Comics of the gods?

Complex morality / theology? Check.

Jonathan Ryan has a series of blog posts about DC's current crossover event, Trinity War (part 1, part 2, part 3).

This “event” contains a TON of profound discussion points. How did evil get into the world? What is the cure? How does God play into all this? How will people, including super people, deal with all the implications of it? How can evil have a destructive affect even among those trying to do “good”? [¶] This is what I love about Geoff Johns, the writer of this series. He is not afraid to go after theological and philosophical discussion.

Now, I have to confess that I haven't been reading this series. I'm not as awestruck as some by Geoff Johns (although I do agree that team books are where he does his best work), and I've not gotten into DC's new 52 much. But the post was enough to get a pastor friend of mine interested in reading the series, so you might find it worth the read. I do appreciate that Ryan considers comic-book crossovers to be major cultural events:

You know what I don’t get? I don’t understand how major religious sites have NOT done many stories about this comic book run. I’m really gobsmacked by it. This is a huge cultural event that is addressing MAJOR theological issues. And…..barely a peep.

They've certainly got Ryan's number, and probably a lot of others, too. The best comics I've ever read were fun and action-packed on the one hand, but dealt with deep, complex themes and moral issues on the other. Good comics should be able to do both (as should good comics movies, which is why I'll take The Dark Knight over Iron Man any day). According to Ryan, "What we have is a full on theological debate going on in a comic book; Sin’s destruction, corrupting affects and how it affects the whole world." Bring it on.

Linkdump: Immigration

The Wall Street Journal recommends some fiction for your library, which I have not read, but sounds interesting. (Cannot be excerpted, check out the article for very brief reviews)

The Economist says more legal immigration is low-hanging fruit.

At a time when America is concerned about excess housing supply and anxious to boost its innovative capacity it is madness that so many willing immigrants, including high-skilled workers, including those educated in America, find it difficult to impossible to gain permission to work in the country on a stable, long-term basis.

Annie Lowry agrees.

The pro-super-immigrant data abounds. According to the Hamilton Project, immigrants are 30 percent more likely to start a business than U.S.-born citizens. Immigrants with college degrees are three times as likely to file patents as the domestically born. And all that entrepreneurial gusto really adds up. Economist Jennifer Hunt of McGill estimates that the contributions of immigrants with college degrees increased the U.S.'s GDP per capita by between 1.4 and 2.4 percent in the 1990s.

Despite these success stories, the United States still discourages foreign-born entrepreneurs. The H1-B visa program allows employers to bring in highly skilled workers but grants only 85,000 new temporary visas per year. Many recipients need to leave the country when their contracts end, giving them no incentive to put down roots and start businesses. The student visa program also allows in tens of thousands of the most talented, driven students from overseas, only to push most of them out again once their education is finished.

Bryan Caplan directs us to Tino Sanandaji on the negative political effects of allowing more immigration.

Though ignored by proponents of the ethnic-diversity-and-redistribution, minorities also get to vote, and they vote overwhelmingly for the left. This effect is dominant when we are discussing free migration, because with open borders in a world where 700 million people have told Gallup they would like to migrate right now, sooner or later the immigrants will become the majority of voters and make the political preferences of the natives irrelevant.

And now, some cartoons from the Internet:*

 *Yes, this is overkill on the pithy graphics. Yes, political cartoons oversimplify issues. I still think they're worth including.

The Dark Knight Rises

On Wednesday Warner Bros. announced the villains and casting for Christopher Nolan's sequel to 'The Dark Knight.' Since a lot of the tone and even plot of the movie depend on these roles, I feel compelled to comment. [Warning: if you haven't seen 'Batman Begins' and 'The Dark Knight,' what are you doing reading blogs?!? Go watch them. For the rest of you, spoilers below.]

First, the obvious:

CATWOMAN

We all knew Catwoman was going to be one of the major villains.  The previous film ended with Batman heartbroken, without a love interest, on the run from the law.  It also featured low-budget Bat-imitators.  The stage was perfectly set for this character. In Frank Miller's Batman: Year One, Selina Kyle is a street prostitute who decides that if someone can dress up like a bat and fight crime, she can put on a costume and make a living off of the mob royalty of Gotham.  I'd love to see Selina use her new found wealth to position herself as a high class call girl, thus bringing her in contact with Bruce Wayne. Maybe she'll see through the billionaire-playboy act, or maybe she'll just take him for an easy mark.  In any case, it's hard to argue that being without a love interest and on the outs with the law won't leave Batman tempted to join a woman with the grit, intelligence, and skill to match him.  It's a moral dilemma Bale's Batman needs to face before we're done, in my view.

And who did they cast for this iconic role?

ANNE HATHAWAY

I'll admit, this is not the casting I expected. Selina Kyle is basically a classic noir femme fatale in a costume, and Anne Hathaway has never struck me as a femme fatale.  She has the physique for the role, and I'm pretty sure she has some background in films requiring some stuntwork.  But I'm not convinced she can sell a Tim Sale version of the character.

So I'm not convince here, yet. But you know who else I was skeptical of? Heath Ledger.

That's Best Supporting Actor Heath Ledger to the rest of us.

So we'll wait and see on Selina Kyle. I am willing to be convinced.

Now, Catwoman is a great villain, but certainly couldn't carry a blockbuster movie on her own. So who is going to be the big-bad villain?

BANE

That... was unexpected.  The stage seemed perfectly set for someone much like the Batman--but without his unwillingness to kill criminals--to enter the scene.  Someone like the Reaper, for example, who was rumored to be one of the villains considered for Batman Begins. Personally, I really wanted Nolan to steal a bit from Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns. I have in mind the first half of the last chapter, in which the city is plunged into chaos, and a large gang of teens called the Sons of Batman are getting ready to meet out their own version of justice when Batman shows up and decides to claim them as his own army. He brings order to the city, even though he is being hunted by the police.  When the new commissioner (Gordon has retired by this point) is asked "Shouldn't we bring him in?" She replies "No... he's too big..." He truly does become a legend larger than just one man, which would nicely bookend some of the key ideas from Batman Begins.

With a villain like Bane, though, I really don't know what direction they'll go with it.  He's a great villain, despite his appearance.  When he was introduced, he masterminded wave after wave of Batman's toughest enemies facing him, wearing the Bat down until Bane could face him at his weakest. As the picture above shows, Bane actually won, leaving Batman bound to a wheelchair for a time.  He also was one of only a few enemies Batman has had who figured out that he and Bruce Wayne were the same man.  The character is a pretty long way from the last version to make it on screen.  I really don't know what direction Nolan is going with this one.

It turns out Christopher Nolan picked someone he's worked with before to fill out Bane's wrestling mask:

TOM HARDY

 OK, I have no idea how he's going to pull off Bane, but casting Tom Hardy as the villain opposite Christian Bale's Batman is going to be awesome.  The pic is from Hardy's role in Inception, which he handled quite well.  He has a physical presence that should work well in a Batman movie, and I thought his performance was one of the better ones in the movie.  If we can get a scene between Hardy and Bale as electric as the interrogation scene between Bale and Ledger from The Dark Knight, the movie will be worth the price of admission right there.

So I don't really know what to make of the casting and villain choices at this point, at least beyond the non-committal, Spock-like response "fascinating."  I'll definitely be seeing this one in theaters... but you probably knew that already.

Business vs. Creativity

I've got yer business model right here!

[W]hen I wrote comics, I lived in the moment, letting my stories tell me what to write about, riffing off the zeitgeist month by month.

This is the main thrust of a short post by Steve Englehart regarding the creative freedom that comic book writers had back before all the blockbuster movies were based on comic book superheroes. Englehart remembers the good ol' days fondly, as we all tend to do when waxing nostalgic: "Once we creators were Marvel or DC." He is less impressed with the modern comics industry:

Today, the comics companies are top-heavy with editorial interference.[...] They expect writers to give them synopses for the next twelve issues in their series, so that when the writer finally gets to that twelfth issue, the material is so old and stale that he might as well just blow his brains out, for all the satisfaction he can derive from it.

I find it pretty common that creative-types bristle when their activity is governed by business-types. Is this because they have different ideas about what customers really want? Or is it because they want their products to satisfy different people with fundamentally different tastes? Tyler Cowen and Alex Tabarrok have a paper on the topic (which I've mentioned before) that takes this latter view. This "different targets" view seems to imply that, as we develop technology that lets us mass produce goods that used to be produced by artisans, we should see see the influence of creative-types fall and the influence of business-types rise.

On the other hand, I know of many who would support the idea that the goal may be the same, but there are multiple ways of trying to satisfy a given target audience, and creative-types will have very different ideas on this than business-types. Sir Ken Robinson would say that we live in a world where we neglect and ignore creativity to our detriment. This "different techniques" view leaves open why one group would gain more influence than the other, but it also suggests that it's possible to reverse the trend if enough people are willing to try. No such reversal seems possible in the "different targets" view.

So which is it? Was Steve Englehart driven out of comics by the inexorable market forces acting on a good that is easy to mass produce? Or is his lament a rally cry to take the power from the suits and give it back to the creators? Or is there a consistent view in between with its own set of important implications?

