Elder Sign

Thank you Enter The Octopus for posting this on your site.

I'm Back

I didn’t know how much my sense of identity was mashed up with The Soulless Machine Review until yesterday.

My blog went down at 7am and I just got it back up! Wow, that was a long day of stress and crazy.

Here is the fix that I used: 404 Error

Test

This is a test. I was playing with google pages and www.soullessmachine.com went missing. Everytime I tried to get to it, a 404 error came up.

Write of Spring, March 28

This weekend 60 Authors will be signing books at Once Upon a Crime.

Click here for a full list!

FALL OF CTHULHU: GODWAR

The great Cthulhu is about to rise. Mr. Arkham’s plans are unfolding causing the insanity of the Dreamlands to ooze into the real world. No one can stop this war of the gods, not even the Harlot. However, the Harlot will try to salvage her favorite playthings, humans. To the Harlot, the human hind holds so many sweat secrets, secrets that rightfully belong to her.

The Harlot has released Cy, one of her favorite play toys. With Lucifer’s help, the Harlot will send Cy on a critical mission to newly risen city of Ryleth. What will Cy do once he has arrived at Ryleth, only Cy and the Harlot know.

Fall of Cthulhu: GodWar is another deeply demented installment of Fall of Cthulhu from the sickly twisted mind of Michael Alan Nelson.

I was impressed with the elevated level of psychological trauma that Cy exhibited. The attention to detail paid to his broken mind was superb and the best pages in the book harkening back to the brilliance of the first two volumes that seemed somewhat absent in the third.

Anyway, Cy was released by the Harlot. She had stuck him in one of her boxes of knowledge. Whatever Cy saw while in her box, it must have been both terrifying and orgasmic because Cy wants nothing to do with the outside world. Cy will do anything to get back into the box. There is a great scene where Cy makes a box out of couch cushions, only his eye can be seen through the cracks.

The is a lot to like in this volume, but buy and read it for the scene with Cy and his box made out of cushions.

Fall of Cthulhu: GodWar. Story: Michael Alan Nelson. Art: Mateus Santolouco and Mark Dos Santos. Las Angles: Boom! Studios, 2008.

Minnesota RollerGirls’ Fans Activate

Are you a diehard fan of the Minnesota RollerGirls? Do you think that the summer sucks because the last bout is in April, and rejoice at the return of fall because it means fast-action from Suzie Smashbox and hard-hits from the imposing Jawbreaker? Maybe you miss the devilish dance of Batterin’ Gram as she punishes those dirty girls in the penalty box or the janitorial expertise of Wet Spot? Minnesota RollerGirls fans fear not, 2009 is our lucky year.

The Minnesota RollerGirls and The Legendary Roy Wilkins Auditorium will host the 2009 WFTDA North Central Regional: Brawl of America, September 18-20.

The Minnesota RollerGirls need your help!

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We Want You!
Friday, March 13, 2009

Yes, you. The Minnesota RollerGirls are putting together the finest derby tournament that anyone has ever seen. The Brawl of America lands on the Roy Wilkins Auditorium on September 18th, goes through to the 20th, and we need you and your passion for roller derby to make it all happen.

You want to give us a hand? It's easy. Send an e-mail to volunteers@brawlofamerica.com and let us know. We need volunteers for this tournament in every area you can think of; security, merchandise, stats, even marketing. We'll need an army of volunteers at the bout, but we also need help as we put this beast together in the coming months. So whatever your ability, whatever your schedule, we want you. Help us show off Minneapolis, St. Paul and the Legendary Roy Wilkins Auditorium to the derby world, and help us create a tournament that people will talk about for years to come.

You in?
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So what are you waiting for? This is your invitation to get involved!

MadWorld for Wii

A while ago, I posted the trailer for MadWorld. I was excited. I was looking forward to a Mature hack-and-slash title for the Wii. I enjoy the Wii Fit and Wii Sports, but I wanted something more, especially after the let down of the Star Wars: The Force Unleashed. I was even quoted in the StarTribune: Video games: Wii gets Mature.

MadWorld is everything the trailer promised. It is a gore-fest of brutality and foul language. The gore I expected, but perhaps I’m behind in my understanding of modern Mature video games because I did not expect just how foul the language could get.

MadWorld is The Running Man meets Escape from New York, the main character Jack is combination of Snake Plissken and Ben Richards. Jack is undercover in MadWorld, for what purpose, I’m not sure. I’ve only bested the first two bosses. The set up is that Jack is a chainsaw wielding badass who has won sponsorship to become a contestant in a live-action game show of pure slaughter.

