Butcher, Baker and Replicant Maker
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The Sisters Will Dance: Blaine Woosely claws his way back to the living. He has cleaned his blood of his addiction, and an unexpected, family farm home rewards his efforts. Only, the country acres isolate Blaine when a sharp-toothed monster hunts to bring Blaine back to dark. The sad history of Blaine's blood brings magic to the country home's new master, but in the end, only Blaine himself can break his chains.
Mr. Hancock’s Signature: The dead walk in Monteray. The corpse of a nearly forgotten farmer named Hancock arrives via train. Ian Washington remembers Mr. Hancock and vows to return the body home. Yet Mr. Hancock's body will not rest while Ian works to reopen a cemetery, and the corpse staring each morning upon the doorstep forces the town to choose between the isolation of their fear or the hope of their fellowship.
Butcher, Baker and Replicant Maker
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2013 by Brian S. Wheeler
Butcher, Baker and Replicant Maker
Contents
Chapter 1 – Candies for a Special Day
Chapter 2 – Butcher, Baker and Replicant Maker
Chapter 3 – Elegant the Crane
Chapter 4 – Darling Clementine
Chapter 5 – A Kaleidoscope of Color
Chapter 6 – Nightmare and Revenge
Chapter 7 – A Craving Without Hunger
Chapter 8 – Looking Upon the Beast
Help Spread the Story
About the Writer
Other Stories
Chapter 1 – Candies for a Special Day..
“Go on, Tarence.”
“No need to feel afraid, son.”
“Listen to your father, Tarence. Go on, son.”
“Put on the glasses and celebrate you most special day.”
Tarence believed his parents had celebrated his special day too often during his twelfth year. Too often, his mother and father placed those dark glasses on the table in front of him. His parents surrounded the glasses with slices of pies, with pieces of cake. They filled his stomach with sweet soft drinks and sour candies each time they placed the glasses before him.
Tarence's taste buds no longer thrilled at the sight of the sugar feast. He knew he would have to look into those glasses no matter how many bites of candy he might try to swallow to deny it. So rather than suffer another gastronomical ache, Tarence refrained from a single scoop of chocolate ice cream and decided to face the ritual of those dark glasses that defined his special day more than any of the piles of jawbreakers and cupcakes often provided him during his twelfth year.
“Is there is anything else you might have a hunger for, Tarence? Just tell us what you want, and we can supply it.”
Tarence silently shook his head at the tall, dark man standing behind his parents. He hoped he was not rude for not answering. It was poor practice to be rude to the men dressed in the dark suits like that worn by the tall man standing behind his mom and dad. Only, Tarence didn't consider himself a very brave man at age twelve, and he always failed to summon the confidence to speak to the men who always delivered both the candies and the glasses for his special days.
“Perhaps a pizza? A hot dog? A cheeseburger?” The tall man's associate, short, heavy man in another dark suit, purred towards Tarence. “Our cooks can prepare almost anything a child's palette can dream. A banana split sundae? Peanut Brittle? Cotton Candy? You only name it, Tarence. This is your special day.”
Tarence nodded. This was the ninth occasion the glasses had been brought before him for his special day.
“And imagine all you will taste and feel once you can see through the glasses,” grandeur soaked the tall man's whispers. “Our cooks can only know so many recipes. Our resources must always have a limit. But once you can see in the glasses, Tarence, you can have anything you want.”
The shorter and heavier man in the dark suit nodded. “The world within the glasses has no limitations. The world inside the glasses is limited only by your imagination.”
“It's splendid,” cooed Tarence's mother.
“It's wonderful,” promised Tarence's father.
Tarence did not share the others' confidence in the dark glasses. He never considered his parents very creative. Tarence thought them rather cold, emotionless people when they were not plugged into the system by means of the ports surgically implanted at the base of their brains. Nor did Tarence think the men in the dark suits any more imaginative. They always tried to speak with the same voice. They all wore the same clothes.
“Well then, Tarence,” and the boy's father did his best to bathe his words in paternal authority, “if you're finished with your ice cream, go and put on the glasses.”
Tarence clasped the glasses and unfolded the spectacles' arms. He knew it would do no good to resist. He had resisted on his third special day. His parents had given up and sighed then, and Tarence had thought he had won. But then the tall and short man in the dark suits had grabbed him, had pushed him back down into his chair. They had tied his arms and his legs when he kicked and punched. They had filled his mouth with bubble gum when he tried to bite. The men in the suits had used force that Tarence couldn't resist on that boy's third special day, and they had taught the child that there was no way to avoid looking through the dark glasses they brought for each occasion.
Tarence hated being humiliated. He felt neither brave nor strong.
Thus Tarence closed his eyes and slipped those dark glasses of his most special day upon his nose for that ninth time during his twelfth year. The glasses gently embraced his head. He gulped and opened his eyes.
A sudden flash blinded him. The flash was new, and Tarence worried for a second that he would graduate from his special day's ritual. His stomach clenched. Nausea rose in his throat. Tarence felt thankful he had not partaken of the greasy cheese fries.
Nothing followed that flash as Tarence looked into the darkness the glasses presented.
Once more, the glasses failed to connect with his young mind.
Tarence smiled as he stared into the darkness. No visions swirled into focus. Strange, new cities did not rise in the lenses. Divine music did not fill his ears. The glasses still offered only darkness to Tarence. For a while longer, Tarence would avoid the implanted port at the base of his brain. For a while longer, Tarence could run through the new city's plastic, clean and white halls.
For a while longer, Tarence could still visit the replicant maker. For a little while more, that man's mechanical creatures would continue to tickle Tarence's dreams.
“Is it working?” Tarence's mother asked.
His father grinned. “Just look at that smile. Would his smile be so wide if the glasses were not working?”
But the tall man and the short man dressed in their black suits knew better and sighed. The system did not yet claim Tarence into the order and serenity that was both the machine and new world.
“It has not worked yet,” the tall man commented.
The shorter man removed the glasses from Tarence. “But all is not wasted. We'll bring the glasses back to the technicians. They can review the data from this visit. The data might show how the machine can open to such a young mind.”
Tarence paid no attention while his parents and the men in the dark suits mumbled about dreams and the machine. He pulled handfuls of chocolate cherries into his mouth with one hand while the other loaded pudding onto a spoon. Forks filled with yellow cake soon soothed the brain freeze Tarence suffered when he ate his sherbert too quickly. Fizzy soda helped clean the palette before Tarence tasted funnel cakes covered in powder sugar.
Tarence beamed. The men in the dark suits were right. Not even the new city's cooks could prepare enough sweets for the celebration Tarence believed the occasion deserved. Let his stomach ache however badly it may. Tarence would visit the replicant maker another day.
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