The Man of Steel: A Fanboy Wishlist

In case you didn't know this about me, I like comic books. Not all comic books, of course, but I do like superheroes and the interesting questions they allow me to explore. I like the greats from the 1980s, work by Frank Miller and Alan Moore. I really liked Batman Begins, and I really liked The Dark Knight.  Superman Returns, not so much. (yes, I'm more of a DC guy)

So I've been thinking recently about what kind of Superman movie I'd like to see now that Christopher Nolan is supervising the project (although he won't be directing). I wrote a partial script for a Superman movie while I was taking a sci-fi film class as an undergrad. Yes, it was my final project; yes, I got an A; and yes, I know how cool it is too game the system by getting upper-division honors credit to watch and write about Blade Runner. The script focused on the alienness and humanity of Superman in the context of a Nazi death camp; if I had to sum it up in a sentence, I'd say "the last son of Krypton finds his humanity fighting for what's right, as a brilliant German scientist (reminiscent of Mengele) loses his humanity fighting for what he thinks is right."

But that's not the movie we're going to get, and no doubt all the better for the box office hopes of The Man of Steel. No, Superman generally needs to live in a modern context for the big screen. So given that restriction, I thought I'd waste my time and yours (not much of it, don't worry) talking about what I'd like to see in the upcoming movie, even it's never going to happen.

First let me say what I don't want to see:

I was a huge fan of the first year of Smallville, although it lost a lot of its appeal for me after that. I like Tom Welling as a young Clark Kent, and I've got nothing against Erica Durance as Lois. But no. Please, please no.

Now that we've got that out of the way, I think I can best communicate what I'd be looking for with some cast and crew ideas before presenting the premise of the movies (yes, as per the modern standard, there must be three in the series). Due to length, I'll put it below the jump.

Is Economist Robin Hanson a Supervillain?

Robin Hanson of GMU has a recent post arguing that survivalists play an extremely valuable role in society, despite the conventional view that they are crackpots.  He seems to be doing so because he sees them as kindred spirits to those who, like Hanson himself, wish to be preserved via cryonics. Their brilliance remains unappreciated by a society that values signals and expressions of loyalty to particular groups above actually doing things to save lives both now and in the distant future. (Of course, one could view Hanson's posts as merely attempts to signal that these views belong in the "intellectually respected" club, but if we all spend all our time accusing each other of signaling, what kind of signal would that send?)

I go back and forth in my view of survivalists themselves. I think it's pretty clear that they overestimate the risks they are reacting to, and their political and social beliefs are often difficult to comprehend. On the other hand, talking about the end of the world can make for fascinating reading, and I sometimes I think society in general underestimates the chances that things could go terribly, horribly wrong.

But the debate over survivalists isn't what struck me about this post. What struck me is Hanson's argument for why the survivalists might not be as nutty as they seem:

The world faces existential risk, i.e., a risk that the world will die.  Such a death is bad not only for those who live here now, but also for vast future generations who might descend from us now.  Cultures and ethnicities face related risks.  By preparing to save themselves under various disaster scenarios, survivalists also tend to make their culture, ethnicity, and world a bit less likely to die.  An effort for which future generations should be quite grateful. [emphasis added]

Hanson's argument is that survivalists might not be much benefit to society right now--in fact, they probably hold current society in disdain and avoid outsiders where possible. But the true beneficiaries of their peculiar brand of risk aversion are the untold future generations who might not exist without the efforts of lunatics and maniacs.

I've heard this argument before, of course. The stakes are described in the graphic novel Watchmen:

Each step had to be taken carefully, constantly striving to keep in mind the enormous scale of what was at stake! The Earth. Humanity. All we've ever known... "end of the world" does the concept no justice. The world's present would end. Its future, immeasurably vaster, would also vanish. Even our past would be cancelled. Our struggle from the primal ooze, every childbirth, every personal sacrifice rendered meaningless, leading only to dust, tossed in the void-winds.

Save for Richard Nixon, whose name adorns a plaque upon the moon, no human vestige would remain. Ruins become sand, sand blows away... all our richness and color and beauty would be lost... as if it had never been.

That's right, Robin Hanson is channeling the World's Smartest Man, Adrian Veidt, also called Ozymandias.

But the parallels don't stop there. Hanson prides himself on seeing the world differently from most people, realizing that most of our beliefs about the world are wrong when we get a more external perspective. Homo Hypocritus, he calls the human race. Man the hypocrite. Ozymandias agrees: "Hitler said people swallow lies easily, provided they're big enough."

Which of the two, Hanson or Veidt, said this?

An intractable problem can only be resolved by stepping beyond conventional solutions.

Or this?

I have a passion, a sacred quest, to understand everything, and to save the world.

They could have come from the same mind, if not the same voice.

But what does Adrian Veidt do in Watchmen? Oh yes. Saves the world. Through mass murder. Not that anyone who could do anything about it found out until after the fact:

"Do it?"  Dan, I'm not a Republic Serial villain. Do you seriously think I'd explain my master stroke if there remained the slightest chance of you affecting its outcome? I did it thirty-five minutes ago.

Robin Hanson wants to save the world, but how? By educating people? Maybe. Maybe something else. "Canaan is devastated, Ashkelon is fallen, Gezer is ruined, Yendam is reduced to nothing, Israel is desolate and her seed is no more, and Palestine has become a widow for Egypt... All the countries are unified and pacified," says mighty Ozymandias.

Now, I have no reason to believe Robin Hanson is planning to clone human psychics or wipe out whole cities. But then no one had reason to believe Ozymandias was really the world's greatest supervillain, either. Just because I might over-estimate the probability doesn't mean the risk isn't there.

I guess that makes me a survivalist after all.

Evil is Alive

They ran. Down the dimly lit but well beaten path they ran. We can't risk the rough terrain off the road, Simon thought. Debbie seemed to understand, and they continued running. Behind them, distantly, they heard the shriek of their pursuer, Rod. Nimrod the hunter-priest, Phineas had called him.

♬It doesn't always have a shape

Almost never does it have a name

Why is he chasing us, Simon thought. What kind of insane little town have we fallen in to? He looked over at Debbie, who was breathing heavily but doing better than he was.

It maybe has a pitchfork maybe has a tail

But evil is alive and well

They ran for what felt like days to Simon, although it was still the dead of night. His head throbbed and he felt a stabbing pain in his lungs as he continued to run with all his might.

♬It might walk upright from out of the inferno

May be coming horseback through deep snow

It's ragged and fat hungry as hell

Evil is alive and well

♬Evil is alive, evil is well

Evil is alive, evil is well

On your feet to the tower and yell

Evil is alive and well

Simon felt his fingertips start to tingle and his chest began to tighten. He slowed down, listening as he did for signs of Rod or his followers.

"Hurry up!" Debbie said in a harsh whisper. Simon barely heard her as he leaned up against a tree beside the path. Debbie turned and grabbed Simon's arm. "We have to keep going!"

"Have to... catch breath..." Simon said, panting. "I'm gonna... give my... self... heart attack."

"Well," Debbie said, "let's get off the road." She began leading him into the brush.

"You should... go on," Simon said.

"No," Debbie said. "That's not what I'm going to do at all."

They sat on the cold ground, leaning against trees. Simon realized he'd left his guitar leaning against the side of the chapel. He feared he would never see it--or any of his companions from the mission--again. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to regain the strength to keep running.

He heard a rustling. Simon glanced at the nearby brush. With a horrifying shriek, Rod lept from grass--naked, covered in blood, and wielding a hatchet.

"AHH!" Simon exclaimed as he sat bolt upright. He continued looking at the brush. Nothing.

Debbie was on him in an instant, covering his mouth with her hand. "Shh! Be quiet!" she said. Simon didn't remember nodding off, but he felt he must have. And Rod used a tomahawk, not a utility hatchet. "We need to keep moving; can you just jog?" Debbie asked.

Still shaken, Simon nodded. They got up, worked their way back to the road, and continued at a more measured pace.

♬May be too humble to want to speak

May have a blood soaked bird in it's teeth

Smoked filled skies and bees in the well

Evil is alive and well

♬May be in a palace it may be in the streets

May be here among us on a crowded beach

May be asleep in a roadside motel

But evil is alive and well

♬Evil is alive, evil is well

Evil is alive, evil is well

On your feet to the tower and yell

Evil is alive and well

They kept on, sometimes jogging, sometimes walking, but always on. As dawn light was just filling the air they saw structures ahead, just off the road.

"Is it the town?" Debbie asked.

"No," Simon said. "It's the mine. The one where John worked." Simon stared at the buildings. It was relatively modern, with a mine elevator structure and office buildings for keeping records. There was still an older footpath entrance to the mine that seemed in good repair, being blocked by two large aluminum doors that had been left ajar.

"We need a breather," Debbie said.

"And water," Simon said.

"Yes, exactly," Debbie said. "Why don't I look for that while you see what you can find out about your brother?"

"Alright," Simon said. They approached the abandoned mine and entered separate buildings.

♬It's well

Down in every ditch, up on every hill

It's well

I've got my radio on, drowning the bells

♬When midnight's done and the day won't start

And all I ever gave you was a broken heart

It's hard to admit but it's easy to tell

That evil is alive and well♬

---

Simon began sifting through the foreman's office. He first foraged through the file cabinet looking for personnel files. He found his brother's name--STONE, JOHN--but the file was empty beyond HR paperwork. Not even a reprimand. John always kept on the straight and narrow, Simon thought.