The game show commentators are so foul mouthed that I completely understand why the game is for 17 and up. Outside of over hearing a bunch of teenagers, I don’t think that I’ve ever heard “Fuck-Tard” used, and that is the tamest of quotes.

After my initial dropped-jawed shock at the bloody game play, learned the moves to rack up a high scoring kill: pick up a tire, put the tire over the head of an contestant, grab a street sign and put it through his neck, pick him up still quivering and slam him, not once, but four times on the wall of spikes. The more creative the killing combo, the more points are earned. See, you need to earn enough point to qualify for the death match against the levels big boss.

I have to say that I’m a little disappointed. I knew that the game would have a week story, but it is almost non-existent. I’m a gamer that needs story. I want an interesting plot with enough room for a few choices to be made that impact the out come of the game. Still, MadWorld delivers the blood.

I’ll keep the game around as a novelty for parties, but I don’t know how much time I’ll put into playing it solo.

Interview with Fantasy Fan’s Piotr Siennicki

I love the science fiction and fantasy reviewing community. With the almost complete elimination of fiction reviews in local newspapers, it up to the loyal fans to step to promote new and well-established authors. It is up to us, the fans, to setup to the plate and go to bat for the authors and the publishing industry.

With so many competing forms of entertainment, movies, video games, and music, or what have you, it is becoming very difficult for publishers to justify their buying, printing, and distributing new authors.

There is hope. Hope in the blog reviewer and fan. Piotr Siennicki runs Fantasy Fan, a blog dedicated to providing detailed reviews of fantasy fiction. But wait, that is not all, he goes beyond the reviews and has added extra content that any true fan of fantasy fiction would enjoy.

Here is a short interview with Piotr Siennicki of Fantasy Fan:

SM: If we meet in line at a cafe and you had 30 seconds to sell me on your website, what would you tell me?

PS: I would recommend the site saying that this is the combined source of fantasy related information any fan would want to find. Fantasy Fan will keep you up to date with your favorite writers and might convince you to try new ones. That's pretty much the mission of the site - bringing information about the authors you love and give you opportunity to branch out, reach for new titles, that other fans enjoy.


SM: It looks like Fantasy Fan has a little of everything that a true fantasy fan would want. What kinds of things will on your site will bring true fans back?

PS: I think there are two major areas that bring people back to Fantasy Fan. One is obviously the news & reviews, there is always something going on in the fantasy world. Either one of the "big" authors goes on a book signing tour or releases an interesting bit of news on their work in progress; or we have a new star rise on the fantasy sky, a new author, new book. There is always something going on. Even if it's just a new trivia or a wallpaper.

The other area that people tend to come back to is the discussion forum. Fantasy Fan built a nice community over the years and we tend to discuss close to everything on the forum, starting with fantasy books and ending on web comics and computer games.


SM: How often does your site update with new content?

PS: That really depends on many factors, two major being my free time and the amount of fan submissions. Usually though the website is updated daily, every 1-3 days.


SM: Most review sites, like my own, are the product of a passionate hobbyist. Is Fantasy Fan a hobby for you or it is work?

PS: It's definitely my hobby. I started the website seven years ago. I was looking for a place where other fantasy fans like myself would meet and discuss the books they loved. After a long search I decided that the website I'm looking for does not exist yet (there were few sci-fi & fantasy places, but nothing dedicated to high fantasy), so I thought to myself "why not start one?"

The task of running a website sometimes does feel like a job (seven years is a long time!), but the reward for creating something other people find useful is what every webmaster lives for. I joke around with my friends that Fantasy Fan is my baby, so yeah, it's definitely not work related.


SM: If someone likes your site, how can they get involved or help?

PS: There are plenty of ways. Some fans link to the website on their blogs, live journal pages and other communities they are involved with, others write reviews and submit news (Fantasy Fan has some dedicate writers, but we're always looking for more!) and some help to maintain the site by buying their books through Amazon referral. Every little bit helps!

Interview with Amy Letts author of Epic Fail

The World Wide Web is a larger than the largest city, state, country, or continent, but is smaller then the smallest village. It is full of wonders, bobbles, and gadgets, at every turn and click that are for sale, barter, or in the rare case, absolutely free.

It is my humble opinion that the best things spinning about in cyberspace, are of the third category, free. One of the finest examples, that I’ve stumbled upon in recent months, is a new webcomic titled Epic Fail. I’m new to webcomics having favored the more traditional and unfortunately expensive periodical monthlies and bi-monthlies, and more recently the quarterly graphic novel. It is wonderful to find such a high quality comic free in cyberspace.

