, as if birthed from the air itself, and it rested upon his shoulder.
“What the f—,” Maundin jumped and grabbed ahold of the levitating hand, pushed the barrel of his gun against its palm and clicked the hammer back.
“You best be givin’ me some answers, else yer hand here’ll be filled with so many goddamn holes it won’t be good fer much of nothin’, ‘cept for maybe swattin’ flies.”
“I mean you no harm, Maundin,” the voice responded, “In fact, I’m here to train you.”
“Train me?” Maundin said, confused. “What the hell do I need trained for?”
“Surely you’ve been told by now? I am Banta, the first of the three Masters of Stardust. I’ve been told to begin training immediately.”
The broken reel flickered once again inside his head. Images of the flaming cactus painted the walls of his mind. Scenes of the night play out like an old grindhouse film with all the good scenes cut out.
It really happened.
“Oh yeah, well what do you know that I don’t know?” Maundin said, deciding to play tough rather than admit he didn’t really remember much of THE VOICE’s visit.
Banta didn’t respond immediately, instead he shook his fingers loose from Maundin’s grip and pointed up, towards the sky. Maundin looked up and saw a busted pair of lips and a mouthful of jagged teeth, nothing more, no other details of its face.
“I know how to be here and there, all at once. Holus bolus, as we Starmen say. By mastering the Doom Magnetic, you too can learn this. All it takes is a little practice…and of course, the TOUCH,” Banta said as his foot suddenly appeared and swept Maundin’s legs out from underneath him. Arms and legs burrowed out from the sand and held Maundin tight against the earth. Banta’s mouth disintegrated, then reappeared inches from his face. “It’ll come in handy one day, I assure you.”
Standing in the distance, Banta’s face and body began to take form.
“Okay, yeah,” Maundin said. “Teach me that.”
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Doom Control
© William Pauley III, 2011
All rights reserved.
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