Simon then began rifling through the desk drawers. In the top right drawer he found a silver revolver with a black handle. The six chambers were full, but two of the rounds had been fired. Simon slipped the gun into his pocket. He also came across a hard hat with a light on it. Simon slipped it on his head and flipped the light on. The light rivaled the glare from the rising sun coming through the window. "These batteries must be worth a fortune," Simon said as he turned off the light.

He continued searching, eventually coming across a tray on the desk marked OUT. It contained a number of bills and trash, and tucked away to the side, an envelope addressed to Simon at his old Manhattan apartment. Simon ripped the envelope open. It contained a letter from his brother.

♬I wished I was smarter 

I wished I was stronger

I wished I loved Jesus

The way the my wife does 

I wished it'd been easier

Instead of any longer

Simon's hands shook as he held the letter. He nearly fell into the office chair as he tried to sit. He had hoped to find some indication of what had happened to John, and here he was about to find out from John himself. It was dated ten days before the first ghouls started showing up in New York over a year ago; it likely wouldn't tell Simon anything about where John was now. Still, he was afraid to read it.

"When you wrote this, she was still alive," Simon said aloud. "Alright, here goes..."


"My dear Simon,
"With all the strange stories we've been hearing, I probably shouldn't assume either of you are still alive.

I wished I could've stood

Where you would've been proud

That won't happen now

That won't happen now

I can't think that way, of course, I'm not built for it. I've always lived in a world where God is real and hope is important. And I hope when you get this letter you won't be saddened or depressed about how we may never meet again. So before you read on, I want you to look in my little girl's face and say 'It's a letter from your daddy. We'll see him again, though we may have to wait a while.'

♬There's a whole lot of singing

That's never gonna be heard

Disappearing every day

Without so much as a word

somehow

"It's been a strange couple of days, and I'll only just mention some of the things I've seen. Although I don't know for sure, I think it has to do with when we found--

Simon felt the office building shake as the winged creature grabbed hold of the side of it. The creature let loose its whale-like moan / ghoulish shriek as it leaped from the building and glided toward the supply building Debbie was in.

"Debbie!" Simon shouted. As he bolted for the door he slipped the letter in his pocket and removed the gun. As he opened the door and raced toward the supply building, he found himself shouting again. "Debbie!"

"He's here?!?" Debbie said as she emerged from the building. She began to walk down the wooden steps as Simon reached her, pulling her down to the ground and hiding underneath the steps. "Why are you yelling?"

Simon looked up. Nothing. No winged creature, no noise, not even a cloud in the sky. "It was here..."

"Are you trying to get us killed?!?" Debbie said. "Rod could still be out there."

"I'm... I'm sorry," Simon said. "I thought I saw..."

"Well you didn't," Debbie said. "Don't always trust what you think you see." She handed him a thermos. "Drink some water, you're dehydrated." Simon did.

Simon heard it again. The shriek, coming from the edge of the woods. He glanced at Debbie, who had gone pale and was looking in the same direction. "You heard that one, didn't you?" He said.

"What do we do?" Debbie asked. As they looked on, Rod emerged slowly from the woods. He was utterly naked, his wild hair and mane rustling as he moved. He held his tomahawk firmly in hand.

"I have one idea," Simon said. "It's not very good, but it could work. While I was in the office I found this." Simon held up the gun in his hand. "It only has four shots, but that could do it."

"Oh no, Simon," Debbie said. "It's too risky."

"It would be," Simon said. "I'm not a good enough shot and he's too agile, unless I can get him in a confined space. Those doors over there," he said, gesturing to the aluminum doors across the mine entrance, "they're an older entrance to the mine. Probably long and straight, with a low ceiling. If I can get him to chase me in there, he won't be able to maneuver and he probably won't be able to throw the tomahawk. He'll have to run in close to get me, and I'll be able to shoot him before he can reach me."

"This is a terrible idea and I don't like it," Debbie said.

"Neither do I, but then I'm not a big fan of being chased by an insane backwoods hunter-priest, either," Simon said. "I'll have to make a run for it. When he comes for me, you slip behind him quietly and get back on the road. Keep going until you reach the town, I'll catch up when it's done."

"You'll catch up? Really?" Debbie said.

"Hey, no fat jokes when I'm about to be a hero," Simon said.

"What if the mine shaft is closed, or unstable? You don't know what's in there," Debbie said. "Simon, don't do--"

Simon ran out from under the stairs and into the morning light. He slipped the gun back into his pocket and turned toward Rod. "You want me, you bastard?!? Just try and catch me!" With that, Simon ran as he'd never run before. He didn't look back. He just ran for the mine entrance. For an instant he had the image of his niece's face in his mind. She looked worried.

We'll see him again, Simon thought.

Think I broke the wings

Off that little songbird

She's never gonna fly 

To the top of the world

Right now 

As Simon reached the doors, he flung one side open as far as he could and kept running. Gotta get far enough in that he can't use that damned axe, Simon thought. The light from the doorway illuminated a long tunnel with a low clearance, just as he'd hoped. He ran and ran until he started to catch up with the shadows from the entryway, then spun around and pulled out the gun.

Rod slowed as he approached the entrance, pulling the doors open even wider and taking a few steps into the tunnel before stopping. He stood there, silhouetted against the entryway with his head cocked to the side questioningly. He hesitated to come in further.

"Come on, you bastard, come kill me!" Simon shouted. Rod stood there.

What seemed like a long time had passed when Rod suddenly stepped back from the entrance. He grabbed the two aluminum doors and slammed them shut, one at a time. Simon found that the tunnel was surprisingly dark. He started walking toward the entrance, concerned about would happen next. He then heard the scraping of rock against rock, and a heavy bang from the doors as something was leaned up against them. More scraping and another bang.

"No, no, no, no!" Simon charged the doors and started pushing on them, but to no avail. He was being sealed in.

♬Top of the world

After the banging had stopped, Simon heard the faint sound of dripping water from further in the mine shaft. With nowhere else to go, Simon flipped the lamplight on his helmet on and descended into the mine.

---

♬I don't have to answer

Any of these questions

Don't have no god to

Teach me no lessons

I come home in the evening

Sit in my chair

One night they called me for supper

But I never got up 

I stayed right there 

In my chair

♬There's a whole lot of singing

That's never gonna be heard

Disappearing every day 

Without so much as a word

somehow

I think I broke the wings

Off a little songbird 

She's never gonna fly 

To the top of the world 

Right now

The walls of the mine were machined and regular, as one might expect. Before long the ceiling lowered so much that Simon couldn't walk upright anymore. Pipes and power lines stretched across the ceiling, coming from blackness on one side and headed toward nowhere on the other. As he continued the air felt thicker. Coal dust, Simon thought. Since the mine didn't seem to have power, he wondered if the stillness of the air risked an explosion, but then decided it was too late to worry about that. He kept walking.

Simon walked, hunched over, with only the light of his helmet lamp for what felt like hours. He found himself vaguely following a group of power lines, hoping to find an electric car or something that could lead him to the main elevator, the only other exit he was aware of. Although he was nervous that Rod would be waiting for him there, Simon was willing to take that chance if it meant being back out in the fresh mountain air. He had missed it while in New York, although he didn't realize it until it was taken from him again.

With the range of his lamp far shorter than the open distance ahead of him, Simon's mind began to play tricks on him. He would think he saw motion, someone walking just outside his lamp's range. As he approached, though, there would be nothing there. He might hear a sound like footsteps behind him and turn, only to find a few rocks had settled more firmly into the mine floor. He became disoriented and couldn't quite tell if he was going higher or descending deeper underground, whether he was moving toward the city or back under the village or looping under the mining camp over and over.

Eventually Simon came across a small, wheeled electric cart at a fork in the mine shaft. On his left, the tunnel he had been following continued on, while on his right a rough and uneven opening lead to another machined tunnel. This new tunnel was more square than the previous, and no power lines ran that direction, but the cart was pointed toward it.

Simon was about to turn the cart around and follow the shaft he had been on when he noticed the air in the offshoot shaft was moving slightly. Either there's an exit not too far from here, or some sort of fan still has power this way, Simon thought. I'm less likely to be accidentally blown to bits either way. Simon climbed into the cart, started it running, and took it down the squared tunnel.

♬I wished I'd have known you

Wished I had shown you

All of the things I 

Was on the inside

I'd pretend to be sleeping

When you'd come in, in the morning

To whisper goodbye

Go to work in the rain

I don't know why

Don't know why

As Simon drove, he grew tense. He couldn't see far enough ahead to know what was going to happen next, but he was sure there was some sort of opening in the mine ahead. He couldn't explain why, but the further he went the more anxious he felt. He drove on and on, each moment wondering if he shouldn't turn back. Only stubbornness and a fear that the cart's power could give out kept him going forward. He had to reach the source of the airflow.

"Don't."

He only heard the voice for a moment, but immediately he knew who the owner was--a little blonde girl, not yet ten years old, wearing a blue dress. Simon dismissed the hallucination and kept on.

As Simon looked ahead, squinting, he noticed a faint bead of light. As he got closer, the light became brighter and its origin further over his head. He had failed to notice that the tunnel he had been in had widened, with the ceiling receding further and further. As he got close to the area with the light, he could see it was high overhead now, with a column of light falling from it to the ground below. The light bounced off of something at the bottom of it, but before he could get close enough to see what it was he had to slam on the breaks.