Epic Fail is the vividly drawn adventures of Martin, a Human Fighter; Amuletts, Sylvan Elf Thief and Cleric; Clodin, Dwarf Fighter; Tinuvielle, Fae Elf Mage; and Dirk, Human Paladin. As the title of the webcomic suggests, these adventures are the humorous blunderings of passionate characters trying to live up to their full potential. As readers, we are witness to their failures, but also to their monstrous courage as they follow their big heart into battle.

Really, you can’t afford to miss out on this one: Epic Fail (www.comicofepicfail.com/).

From her bio page: Amy Letts is a freelance artist, illustrator and web designer. Her work consists mainly of Fantasy, Landscape and Figurative work. She took her first commission in 1998 and began to work professionally in 2003. She has a BA Honours Degree from Oxford Brookes University, England.

Want to know what Amy is up to: http://twitter.com/amuletts

Interview with Amy Letts

SMR: If you met me in a coffee joint and had thirty-seconds to sell me on your comic, what would you tell me?

AL: Like epic fantasy? Then you’ll love Epic Fail, the fantasy flavoured webcomic with an extra helping of FAIL!

Imagine a universe; a universe with magic; so much magic that it’s unstable, hanging onto existence by the skin of its teeth, capable of winking out in the blink of an eye. That’s the Universe of Epic Fail.

It’s got heroes. Admittedly, not very good heroes, but they try their best. They’re the people who go up to trouble and poke it with a big stick. Then set fire to the stick, because one of them is a pyromaniac. And sometimes, just sometimes, when the universe overbalances, they tilt it back. Along the way, they die quite a bit; fortunately magic patches that up real good. And one Dwarf will be pushing it to its limits….

SMR: I see more characters in your banner than are listed with bios on your Cast of Characters page. Who are they?

AL: You see one character on my banner that doesn’t have a bio (and a few who have changed outfits). I won’t be revealing any information about him until he’s been introduced in the story, but here’s a clue: his name has already been mentioned.

SMR: Do you have a favorite role playing game? What is it? Why do your prefer it? What type of character do you like to play?

AL: My favourite RPG is 2nd Edition Dungeons & Dragons, although I have to admit the version I play has several home-brew modifications, including the Assassin character class from 1st Ed and a unique deities system. I prefer it because it has a beautifully crafted fantasy setting and a rules system that keeps you on your toes. One of the complaints I often hear is that it is unbalanced. It is. It’s not fair and there are no guarantees that a challenge will be within your abilities to overcome. It’s risky, it’s unpredictable, and it’s damn fun!

I like to play all sorts of characters, although the majority are chaotic-good. Half are human, a quarter are Elves the rest Halflings. I seem to play Fighters marginally more often than the other character classes, with an equal chance of them being male or female.

SMR: I see that you have several heroes and heroines, who are the villains?

AL: Have you noticed a peculiar trend in magic-users to live too long, gain too much power and go insane? No?

SMR: Why mix a Thief with a Cleric in the character of Amuletts?

AL: At the beginning of her adventuring career, Amuletts was a mere thief. At that time, the party consisted of Wil, Minerva, Jira and Raisin, with Martin and Amuletts as recent recruits. A Harlequin tricked them and they entered a portal leading to the domain of Loki, where they appeared naked. After much fire and strife, they encountered the God himself, who offered to grant freedom to anyone who would serve him. Amuletts has never regretted her answer (which happened to be “What else do you have to offer?”) and that, as they say, is history.

SMR: You have an amazing art style. The colors are so vibrant. How do you create your art? In what medium?

AL: Thank you. I start by drawing a rough sketch of the page using stick figures, working out the layout, dialogue and getting everything straight in my head. Then it’s all drawn out in detail and inked by hand. I scan the line work into Photoshop, clean it up, and bucket-fill the main areas of colour. Most of the shading is done using the dodge and burn tools, with ‘select’ and ‘magic wand’ protecting my nice, clean edges.

It’s all rather an adventure for me. I’m far more used to traditional media. It still seems weird making a picture without getting covered in paint! But I know from experience that paintings never look as good in print or on screen as the real thing. Since I’m showing the comic to readers online I chose I medium that would look best viewed by that means.

SMR: Not only do you post your comic, but you also maintain a blog with a summary of action. Why both?

AL: I’ve been reading webcomics for many years and personally prefer those that keep a blog. Part of the appeal of webcomics is that the reader gets more insight and involvement with the creative process. I enjoy being able to communicate with my readers and find their feedback useful. It lets me know what’s working and what I need to improve. This, in my opinion, is an enormous advantage.

Another reason is to make my site friendly for search engines, which work using text, not pictures. At the moment, they send me around 10% of my visitors, and as my archives grow it will make it easier for them to look back and find specific pages.

