ita? Is that you? I must say, your corporeal change of residence agrees with you. Nice scimitar!

Oh, I'm just here for the weekends and occasional holidays. I'm working on a project. It will be ready for beta testing in a few weeks, but I'm going to need backers.

Off to get a few things for an early Christmas dinner. Can you recommend a decent grocery store?

"Uh, a grocery store?"

I kill my own food. I'd forgotten that you could buy it too.

Hmmm. I wouldn't mind killing the non-vegetable stuff. Do you have a hunting area near by? Wild turkey would hit the spot, but boar would do in a pinch.

I suppose I could grow and kill my own vegetables too, but I'm staying at a kind of boarding house while I'm here.

Connie and I walk out of the theater, shaking our heads. Damn Nazgul got up three times for nachoes once the Ents started attacking. Bitches. We could take them out, but instead we opt for ice cream. Sitting in the corner booth of the small parlor, we go over what we know.

Connie shifts in her seat, licking her cone. "Miracleman's doing ... something. After that last fiasco, ita's been keeping a closer watch on him."

"Yeah, Hector's been keeping the town apprised of anything funky. Our Darling Hecubus has a nice deal going there."

"Well, look at the mess from last time. We had to do something. "

"I am not taking Bob and the boys out for a midnight flight in the middle of winter. Not enough polar fleece in the world to deal with that kind of wind chill."

Dang! I just realized this place has no apparent phone system whatsoever. It didn't bother me at the house, but now I need one.

Ah, well. Perhaps casting a message to the winds will work. Stranger things have happened. In fact, they happened yesterday.

ita, are you free Monday? I have my boots, gauntlets, knives and my .22 (Yes, I know you're not a gun person but we can't all be blade belles). I'm thinking a nice morning of hunting in the Eastern woods. You up?

Wondering the streets, Hector and I chat a while, trying to keep our eyes open for estate agents but also enjoying the festive lights.

"So," I say to Hector, in the intrests of having a little conversation, "You're a bogeyman, huh?"

"That's what Miracleman says, and I suppose he knows. But my mother always told me we were bogarts, and should be proud of it."

"Probably a generic term, instead of the exact species. William Darjeeling's excellent book, 'A Plodonoctologist's Guide to the Demonic Beasties of Temperate Earth' would tell you, but I left my copy at home."

"Plodonoctology?"

"Study of things that go bump in the night. A word invented by Darjeeling himself-- he's David Attenbourgh's Satanic double, you know. Here, an estate agent."

Several hours later, we're in what Hector calls the 'Dalrymple District'. The man who's showing us houses is bored, and so am I. "It's your standard detactched 3bed, 2bath, 4door, 3ley,6AU, 5POV, 1Mpreg townhouse," he drawls.

The sixth one we've seen, it has a major advantage over the others: it's furnished. More comfortable for the Discordian rituals if you don't have to perform them on bare floorboards. "I'll take it." I hand the man Miracleman's blue plastic cabbage leaf, and he rubs it through a device on his belt, which beeps twice and spews out paper.

"Will you be moving in at once?"

"I'll stay now, if that's okay."

"That's fine," he smiles, hands me the keys, and leaves.

I hand the plastic cabbage back to Hector. "Here- take this back to your..." Master? Flat-mate? Lover? "Back to Miracleman. Tell him thanks, and I'll see him soon."

When Hector's left, I take a good look around. No books, sadly, but the beds are all made. Now I can faint on my own time, I don't feel the least bit tired, so I set to dusting the place.

Well, I would, but there aren't any conveinent stakes and I'm not sure where the heart of a house is, so it'll just have to stay undead for now. I light a fire in the hearth, pull out the best oragen-saft, and sit to watch the flames leap up the chimbney.

I wonder: will anyone around here sell me a vegetarian hotdog on Sweetmorn?

Well, I would, but there aren't any conveinent stakes and I'm not sure where the heart of a house is, so it'll just have to stay undead for now.

t giggles

My hand touches a piece of paper in my pocket. I don't remember having placed it there, but one knows what they say about stranger thing, especially in Sang Sacre.

The handwriting is my own, the message is not.

I will need meat by Monday. And I always need the exercise. I don't think any of the wildlife has been shot before. I hope they don't decide to retaliate.

Hmmm. I don't recall buying an answering machine, but there it is, blinking away. Still no phone, though.

Yay, ita! Although her tone is a bit ominous. I think I'll bring my bow and snares, just in case the woods object to anything noisy.

Memo to self: Buy a spit.