The tunnel had opened into what seemed to be a huge cavern. This had clearly not been cut by the miners, although the ground and walls were worn smooth. Simon had to stop because he had come up on some sort of underwater pond near the entrance to the cavern. It could have been a part of an entire underground lake as far as Simon could tell in the dim light from above. He drove around cautiously, trying to see if there was a way to get around the water and closer to the light. He finally found a narrow crossing, but not wanting to risk his cart, he decided to wade across.

It turned out that the pool was less than two inches deep, and he crossed easily, despite the fact that the pool was not water after all. It was some sort of tar, possibly even the edge of some untapped oil reserve. Simon  walked through the sticky substance without much difficulty and approached the brightly lit circle directly under the light. He could hear the wind faintly overhead, and as he knelt down to look he felt sick to his stomach.

♬Cause everyone's singing

We just wanna be heard

Disappearing every day 

Without so much as a word

somehow

Wanna grab a hold

Of that little songbird 

Take her for a ride 

To the top of the world

Right now

(instrumental interlude)

Bones. Human bones. Tattered shreds of clothing lay strewn about, but the bones themselves were clean and dry. With a sinking feeling, Simon looked closer at one of the articles of clothing.

He recognized it as the shirt Old Zeke had been wearing the night before.

The well, Simon thought. But if that was last night, what cleaned these bones? Was that strange light...? Simon glanced around him at the tar, then down at his boot. It, too, was clean.

All around him, the lake started to quiver and move as if something were approaching. The cavern began to fill with a peculiar light. Simon couldn't describe the color that filled the space, but he could see that the tar wasn't moving because something in it was approaching. It was just moving. He inched back towards his cart, but stumbled. The glowing tar was right beside him as he scrambled back. The fluid pulled back as if by a tide, but then kept pooling and building up right beside him. It build up several feet above him before starting to take a shape. An orb formed on top of the tower of tar, and on the orb Simon began to make out spaces for eyes, a nose, a mouth... the fluid was forming into a man, and a man Simon recognized all too well.

"John?"

The man-thing let out a blood-curdling shriek. It took a step toward him, and Simon screamed. He stood and ran, ran right past the man-thing, right over the tar, and dove into his electric cart. With tears filling his eyes, he drove as fast as he could as the shrieks of the monster faded behind him.

♬Ohhh, ohhh

To the top of the world

To the top of the world

To the top of the world

To the top of the world

To the top of the world

To the top of the world

To the top of the world

To the top of the wo-o-o-o-r-r-r-r-ld ♬

---

Simon drove and drove. He kept the car at full speed even when it started to slow down. When he saw the small opening in the cave wall, he just drove straight toward it. And when the cart spilled out the opening, tumbled, and tossed him into the brush as twilight approached, Simon recovered his sense of direction and began crawling away from the cave.

"Simon? Simon!"

Debbie ran up to him and embraced him. "God! I thought he'd gotten you! Where did you just come from?"

"What?" Simon said. "I didn't come from anywhere."

"I thought Rod had killed you and thrown you down that well or something," Debbie said.

"I think maybe he did," Simon said. "Wait, is he still after you?"

"He was," Debbie said. "I haven't seen him, though. Drink this." She offered him some water.

"I thought I'd lost you," Debbie said, "I'm not sure what I'd do with myself if I had."

"Just do what the best of us do," Simon said. "Go mad. Just let your brain make up any kind of insane thing for you to see and go on with life." Simon looked around. "Before that happens, though, I think we should keep moving."

"Where did you come from, anyway?" Debbie asked. "You just popped out of the side of a mountain."


"It was the mine," Simon said. "At least, I got there through the mine."


"What happened in there?" Debbie asked.


There was a hiss as the tomahawk flew through the air and found its mark in Debbie's back. Simon caught her as she stumbled.


"Debbie? Debbie?!? No, no, no," Simon said, kneeling as he held her. This was no hallucination. Without a sound, Rod walked up to them and stood over them.

♬Playground school bell rings again

Rain clouds come to play again

Has no one told you she's not breathing?

Hello

I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to

Hello

As blood streamed onto his hands, Simon held Debbie and looked up at Rod. He looked down, emotionless, his eyes black and inky.


"You bastard," Simon whispered. "Debbie? Deborah? We'll get you help, we'll find help somehow. You'll be okay. Debbie?"


Simon looked back up at the hunter-priest. Rod continued to stare, but the inky substance pulled away from his eyes. He seemed to come out of a trance.


"She's died, Simon," Rod said. "It's over. It has been satisfied."


"She's not dead!" Simon shouted. "God damn you to hell!"

♬ If I smile and don't believe

Soon I know I'll wake from this dream

Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken

Hello

I'm the lie living for you so you can hide

Don't cry

Simon fumbled in his pocket and produced the gun. He raised it and pointed it at Rod.


"If God has any power, I'm sure he's already done just that. But for you, this is over," Rod said. "Give me my weapon, I'll leave you to give her a proper burial."


"Your weapon?" Simon said. "You've murdered her and you want to keep the hatchet??! Is this what you want!" Simon pulled the tomahawk from her back and threw it at Rod's feet. Simon then laid Debbie gently on the ground and closed her eyes.


Rod bent low to pick up his tomahawk, but just as his fingers reached it Simon's shoe stepped on the handle. Rod stood up, towering over Simon.


"I want my weapon," Rod said.


"Take this," Simon said. He thrust the gun into the mass of Rod's beard and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the woods and left Simon's ears ringing as Rod reeled back. Simon felt, but did not hear, himself screaming as he pointed the gun at Rod's body and fired three more times. Every shot landed, driving Rod back against a tree.


Simon continued pulling the trigger, his ears finally registering the click, click, click as he did so. He stared at Rod's body. The wounds began to slowly trickle blood. And yet it wasn't blood at all; it was as black as that mine had been. Rod turned his head toward Simon again, and took a step forward.


"You cannot kill me, stranger," Rod said. "My task is done. Bury her with dignity and be happy worse did not come to her. Then leave my mountain."

Rod turned and walked back into the woods. Simon dropped the gun and dropped to his knees, weeping.

♬Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping

Hello

I'm still here

All that's left of yesterday♬

---

Don't miss next month's episode, Silent Screams.

Check out this episode's songs:

Evil is Alive and Well by Jakob Dylan

Top of the World by the Dixie Chicks

Hello by Evanescence

The Mighty Warrior

As I was reading this post at OverthinkingIt.com, it occurred to me that I was woefully unaware of the classic samurai pictures of Akira Kurosawa. I'd seen Seven Samurai once before, and knew it well enough to recognize that Perich was on to something magical by rewriting Star Wars Episode I, but that was it. I had always wanted to see Rashomon since it was one of the first movies to tell the same story from many different perspectives (a devise I rather enjoy), so I decided to see if the Netflix Watch Instantly menu included any of these movies.

I was pleased to discover they had not one or two, but five on hand. So while I still haven't seen Kurosawa's Shakespearean adaptations Throne of Blood or Ran, I can now say that I've seen a good share of the movies that inspired generations of American nerds to take Japanese in college.

One of the things I picked up on is how well made the movies are. Kurosawa had a knack for making his characters' personalities clear without making them one-dimensional or boring. He took time to reveal the identities of all seven samurai as they defend the villagers, and he built up the romantic B plot in a way that felt true. The use of swipes could have been choppy and annoying, but it never was (I hardly noticed it, actually).

I was also quite surprised at how good these actors are. Kurosawa uses four or five of the same actors in every one of his Samurai movies, it seems, but every time they come across as clear and distinct characters. I was particularly impressed by Tatsuya Nakadai, who played two different principle soldier enemies against Toshirô Mifune's character Sanjuro, and yet managed to keep the characters distinct; Unosuke is downright creepy in Yojimbo, while Muroto is scary but maintains a strange sense of dignity.

But what I really noticed was how Kurosawa portrays samurai. The samurai in Rashomon is not an admirable character, being upstaged by the common bandit Tajomaru (the samurai gets killed over and over in the retelling of the story, and I don't even remember his name). However, his pride and poise in adversity are starkly contrasted with many of the samurai in Seven Samurai. Heihachi joins the band because he is broke, Gorobei joins because he finds the leader (Kambei) an interesting character, and Kyuzo joins simply as an opportunity to hone his swordsmanship. Samurai seem to be a rag-tag lot in Kurosawa's mind.

The first truly noble samurai who demonstrates the power one would expect of the great heroes of Japanese legend is General Rokurota Makabe in The Hidden Fortress. Makabe is devoted to saving Princess Yuki, willing to give up his life or the lives of his loved ones to protect her. Although he manipulates the two peasants into helping them, Makabe is always honorable, even in how he treats the enemy General. Here, perhaps, is the ultimate picture of what a samurai should be... except Makabe begins the story as a failure. He has to rescue the princess precisely because he failed to defeat the invading army. And in the post-World War II age, perhaps that is how many Japanese saw the samurai and their culture: honorable, but defeated from the beginning.

Yet the most powerful expression of the samurai comes in the unnamed hero of Yojimbo and Sanjuro. Well, perhaps I shouldn't say unnamed. He gives his family name as Kuwabatake in the first film and Tsubaki in the second, in both cases simply picking the name of something he's looking at. In both he says his given name is Sanjuro, but this actually just means Thirty-something. He even says in the dialogue in both films "but I'm nearly forty." So he has a label for the sake of the movie, but it's quite clear that he's making it up.