SMR: If someone likes your comic, what can they do to help support you?

AL: They can donate via my website. Anyone who donates can promote their name and website, along with some comments on my Recognition Wall. For every £50 ($70) raised, I will create a new wallpaper, and every £100 ($140), I will post an additional comic page.

LITTLE ERRANDS by Mathias B. Freese

What does it mean to be an obsessive-compulsive worrier? Is it the little things like clicking the Microsoft Word save button a minimum of three times before closing a document? Is born out of some traumatic instance of forgetfulness that caused something unspeakable and infinitely preventable from happening? Regardless of the root cause, it is my belief that we all have our little posttraumatic ticks. For the lucky few, these ticks are minimal, boring, and mistakable for loveable quirky personality flaws. For the rest of us, the not so lucky, they can be the final wedge that eats away at our loved ones until the can’t take it anymore, until the leave.

The nameless narrator of “Little Errands” would most likely belong with the unfortunate multitude. The story is a quick six-page disorder of highest caliber. The narrator has mailed two letters, “…one is a parking ticket, the other partial payment for new carpeting.” The act of mailing these letters consumes not only the narrator with worry but also all six pages of the story.

- Did the letters make into the mailbox?

- If the letters made into the mailbox, did they properly find themselves in the delivery try with the rest of the mail?

- Did stamps find their way onto the envelops?

- Were the envelopes sealed properly?

- Will they make it to their intended destinations?

The story is written with the perfect amount obsessive delusion. By the end of the first page my skin begins to crawl and I had to get up off the couch and shake off the feeling that I have forgotten to do something immensely important. The prose triggered in me feelings of paranoia so deep that I almost did not return to finish the story. I returned to the story and conquered my feelings of undone errands. I’m glad I did.

Freese, Mathias B. “Little Errands.” Down to a Sunless Sea. Tucson, Arizona: Wheatmark, 2007.

SATAN IN A SCRAPYARD by Mark J. Howard

Some days, I believe that I must be asleep under a rock. I mean, in the last few days, it feels like I’m just waking up the how many good things are happening out in cyberspace revolving around short fiction. I sure hope that all these new markets survive in a way that is new and economy proof. Something tells me they will. These new markets seem to be out springing up out of love for writing and fiction rather than pursuit of fame and cash.

My newest find is The Hive Mind: SF, Fantasy & Horror. As the title suggest is a hive of authors that posting and sharing their fiction with anyone with access to the World Wide Web. These authors include Maria di Girolamo, Mark J. Howard, Bren MacDibble, Tonya Moore, John Claude Smith, and Alexandra Wolfe. You can check out their bios by visiting Authors.

The Hive Mind is organized into categories fantasy, horror, science fiction, supernatural, and urban.

Being the reader that I am, seeking out the weird and horrific, I took a quick look at the horror category. To be honest, there is not much there, just one story so far, Satan in a Scrapyard. There are seven stories in the science fiction section. I might go back for one of those this week.

Satan in a Scrapyard is not that horrific or weird, but it does have a strange narrative voice that kept me plugging through the story. The narrator is an odd bird that feels it is necessary to communicate directly to the reader, “Now, writers know a little bit of magic, and I can tell by the way your eyes are moving over these words that you don’t believe me but I swear it’s true: I came face to face with Satan and lived to tell this tale.”

I’ve seen this narrative style before, but I’m not sure that I’m a fan. Being addressed takes me out of the story and makes me question the dream that all good fiction should ensnare readers with. Still, there must be a market for it because it seems all too common. It is just not my style.

Anyway, the story is bizarre tale of the narrator’s chance encounter with Satan. I love stories about Satan. Satan must be the interesting of all literary characters. He is a liar, a shape shifter, and the archenemy all that is good and correct. Hell must be the most interesting place theme ride in the universe’s theme park.

The narrator is in true form, pulling out all the stops, to try and convince the reader of something. In this case, it is my belief that narrator is unreliable and the events are fabricated. Why else go to all the effort in spelling out what kind of story is being told.

This is why I ended up enjoying the story. I found the effort the narrator puts into the telling of the tail very interesting. Here is just a taste, “Sometimes I write stories too, usually made-up ones. But tonight I am going to write you a true story about the time I met the Devil in a scrapyard.”

Nice. Very nice. This line, among others is intended to put the reader at ease while a sight of had is being played out. The trick is a good one. Well, worth the reading.

