The kitchen television drones while I clean the countertops and mop the floor. The latest batch of hybrid peppers exploded yet again, leaving me with a huge mess to clean up.

"…The category is The Occult, and here is your jeopardy answer…Three knocks, or the sudden appearance of sparrows are referred to as these."

A sound of disgust issues from the TV.

"We would like to remind our viewers at home to not speak the jeopardy answers out loud."

Damn. Wifey has left on the interaction function. Again. No doubt while she was watching Firefly last night. Again.

I use my best Connery voice. "Sh'oory Alex."

I hit the power button on the set, ignoring the hostile stare of the contestant from Des Moines. Turning back to my work, I almost don't notice that the patio door is open fractionally. Almost. Holding the mop in a defensive manner, I approach the door. On the floor are tufts of blue fur and a trail of cookie crumbs.

That's Odd.

I follow the furry ginger-spoor through the kitchen. From there it leads down the hall and into the library. Cautiously, I enter.

Edging into the darkened room, I hear what can only be described as sucking and cracking noises coming from behind the oxblood leather chair. The trail of hairy crumbs seems to lead here. I raise the mop in my right hand, and pull out the chair with my left.

Something moves.

I lash out, but at the last second I stay my mop. There, bathed in the pale light from the hall, was Ginger-Cthulhu! In its tentacle-shrouded mouth, it chewed noisily on what appeared to be a furry blue hand. The creature was bloated and larger than it had been, no doubt from eating whatever that blue thing was. Moments passed, me staring at it, it staring at me. Abruptly, its slimy voice spoke in my mind, and I could feel it take control of my very body. It was more than just a cookie treat now. It was much stronger.

~WhOm Is ThE MasTer NoW!~

I manage to gasp, "I thought you were eaten at the press conference..."

It belches. ~HaRdLY. THe GoOgiLy-EyEd FreAk biT oFF moRe ThAn it CoUld CheW. NOw thEn. CthUlhU's MiNiOnS ArE aLL GoNe. MaKe MoRe Or CtHulHu WiLL feAsT oN yOuR DelicIouS BrAinS!~

I manage to speak, finding my tongue thick, "No can do. All out of ectoplasm-dough."

The cookie-fiend rifled through my mind, seeking the truth of the matter. A wheeze escapes it, as it realizes that it is the last of its kind.

~CtHuLhU iS NoT HaPpY hErE. CtHulhU WaNts To Go BaCK tO hIs CiTy UnDeR tHe waVes. YoU WiLL TaKe CtHuLHu HoME tO Ry'LeH, WheRe YoU wiLL sPenD eTerNiTY tEnDiNg To CthULHu's nEEdS.~

Terror chokes me, as it assails me with awful images of death, chaos, and despair. Strangely enough, most of the images have to do with dismembered Keebler elves.

"…And just…where…is this Ry'leh?"

~tweNTy minUteS froM banGOr ... acTuaLly, ctHUlHu haS an eXceLLent viEw oF stePhen kINg's gARAge...~

Figures.

* * * *

The taxi drive is uneventful, if a little long. The maddening visions that Cthulhu has been sharing with me, have left me wide-eyed and just a little anxious. The only insight I have from the forced mind-meld is that the cookie-fiend is depressed by the loss of its fellow elder-treats, and that I am to be punished for my impudence. The cabby interrupts my wonderings.

"Here we are. Bangor Marina. That'll be…Twenty-three hundred dollars and fifty-five cents. How you plan on payin'…Cash, cheque or card?"

Chthulhu looks at me expectantly. I shrug. Via our link it realizes that I don't have my wallet. It rolls its eyes. Staring at the driver, Cthulhu waves its long, cookie-claws back and forth.

~YoU DoN’t WaNT To ChaRGe ThE HuMaN aND ThE InCrEdiBly PoWeRFuL...AnD TaSty...ELdEr GoD~

The cabbie's eyes glaze over. "I don't want to charge the human and the incredibly powerful, and tasty, elder god."

~YoU wAnT to PaY FoR ThE tRiP YoUrSeLF AnD YoU WaNT Us to HavE a NiCe DaY~

"I'll pay for the trip myself. Have a nice day."

We exit the cab and it zooms off. Cthulhu snorts.

~MiDiChLoriAns iNdEed… COme HuMan. We MuST FiND paSSaGe OuT to SeA.~

We cross the road to the marina. Cthulhu has relaxed its control over me, but I know that should it want to, it could tighten the proverbial reigns any time. The cookie does his mind trick on the security at the gates and we enter unhindered.

Everywhere we look there are expensive boats. I pick a modest 40-footer, but the ginger-god shakes its squid-like head. It points at a flashy 80-footer with chrome and brass everywhere.