Anyway, Sanjuro is a classic mercenary who follows a moral code. In the first movie, he destroys the gambling clans that are destroying the town purely  by accident. During the opening credits he is a wandering ronin, and he chooses which path to follow by throwing a stick in the air and seeing which way it points when it lands. He makes just enough money to stay fed, and everything else he does seems to be for sport. He fights for the good guys when he can identify them (as in Sanjuro), but has no trouble stirring up trouble when it suits him. As the Chamberlain's wife says, he is like a naked sword: he cuts well, but often cuts when he should have stayed sheathed. "Killing people is a bad habit," she says to him, and he seems to agree. It doesn't stop him from continuing, though, as it wouldn't stop most people.

Maybe that's Kurosawa's message about samurai after all. Samurai can make a fascinating subject because of the drama and spectacle, but in the end they're just human beings like the rest of us.

(As a special bonus, I'm putting a video of Sanjuro's bad-assery below the jump.)

The Devil's on his Way

♬They press their lips against you

And you love the lies they say

And I tried so hard to reach you

But you're falling anyway

♬And you know I see right through you

'Cause the world gets in your way

What's the point in all this screaming?

You're not listening anyway♬

"Very nice, guys, thanks," Simon said. He sat on Eli's porch, playing with some of the townsfolk of Gibeah as the sun set over the hill. They had enjoyed the hospitality for two days as their pilot recovered, and had not seen the creature since the crash. Simon was beginning to feel comfortable there, although the residents of Gibeah still acted uneasy around the strangers. "I really like the mandolin addition, it fills out the song really well."

"Well, thanks," Eli said, "I try to contribute where I can. Let's not forget my great uncle Zeke on the banjo, well done, sir!"

"Many thanks," Zeke said. "These old bones don't move about so well anymore, but when the music is on these hands still have some life left in 'em!"


"I'm surprised you're such a music lover, Reverend, since you didn't sing during the worship service the other morning," Debbie said.

"Everything in its proper place, Deborah," the Reverend said. "In the same vein, when I am not occupying the pulpit of the Most High, please call me Phineas."

"Is that why you only use the Old English in the sermon?" Milton asked. "Speaking about a god requires special language?"

"In a way, Milton," Phineas said. "The wider world has dropped the familiar forms, as have we. And perhaps this is fitting, as familiar relations seem less honored than they once were, yes? Our intimate affections are to be available to all, and yet to none at the same time. But when speaking for the Maker of Man, how can there be any form except the familiar?"

"You strike me as funny people," Milton said. "Your ways seem almost backward, even in these reduced times, yet you have a certain logic that I find it hard to fault. You're not the backwoods hillbillies I expected to find in the lost hills of West Virginia."

"Then you just don't know us well enough yet," Eli said, smiling. "Three days is hardly enough time, I guess. We have our share of tobacco-spitting Ewells here."

"To Kill a Mockingbird," Simon said. "Nice reference."

"So you've got your share of bibliophiles, too," Debbie said.

"I probably read more than the average person in town," Eli said. "More fiction, anyway. We all read the Bible regularly."

"As well as a variegated assortment of more arcane and blasphemous scriptures, for some," Phineas said.

"Has that been a problem in the town for a long time?" Debbie asked.

"Dear me," Phineas said, "how can I answer such a question? Occult meddlings have plagued the chosen people since Sinai, so in that sense our fathers brought the problem with them when they got here. But with specific bearing on Gibeah, no. We prided ourselves on the centrality of the true Gospel when the town was built. The chapel in which we still worship was specifically placed at the center of the town to serve as a keystone, a structure by which the town itself stands or falls just as our salvation stands or falls by the Word of the King.
"It wasn't until my father's generation that the whisperings started. A few of the townsfolk had grown restless with following the same ways as our parents. A miner gave a gift to one of the congregants as a curiosity: a dark book written by a mad Arab, supposedly found in the dust of the mine itself.
"Still, even then we would not have allowed anyone to practice the evil in the book, but the book remained. Now, it has become a second baptism for most of my sheep, a calf in Bethel to lead them on the path of a heathen god."

"Is it really so serious? I mean, exploring other religions will surely lead them to whichever one is truest, wouldn't you think?" Milton said.

"If the heart of man were true, then exploring that heart would lead to truth," Phineas said. "But the heart of man loves evil continually, and will never keep from evil unless it be forced away by Divine power. If it turns back to explore evil again, the eternal salvation that once was sure may be gone forever."

"See, right there I'm not quite sure where you're coming from," Simon said. "In one breath you say that only God can change a man's heart, and in the next you say men can change their own back again. It can't be both ways, can it?"

"Yes, exactly," Milton said. "Are you a determinist, or a libertarian?"

"I am a Minister of the Word of the Most High," Phineas said. "If the Word says God must act, so say I. And if the Word says man must choose, so say I. And when it says both, I say both; I sort it out as best I can and feel no anxiety when I can't. The Word won't bear the labels you wish to give it, and so I will not humor such questions from the laity any further than that."

"Well, then," Debbie said. "I guess that settles the matter."

"Eli, do you believe this sort of thing?" Milton asked.

"I... would rather not get into it tonight," Eli said. "I just wanted you all to come over and enjoy some music."

"But what about you, Simon? Do you believe in this?"  Milton asked.

"Sometimes," Simon said. "I used to believe it. Sometimes I still believe it with all my heart. But sometimes I think about everything that's happened, about how awful and empty and meaningless everything can be, and it all just sounds like... I don't know, children's stories. Fairy tales." He began plucking at his guitar.

♫Very superstitious, writing's on the wall,

Very superstitious, ladder's 'bout to fall,

Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass

Seven years of bad luck, the good things in your past.

When you believe in things that you don't understand,

Then you suffer,

Superstition ain't the way

♫Very superstitious, wash your face and hands,

Rid me of the problem, do all that you can,

Keep me in a daydream, keep me goin' strong,

You don't wanna save me, sad is my song.

When you believe in things that you don't understand,

Then you suffer,

Superstition ain't the way, yeh, yeh.

♫Very superstitious, nothin' more to say,

Very superstitious, the devil's on his way,

Thirteen month old baby, broke the lookin' glass,

Seven years of bad luck, good things in your past

When you believe in things that you don't understand,

Then you suffer,

Superstition ain't the way♫

"What's this about superstitious folk? I can't stand 'em." Rod, the man who had rescued them after the crash, walked up to the porch. His long, raven colored hair and Amish beard, accompanied by his black clothing, highlighted his face atop his very tall frame.


"Rod! I didn't expect you tonight," Eli said as the two men embraced.

"I just thought I'd stop by between here and there," Rod said. "I saw it hovering over the mine again today. I'm not sure we'll ever be rid of the beast."

"You mean that thing that attacked us?" Simon said. "What is it?"

"We've got lots of guesses," Rod said, "but that's really all they are. We don't really know. The preacher here has a pretty fantastic theory, though. Good evening, Phin." Phineas nodded at Rod coldly, but did not speak.

"What do you think it is?" Debbie asked.

"I don't 'think', I know," Phineas said. "As surely as I know my own face, I recognized him when he arrived. I've been expecting him."

"Him?" Milton said. "An old business partner of yours?"

"Something like that, yes," Phineas said. "I shan't bore you with it, though. It would be foolishness to you."

"Phineas, please," Eli said. "They want to learn, not to mock. Don't you?"

"I do, anyway," Debbie said.

"Actually, I think the Reverend is right, I am likely to merely mock," Milton said. "And after that rousing rendition of Stevie Wonder, I wouldn't expect much else from Simon here."

"I'm just playin'," Simon said. "I'll leave the arguments to you guys."

"Say, if you're playing, I'll join in for a song," Rod said. "Eli, you still have that old fiddle in the parlor?" Eli nodded as Rod entered the house.

"I must take my leave, then," Phineas said. "Rest well, all of you. Eliezar, thank you as always for your hospitality." He began to walk away. "Oh, and don't venture out tonight. It would be a poor evening to learn too much about our town. Don't let them wander, Eliezar; these things are not their concern." With that, he walked away, back toward the chapel.

"What did that mean?" Debbie said.

"Is he going back to the church?" Milton said.

"Several nights each month he lights candles in the chapel and prays until dawn," Eli said. "He doesn't like to be disturbed. It's usually nights when Rod is gone until morning. Are you going tonight, Rod?"

"I am," Rod called from inside. "Would you like to join me? You'll never regret it."

"Not tonight, thanks," Eli said.

"Alright, I figure I'll keep asking," Rod said. "You might change your mind. The things these hills can show you in the night."

"Things like that 'beast' of yours?" Simon said.

"That's just scratching the surface," Rod said. "The high hills, the caves, the deep wells... this country is full of more secrets than anyone from the outside would imagine."

"You're amazingly calm for a man who has to scare off a flying sea worm with a hatchet," Simon said.

"'Flying sea worm'?" Milton said. "What do you mean?"

"Well, isn't that sort of what it looked like?" Simon said.

"That's not what I saw at all," Milton said. "Not that I saw it clearly, mind you, what with all the smoke. But nothing so fantastic as all that."

"What smoke?" Simon said. "Debbie, you saw it right? What did it look like to you?"

"I don't know, some kind of animal," Debbie said.

Simon began to feel self-conscious as he realized his mind may have run away with him. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Truth is, no two people see it the same," Rod said as he came back with the fiddle and a drink. Eli raised an eyebrow questioningly, but Rod waved him off. "It's not a thing that belongs to this world, so I figure our eyes just aren't made to see it right. In any case, I prefer to think about things closer to the earth, the here and now. Making up stories isn't going to get us anywhere, and frankly it makes my head hurt."

"Something I can relate to," Simon said. "What do you want to play?"

"Here's an old one you ought to know," Rod said. "Uncle Zeke, let's see if those quick fingers of yours can keep up."

♫The fox went out for a chase one night

Prayed to the moon to give him light

For he had many a mile to go that night

Before he reached the town-o town-o town-o

He had many a mile to go that night

Before he reached the town-o.

♫He ran right up to the farmer's pen

Ducks and the geese were kept therein

He said a couple of you gonna grease my chin

Before I leave this town-o town-o town-o

A couple of you gonna grease my chin

Before I leave this town-o.

♫He grabbed the gray goose by the neck

Slung the little one over his back

He didn't mind the quack quack quack

And the legs all dangling down-o down-o down-o

He didn't mind the quack quack

And the legs all dangling down-o.

♫Old Mother Pitter Patter jumped out of bed

Out of the window she popped out her head yelling

John, John, the gray goose is gone

And the fox is on the town-o town-o town-o

John, John, the gray goose is gone

And the fox is on the town-o.

♫John he ran to the top of the hill

Blew his horn both loud and shrill

The fox said I'd better flee with my kill

For he'll soon be on my trail-o trail-o trail-o

The fox said I'd better flee with my kill

For he'll soon be on my trail-o.

♫He ran right up to his cozy den

There were his little ones, eight, nine, ten

They said daddy won't you please go back again

For it must be a mighty fine town-o town-o town-o

Daddy wont you please go back again

For it must be a mighty fine town-o.

♫The fox and his wife without any strife

Cut up the goose with a fork and knife

They'd never had such a supper in their life

And the little ones chewed on the bones-o bones-o bones-o

They never had such a supper in their life

And the little ones chewed on the bones.♫

"Hot damn, that was good!" Rod said. "You're pretty good there, stranger!"

"Well, thank you," Simon said, "you're none too shabby yourself."

"Gotta keep busy around here somehow," Rod said. "Speaking of which, I'd better get a move on. Eli, last chance."

"I'll see you in the morning, Rod," Eli said. "I've got some reading to do, anyway."

"Suit yourself," Rod said. "How about you, Uncle Zeke? It'd be a good night for it."

"You know," old Zeke said, "I think I will. If you can be patient with me, that is." He stood slowly and picked up his rustic, homemade cane.

"Very good," Rod said. "Gentlemen. Lady." Rod and Zeke left in the direction of the woods. They carried no light, although what looked like several candle lights seemed to be moving in the same direction further in.

"So your friend ought to be on his feet in another day or two," Eli said. "What will you all do then?"

"We were sent here with a mission," Milton said. "I suppose we should try to follow it. I, at least, will head down the mountain into Greenfield. Is it far?"

"Not too far. It's rough traveling by foot, it might take a day's walk or a bit more," Eli said. "You can go right past the mine and straight into town. I've gotta say, though, I'm not sure what you expect to find. The ghoulish folk came up from that way in droves. Are you just looking for survivors, or anyone in particular?"

"My brother lived there," Simon said. "He worked in the mine."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he's all right," Eli said.

"Me too," Simon said, "although I don't know what I'll say if I find him."

"If it were me," Eli said, "I'd just say 'I love you.' Anything else is just extra, isn't it?"

Simon smiled. "You're a good man, Eli."

"Hey, will you play us one more?" Eli said. "Then you'd all better get back to the infirmary. I don't want to have Phineas asking me why you were still up and poking around so late."

"Sure thing," Simon said.

♬If I get murdered in the city

Don’t go revengin' in my name

One person dead from such is plenty

No need to go get locked away

♬ When I leave your arms

The things that I think of

No need to get over-alarmed

I’m comin' home

♬I wonder which brother is better

Which one our parents love the most

I sure did get in lots of trouble

They seemed to let the other go

♬A tear fell from my father’s eyes

I wondered what my dad would say

He said I love you

And I’m proud of you both, in so many different ways

♬If I get murdered in the city

Go read the letter in my desk

Don’t bother with all my belongings

But pay attention to the list

♬Make sure my sister knows I loved her

Make sure my mother knows the same

Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing

Like the love that let us share our name

Always remember, there is nothing worth sharing

Like the love that let us share our name♬

---

"A most pleasant evening," Milton said as they walked toward the infirmary where they were staying.

"Yes, it was," Debbie said.

A faint sound of drums rolled from the woods. "Most curious," Milton said. "You know, I don't think I'm quite ready for the evening to end just yet. Would either of you care to see what the hubbub in the woods is about?"

"I think we really should check on..." Simon began.

"He's asleep, he's always asleep," Milton said. "He'll be fine for another half hour. I'm dying to know what's got that codger of a priest so nervous. Are you coming? Debbie?"

"We probably shouldn't," Debbie said, "but I am interested. They don't seem the sorts to gun us down for exploring. I don't know..."

"Tell you what, you can catch up," Milton said as he marched off into the woods.

"That is such a bad idea," Simon said. "That's how horror stories start."

"Simon," Debbie said, "you're suffering from PTSD and survivors guilt from having lived through the end of the world, we just crashed our zeppelin due to an attack by an otherworldly creature, and this is the part where you think the horrors will start? Milton, I'm coming too." She took off after him.

"Debbie!" Simon said. This is such a bad idea, he thought.

Simon kept after them until he could see a  light up ahead in the woods. It was easy traveling for how dark it was. He was walking on what seemed like a well beaten path; whatever was going on out here must have happened before. As the light grew stronger he could make out human figures amid what seemed to be several bonfires.

As Simon caught up with Debbie, he could see much more clearly what was going on. The drums had become quite loud. Many people, presumably townsfolk, were dancing between four fires. Most of them were entirely naked, jumping and writhing to the drum beats. In the center of the fires there was a stone well, but light came up through the well. It was a peculiar light of indescribable color. The ground around the well seemed to be crystallized and reflecting or glowing with this same bizarre color that Simon couldn't quite make out. Some of the dancers were chanting in a language Simon had never heard before. One of the dancers was closer to him, and he caught a glimpse of her eyes. They seemed almost dead, covered in an ink-like substance. It sent chills down his back.

Debbie was frozen in place ahead of him. "Debbie," Simon whispered. "We need to leave. Now."

"Look," she said.

Several people were gathering around the well, including one wearing a robe of animal skins. Another walked forward guiding a man, bent with age. Simon recognized the rustic, homemade cane carried by the naked old man.

"Where is Milton?" Simon whispered. Debbie gestured to their left,  very close to one of the fires. Milton peered out from behind a tree with a look of fascinated horror on his face.

The robed figure led the old man up to the well. The chanting had accelerated, and the dancers were ecstatic. The drum beat was deafening. Suddenly, the drums and chanting stopped as the robed figure grabbed the old man by the hair and swung a tomahawk across the old man's throat. The priest held the man's head above the well as blood poured down into it; with one hand, the priest then pulled the man over, tossing him head first down the well. The cane fell to the earth silently; only the roar of the fires could be heard.

"Wha..."

Simon spun toward the uncontrolled utterance that Milton had released. He looked back at the cultists to see if they heard him. For several seconds no one moved. Then the robed figure lowered his arms. He immediately spun to look directly at Milton. The jet black mane was unmistakable; the cult priest was Rod, his eyes as inky as the rest.

Rod's body let loose a terrible, inhuman shriek that Simon recognized all too well.

He grabbed Debbie by the arm and began to run. Back the way they came, he pulled her along without looking back.

"No, no!" They heard Milton cry out. Still they ran. They ran along the path until they could see the edges of the town buildings. They continued to run until they saw the flickering lights of the candles in the windows of the chapel. Simon pulled Debbie behind him until they reached the chapel door. He pounded on it until it opened, with Phineas standing in the doorway holding a cross.

"There was... Zeke... well... and Milton... they..." Simon tried to say, but couldn't catch his breath from the running.

Phineas lowered his head, mouthed something in Latin, and looked up. "Your friend is lost," Phineas said. "You were right to leave him. Did he see either of you?"

"Wha... what?" Simon said.

"Did he see you? The hunter-priest, did his eyes catch sight of yours, either of you, or only your friend?" Phineas asked insistently.

"I... don't think he saw..." Simon said.

"Maybe," Debbie said.

"What?" Simon said.

"As I was turning," Debbie said, "I think he may have seen me."

"Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!" Phineas said. "Take this." He handed her the cross from his hands. "And whatever you have on your persons. Do not stop until you reach the city. And may God have mercy upon you. Nimrod will have none."

Phineas looked at the both of them. "Don't stand here, you fools. Run! RUN!"

---

Don't miss next month's episode, Evil Is Alive.