~CtHuLHU WaNts ThiS oNe. It Is ShInY.~

I groan as I note the name of the yacht, the Minnow II. It is surprisingly easy to steal the vessel. It takes me a few minutes to figure out the controls and get a feel for it, but soon we are on our way…to my doom.

* * * *

The ginger-god lays out in a deckchair, browning its cookie-dough skin. I still feel its presence in my mind, so I don't even consider doing anything remotely rebellious.

~StoP HuMan. We ArE HeRe.~

It all but jumps from the deckchair, then runs to the side of the boat. It peers down at the water, dark eyes glittering.

~ThiS Is WhErE CtHuLU GeTs Off.~

Without further word, the ginger-god jumps ship. It lands in the water with a modest splash, then bobs to the surface. I watch as pieces of the cookie begin to slough off. Cthulhu looks surprised and more than a little perturbed as it softens in the briny water. Slowly it begins to sink, its soggy body being torn apart by the lapping waves. Before it has completely washed away, I hear its final, desperate words.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

I give a sigh of relief and slump down on the deck

"Is good enough for me."

The door slams shut behind me, and I stomp the snow from my boots onto the hall rug. I drop my bags on the floor with more than a little relief, and head up the stairs. Vacations are nice and all, but it's good to be home.

Bwah ha ha ha ha!!!

t Realizes that Bangor is inland... Decides to go with it anyway...

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

You realize this caused me near-fatal eye-rolling and snerking, don't you?

Realizes that Bangor is inland... Decides to go with it anyway...

Well...there's ...err...river frontage. And besides, Ry'leh is 20 minutes from Bangor by Cthulhu reckoning. ;)

You realized this caused me near-fatal eye-rolling and snerking, don't you?

~tweNTy minUteS froM banGOr ... acTuaLly, ctHUlHu haS an eXceLLent viEw oF stePhen kINg's gARAge...~

Oh, gosh, snerk

~CtHuLHU WaNts ThiS oNe. It Is ShInY.~

And there I broke. It's all about the shiny.

Ow. I hurt myself laughing.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

I give a sigh of relief and slump down on the deck

"Is good enough for me."

SNERK

As long as that post is, it really should be COMMed.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

You broke me. That and the shiny.

Wrod to the COMMing.

t dragged into the thread after giggling like a loon in COMM. Go Team Future Spouse-in-law

A knock at the door?

Hmm.

I set my mug down precariously on the arm rest, slide a scrap of paper between the pages of my book and hurriedly pull on the new curly-toed slippers from Goblin Market. I can't help shivering as my toes grow and curl automatically in a fashion that really shouldn't be allowed, and there's the shadow of a stifled Mona Lisa smile curving my mouth as I pad over to the door.

To my absolute delight, it's a large carrier pigeon with a package from Atlantis.com - presumably the Return of the King DVD I ordered last week. Guess they ironed out the fritz in the time machine after all. I make a mental note to send flowers to Mr Wells. The pigeon is about the size of an alsation and it's wearing a cloth cap with racing stripes embroidered down the side. I squint at the logo automatically: Dastardly Inc. Nice to see that they're back in business. According to the gossip columns, he's back with Mutley again, which is quite sweet.

The pigeon accepts a handful of rice crackers and flaps off on its way, effortlessly avoiding the flurry of brightly coloured feral paper kites. A small UFO zips past on business of its own and the air carries the melodic cry of the muezzin perched atop a slender minaret three streets away. Closer to hand someone is playing Rhapsody in Blue on a Harpsichord. I grin, and close the door.

I open the package hungrily and do an impromptu Numfar dance (not particularly fashionable these days, since Salsa became the rage, but I have a soft spot for the Numfar clubs of old). Return of the King. With commentaries. Yay!

I glance at the other slips of paper and frown.

Huh. They're going ahead with the Black Light District, according to the flyers. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, but I try to be broad-minded about it. I'm a liberal kind of girl, after all; I mean, this isn't my cup of tea, but some of my best friends are into physics and it's their choice. So long as they don't flaunt it in public where I have to see, I guess it's up to them what they do with their time.

I find myself wondering whether anyone I know might be a closet physicist. I mean, I know some of them are out and proud - the biannual Pride March makes it very clear that they're part of the community. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sometimes - well, a little curious.

The names don't leave one in any doubt about the sort of clientele they're aimed at. "The Mobius Strip". "BarYon." "Schroedinger's Pussycat." "Top 2 Bottom." "Black Holes." "Strange Charm." "ConFusion." A whole street has been taken over by Late Night Physics Clubs.

I bite my lip, take a sip of my warm amaretto, and find myself oddly tempted to take a little look.