Check out this episode's songs:

Acoustic #3 (reprise), performed by A Boy Named Blue

Superstition by Stevie Wonder

The Fox (Traditional), performed by Nickel Creek

Murder in the City by The Avett Brothers

Life Is Old There

♬Friday evening

Sunday morning

All the minutes in between

Bluegrass hearts down on bar stools

Another chance to come clean

It's this city; I don't belong here

Cut my hair, change my name

And I'll stop thinkin' about what I've got to lose

And I'll start singin' of what I can gain♬

It was still dark when Simon awoke in his bunk on the airship. He took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim artificial lights of the cabin before looking around. Most of the crew was already awake, if they had slept at all. He sat up and slid his bare feet onto the warm, humming metal floor below him. Must be right over a steam pipe, he thought. Over by one of the massive windows he saw Milton Burke and one of the crew members immersed in a game of chess, while the pilot concentrated on the forward march of the dirigible. The black outside was slowly fading in to reveal a thick gray fog.

"What time is it?" Simon asked.

"Early," Milton said without taking his eyes off the chessboard. "Quite early in the morning, although not as early as it looks. Blasted fog came in last night, and we've been slow going all night."

"Guess we should've gotten an earlier start," Simon said as he walked over to the chessboard.

"Ha," the pilot said over his shoulder. "It wouldn't be government work if we got things done on time. That, at least, has never changed."

They had gotten an early start the day before, but the briefing on the assignment took most of the day. Instructions on how to bail out of an airship in case of emergency, combined with a leisurely two-hour lunch, managed to keep them from leaving New York until late.

"Knight to E9," Simon said to Milton's rival. "check."

"Here now, if you were waiting until now to reveal you're a chess savant the least you could do is come in on the side of the good guys," Milton said.

"Whichever side I'm on is the good guys," Simon said. "Is Debbie up?"

"Over here," Debbie said, rolling out of her own bunk. "What time is it?"

"Early," Simon and Milton said in unison.

♬It's a crime to need you

The way that I do

It's a crime to need you

The way that I do

♬So go easy

Go honestly

Go easy when you go

Well if you love me, just leave me

Go easy when you go♬

"Let's grab some breakfast," Simon said.

"Sure," Debbie said groggily.

"There any bacon? Fresh bread?" Simon said.

"Ha," the pilot said over his shoulder.

"Councilman Abraham isn't dining with us today," Milton said. "I think there's Pop Tarts and granola bars behind those drawers." He gestured without taking his eyes off the board. "We'll have coffee and tea once we land in Greenfield. Checkmate."

"OK, nobody better ask me to do any thinking or acting friendly until we land," Debbie said.

♬Monday's wishing

Wednesday's waiting

Don't you let time take its toll

December's been drowning in yesterday's dreams

The winter's been good to my soul

♬Darling, can you hear me?

Ten thousand miles away

Out on the road trying to lighten my load

From the price that lovin' you pays

♬It's a crime to need you

The way that I do

It's a crime to need you

The way that I do

♬So go easy

Go honestly

Go easy when you go

Well if you love me, just leave me

Go easy when you go

♬Go easy when you go

Go easy when you go♬

---

Simon and Debbie ate by one of the large windows, desperately wishing they could get a pot of hot, caffeinated beverage. Although still hazing and playing tricks with their eyes, the dim light slowly began to overwhelm the fog, allowing them to just notice the hills of West Virginia around them.

"Looks like I'm almost home," Simon said. "Strange to still think of it that way after all this time." Simon stared outside.

Debbie placed a hand on his sleeve. "If your brother John is alive, we'll find him," she said.

"Yeah," Simon said. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say when we see him. 'I'm sorry' doesn't nearly cover a thing like that."

"You'll find the right words," Debbie said. "I've been praying."

"I thought you weren't being nice until someone gives you coffee," Simon said wryly.

"I'll smack you with something later to make up for it," Debbie said.

Simon picked up his guitar. "Well, since we are no doubt over my native land now, it's only fitting I play a little ditty from Mister John Denver."

♫Almost heaven, West Virginia, 

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River. 

Life is old there, older than the trees, 

Younger than the mountains 

Growin' like a breeze. 

♫Country roads, Take me home 

To the place I belong.

West Virginia, Mountain momma, 

Take me home country roads

♫All my mem'ries, gather round her, 

Miner's lady, stranger to blue water. 

Dark and dusty, painted on the sky, 

Misty taste of moonshine 

Teardrop in my eye. 

♫Country roads, Take me home

To the place I belong.

West Virginia, Mountain momma,

Take me home country roads

♫ I hear her voice in the morning hour she calls me, 

The radio reminds me of my home far away 

And driving down the road I get a feeling 

That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday. 

♫Country roads, Take me home 

To the place...

Simon broke off as he stared out the window.

"Something wrong, Simon?" Debbie asked.

"What was that, some kind of bird?" Simon said.

"What was what?" Debbie said. "I didn't see anything."

"In the fog," Simon said.

"I'm not sure you could see anything clearly in fog," the pilot said over his shoulder.

"It looked..." Simon said. "Must've been nothing. Just a trick of the light, that's all." Of course Simon didn't at all feel it was a trick of the light, but he had learned not to be too trusting of his own senses. Still, it had not been his niece that he saw scrolling in and out of the fog.

♫Country roads, Take me home 

To the place I belong.

West Virginia, Mountain momma, 

Take me home country roads

♫Country roads, Take me home  

To the place I belong. 

West Virginia, Mountain momma,  

Take me home country roads♫

Simon looked out again. Nothing.

"How much longer to Greenfield?" Simon asked.

"Fog looks like it's finally going to lift, so we should be there in a few hours," the pilot said. "Just have to get over this little ol' mountain, and Greenfield's at the bottom of the other side."

"Sounds good," Simon said. A motion caught his attention, and he found himself staring out the window of the airship again. Something was definitely moving out there... at least Simon hoped so. As he stared, the movement finally became clear to him. Something was flying beside them. Something alive. A creature trying to hide in the mist.

"What is it, Simon?" Milton asked. "What do you see?"

Simon struggled to make sense of the creature he was seeing, if creature was even the best word for it. His first impression was of a giant insect, like a dragonfly with wings interspersed across its whole body. But then they didn't resemble wings so much as great fluttering leaves extending from a twisted stalk. The front end of the creature had leg-like protrusions and what seemed to be a gaping maw filled with teeth, surrounded on all sides by a flower's stamen. Yet these protrusions seemed to move and turn, watching every direction with a dozen eyes on the ends. The creature flew, and yet didn't; it almost seemed to float or swim through the fog, as if the air were too thick for the creature to fall. The more he strained to see it, the more it resembled a bizarre sea monster pulled out of its natural habitat. It even seemed to fade in and out of visibility, the mouth gulping as it disappeared like an otter surfacing for air. Simon's mind simply lacked the categories to comprehend what he was looking at.

"Debbie?" Simon whispered. "Can you see it?"

"I... I don't know," Debbie whispered back.

"Don't lie to me, if it's all in my head you have to tell me."

"There might be something," Debbie said. "I'm just not sure."

Simon rubbed his eyes and it was gone. He looked all around, finally leaning against the window in order to look up beside the airship's massive balloon.

A giant train of scales, bark, and arachnid legs swooped down past the window. Simon jumped back.

"What was that?" Debbie exclaimed.

"Ha," the pilot said, "I'm tellin' ya, the fog does things to the eyes. I swear I've seen a canary the size of a Honda in fog like this once. Turned out a kid had let a helium balloon fly. Wasn't even yellow!"

"It went under us," Simon said. "Milton, check the other side."

"Alright," Milton said, "but I have to say that I get nervous when 'creative types' start seeing things. Calm and rationality are always called for." Milton looked out the window on his side, squinting. "There's something out there... difficult to make out. Could be anything, really."

"How fast are we going," Simon said. "Slow enough a child's balloon could follow us for ten minutes?"

"Not hardly," the pilot said.

Simon and Debbie went to look out Milton's window. "It was down there," Milton said, "but I can't see it anymore."

The whole airship shook violently for an instant, sending everyone standing to the floor.

"What the f..." the pilot said, interrupted by another shake. The pilot looked at his controls. "We're losing altitude!"

"What in blazes is going on here?" Milton said.

"I think we're gonna find out," Simon said, looking out the window. The creature was looping around from above them, and was now swimming straight for the window. "Get down!"

The glass shattered and wind buffeted everything that wasn't bolted down. Debbie and Milton slid toward the front of the descending craft as Simon grabbed hold of the chess table. For just a moment, Simon looked up.

Its mouth was nearly circular, and huge. The creature could have swallowed Simon in two bites if it wanted to. The eyes peered around the mouth from all sides, twisting and curling against the force of the wind. It seemed to be coated in some sort of mucous or sap. The legs began to grab hold of the side of the cabin and flexed. It might have been trying to pry it open. Like a clam shell, Simon thought.

Just then, the creature seemed to gasp for air and faded out of sight. Treetops began to rustle past the window.

"I'm setting us down," the pilot shouted. "Hold on!"

---

It was light out when Simon awoke on the floor of the airship. His side hurt, and it took him a moment to remember what had happened. "How long was I out?"

"About a minute," Milton said, grabbing Simon through the shattered window and pulling him out. "Whatever that was, it's coming back. Run!"

Simon looked up. The long, worm-like creature was winding up and down in the sky, slowly turning around toward them.

"Wait a second," Simon said, climbing back into the ruined airship.

"Simon!" Milton shouted. "This is not a game!"

Simon glanced around the cabin. Two of the crew lay dead from the crash. His eyes stung from sweat and his head throbbed. "Ah!" Simon exclaimed as he spotted his guitar, safe in its case, by the opposite window. In an instant he emerged from the airship with his guitar in his hand. "I can't leave it. Let's go!"

"Will somebody give me a hand?" the pilot shouted. He was trying to walk, but the blood covering his right leg made clear he wasn't going to move fast.

"Simon, grab him!" Milton shouted. The two of them picked the pilot up by his shoulders, and along with Debbie and two other crew members, they ran.

The ground was uneven and overgrown. The nearby trees were sparse, and after what he saw on the airship Simon was not at all confident tree cover could protect them. They made their way toward a thicker patch of forest in the vague hope they would be harder to spot. Unless it smells its prey, Simon thought. For all I know those "eyes" can smell blood. Simon and Milton tried to keep up with the others, but neither was particularly athletic and the pilot was fading in and out of consciousness.

"Come on, Simon," Debbie shouted over her shoulder. She looked back. "Come on!"

"Hey there!" A voice yelled from the tree line. "This way! Over here!"

"What the ..." Milton began.

Debbie screamed and Simon instinctively dropped to the ground, bringing the pilot and Milton with him. He looked up to see the creature pass within a few feet of their heads, rising again for another pass.

"Go!" Milton yelled, starting to get up. "Leave him!"

"No!" Simon said, lifting the pilot's shoulder. "Help me!" They got up and headed for the voice in the woods.

"Rod!" the voice shouted. "Rod, we need you, now!"

The three of them were only a few yards from the treeline, but the creature had turned and was coming in from the side. Simon knew they weren't going to make it. We should have left him, Simon thought. He knew it would all be over soon. Sorry, John...

A figure came bounding out of the woods with inhuman speed. His foot found a stump and he lept into the air, drawing an arm back and over his head. "AAAARRRGGHH!" he yelled as he raised a tomahawk over his head and threw it directly into the mouth of the creature. The creature jerked away, letting forth a ghastly noise--it made Simon think of a whale's song in the first instant, then of the terrible, inhuman shriek of the ghouls--before fading away. There were blue flashes all around the weapon as it passed through the disappearing creature before the tomahawk fell to the ground.

Simon, Milton, and the pilot reached the trees and were immediately aided by a lean, red-bearded man--the one who had been calling to them earlier, Simon presumed. "Let me take a look at him," the man said. "Are you two OK?"

"We'll live, provided that thing doesn't come back," Milton said. "I'd like to thank our rescuers, what's your name?"

"Hi, I'm Eli Keim," the man said, shaking Milton's hand. "But if it's the hero you want to meet, that would be Rod."

Eli gestured at the man who had just retrieved his weapon and was now walking back to them. He was very tall, greater than six-and-a-half feet. He wore his hair and beard long, but without a mustache, like an inky black lion's mane. His eyes were bright green, with bushy brows above them. As he approached them, he embraced Eli warmly, then turned to look at the newcomers.

"Well, it's a good thing we were out here when you guys crashed," Rod said. "I mean, that was a crash, wasn't it? I don't know much about flying contraptions."

"Yeah," Debbie said. "That was definitely a crash. Did you kill that thing?"

"That?" Rod said, chuckling. "Not a chance. Look." He pulled a nail out of his pocket and held it up to his tomahawk. They clicked together for a moment, magnetized, before the nail slid and fell to the ground. "Barely even nicked him. I think I'm losing my touch. We probably shouldn't linger."

"Their friend's hurt pretty badly, we should take him home," Eli said.

"Is it that bad?" Rod said. "You know the preacher doesn't take too kindly to strangers, especially on the Lord's Day."

"He's bound to notice I'm missing, anyway," Eli said. "And this man really does need our help."

"Then let's get him what he needs," Rod said, picking up the injured man in his arms. "Where were you folks headed, anyway? We haven't met any outsiders in... well, I guess it's coming up on two years now."

"Rod? Milton Burke, PhD," Milton said, shaking Rod's hand. "We were on our way to meet some survivors in Greenfield. We're organizing a provisional government now that the crisis is over."

"Survivors? Survivors of what?" Rod said. "We don't get much in the way of news up here. Greenfield is just down the mountain, though, other side of the mines."

"You guys didn't notice the little zombie apocalypse we had last year?" Simon said.

"Is that what they were, zombies? I figured the city folk had finally lost their manners completely," Rod said.

"Rod likes to play the country bumpkin," Eli said. "We knew something was up, but figured it wasn't a good idea to send people away just for an explanation of why shrieking murderers were coming up the mountain."

"How did you all manage?" Debbie asked.

"Rod," Eli said. "Without him Gibeah would've been wiped off the map."

"Not that we're on most maps to begin with," Rod said with a grin. "Listen, I'll take this fellow over to the doc's place, you guys go in to church so Eli can get him."

"You want us all to go to church?" Milton said.

"Well, I'm pretty much the only one not there most Sundays," Rod said. "Preacher will be wondering where Eli is anyway, and the townsfolk wouldn't take kindly to strangers milling about while they're at chapel."

---

The crash survivors heard music dying down as they approached the old chapel doors.

"Will we be disrupting the service?" Simon asked.

"A hand grenade couldn't break Phineas's concentration when he's about to preach," Eli said. "Just grab a seat in the back. I'll find the doctor and we can go over there after the service."

"If it's all the same to you, I'll wait outside," Milton said. "I'm not much of one for religious rubbish."

"Neither are two thirds of the people in there, so you won't be alone," Eli said. "But I'm afraid it's not all the same to me. Like Rod said, we'd rather not have strangers poking around unobserved."

A man's voice began to echo from inside the chapel.

"OK, he's started," Eli said and opened the chapel door gently.

Simon followed Milton and Debbie and the others into the musty chapel. The congregants were standing, so they slipped in and slid into a back pew mostly unnoticed. Eli went ahead several rows and disappeared into a pew. Simon could barely see him whispering to a bald headed man up ahead. The bald man seemed quite displeased, shaking his head several times before entering the aisle and walking out the back. He gave the visitors a stern sideways glance as he passed them.

"You may be seated," the voice came from the front, and they all were. Simon wanted to just let his mind wander, but the short, robed preacher had a rich, commanding voice pouring over his tuft of beard. He removed his reading glasses and began to speak, and Simon couldn't help but listen.

"Beloved brothers, the words of Abraham weigh heavily on me this day. The Lord reveals to His servant what He intends to do, and the man is terrified by what may come. And so I am likewise terrified of what may come upon us, upon this very people.

"Ye all know, for ye be not outsiders, what we have seen in these latter days. How men took on the manner of beasts; how they ascended this mountain, as if to set themselves against the anointed; how they came upon us and misused us, and how many of our number were lost to their plague and madness; how we saw with our own eyes the curse on God's people carried out when He said 'ye shall eat the flesh of your sons, and the flesh of your daughters shall ye eat';  how the Most High God raised up a judge among us to repel the evil; how the evil of that unholy city below us has laid silent. And we have felt no pity, nor ought we.

"And yet the sins of that city were not so unlike the sins of these two cities. And now, I fear, like the sin growing among us. The iniquity is on the heads of your leaders, as in the days of Korah. I know that many of ye here have been adulterous, running after foreign gods, and listening to the voice of prophets ye have not known. Ye are falling away from your faith, and I do not know if I wish to catch ye.

"Yet catch ye I must, for that is my duty. How can I refuse when Abraham pleads for the lives of those who are not his own? He pleads for Lot, yes, but for many more besides. 'Peradventure there be fifty righteous within the city: wilt thou also destroy and not spare the place for the fifty righteous that are therein?' For such a number, Abraham seeks protection. And again, 'Peradventure there shall lack five of the fifty righteous,' and again 'Peradventure there shall forty be found there,' and thirty, and twenty, and ten. 'I will not destroy it for ten's sake' saith the Lord. Thus does Abraham plead continually for even this small number.

"We know what doth happen: the house of Lot is sent away, and in his absence the cities are destroyed utterly. There were not ten souls worth saving in such a place. And, perhaps, this was so in that other city, given over to the plague and the curse. How many of our number remain true? If ye do not turn, how long can we last before a new plague is born? How long before we, too, are eating the flesh and drinking the blood of our children, partaking in such an unholy communion? For it is a communion the beast-men embraced: a communion of murderers, of adulterers, of witches, of devils. 'Take, eat: this is my body.' So when the devils feast on devils, they do confirm their testament together.

"This table," he said, stepping toward a table and remove a cover over the bread and wine, "is not for such a covenant. If ye would come to this table to confirm your testament with Him, neither I nor any man will stand against ye. But so that I might catch ye, remember that ye cannot commune with God and with a devil. If ye have practiced any such thing, then this body and blood are a curse upon ye, upon ye and all who abide with ye. The jealous husband cannot abide another lover, but will throw the adulteress and her lover alike into the pit. Take us not into the pit, but come to the heavenly manna which leaveth no man hungry. And let us ask for His guidance. Amen."

The whole congregation stood and began to file toward the tables at the front, singing as they walked.

♫Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah,

Pilgrim through this barren land.

I am weak, but Thou art mighty;

Hold me with Thy powerful hand.

Bread of heaven, 

Feed me now and evermore♫

---

Don't miss next month's episode, The Devil's on his Way.
Check out this episode's songs:

Go Easy  by David McMillin
Take Me Home Country Roads by John Denver
Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah by William Williams