Howard, Mark. “Satan in a Scrapyard.” The Hive Mind, 2009

Graduate Reading

For those of you who could not join me at my graduate reading, I’ve posted below the edited entirety of my segment of the event:

Introduction

given by Sheila O'Connor, thesis advisor

Husband. Blogger. Solipsist. Weaver of weird worlds and horrific tales. Aaron M. Wilson lives in Minneapolis with his loving wife and two cats, one good, one bad. He teaches Literature and Environmental Science. Two of the short stories included in his thesis have been published by rock, paper, scissors. Lastly, his fiction reviews from his blog, The Soulless Machine Review, have been re-posted by Deadly Prose, Golden Gryphon Press, Dragon Moon Press, and blurbed at BOOM! Studios Blog.

Years ago, in my first fiction class with Aaron, in response to the claustrophobically prescriptive Burroway text, and our stifling focus on the elements of craft, Aaron wrote a fabulous piece about a jailer who tortures a writer in solitary confinement until the writer finally breaks down and follows all the rules. A story with a beginning, middle, end, a story with a climax, a story like Janet Burroway has in mind.

Aaron’s story taught me two things I’ve held on to this day: first, Aaron Wilson doesn’t work well with rules, and second, too many rules suck the blood from art. For that, I am eternally grateful, and every time I’m about to morph into that warden, handing out butt ends of pencils while I whip my students and scream the rules of perfect fiction into their ears, Aaron’s haunting story stops me in my tracks.

And that’s not the only haunting story that Aaron’s written. In Keeping Watch: and other stories, Aaron gathers together a collection of science fiction tales that work as both powerful pieces of art and as serious social commentary. Many of his stories serve as warnings calling the reader to consider the abyss we could fall into, if in fact we haven’t already. There’s a constant menace, a spookiness that jangles the reader’s nerves and reminds us that the worst Aaron has imagined might already be real. In Aaron’s futuristic fiction a lone man tends to the last bookstore in Minneapolis and a reporter watches the bloody wreckage as illegal aliens try to cross the border, both stories science fiction and both frighteningly real.

A voracious reader well acquainted with the masters of his genre, Aaron brings his unique voice and vision to the page. His work is fresh, startling, and speaks directly to the social ills of our time. Of his own process, Aaron has said,

“When I sit down and really write, write the kind of fiction that presses upon my subconscious, I’m not writing about mythical monsters and unseen horrors, even if that is what the surface seems to be about. What I hopes comes out of my fiction is my own anguish for humanity.”

The Anguish is there, it’s convincingly well earned, and by the end of Aaron’s collection we are appropriately alarmed. But there is more than anguish, there is also its opposite, the belief, however dim, that we can, and have to do better than this.

“I write because it is the only thing that allows me to feel like I can take an active stance against humanity’s desire to self-destruct. Writing is my subversive act against my own belief that humanity will never rise up to embrace its place in the universe as communal organism instead of parasite. I write with hope. I write to embrace hope. I like to think of myself as a writer.”

Writer. Reader. Truth teller. And remarkable human being.

Please welcome Aaron Wilson.

Acknowledgements

I could not have accomplished this great task without the help of many people. First and foremost, I owe a lot to my patient and loving wife, Jessica Fox-Wilson. Second, Sheila O'Connor had the courage to read my stories even though she knew they’d keep her up at night. I would not be the writer I am today without her guidance and her skill as a teacher and mentor. Larry Sutin, I don’t know if I would have switched from Creative Nonfiction to Fiction, if it had not been for the space allowed me early on in the program to write stories instead of critical essays. And all of those tortured souls who read my work and gave me the critical feedback that I needed to curtail my inherent ability to hurry up and be lazy, John, Jae, Aaron, and Laurel. And a special thank you to Deborah Keenan who graciously took a surprise reference call that helped me to land my current gig.

A Tea Party

Dan believed good things happen to people who give rather than take. Dan was young. He spent each morning helping his mother in the kitchen and around the house. He would notice that the dishes were dirty and do them without being asked. He’d see that the Sunday paper was spread around the living room, the comics on the ottoman, the sports pages on his father’s lap, the jobs section here and there on the floor marked with red lines and circles. Dan would silently pick up and refold each section, making sure not to wake his father or disturb his mother. He’d reassemble it, setting it neatly on the coffee table.

Then at night, before bed, he’d take out the trash and move the cans to the curb in front of the house for Monday’s pick-up. Dan would look for things that were out of place. He knew that if he could keep the little things from coming between his mother and father that they would love each other more, love him more. Good grades, Little League, keeping his bike in the garage where it belonged. Dan believed that it all helped.

One Sunday night, as Dan was making the rounds, picking up stray leaves, sticks, and pulling the occasional dandelion, he saw a shadow moving between the house and the garage. A shadow about his own size, shaped like a boy.

Being reckless, as young boys sometimes are, Dan didn’t consider the danger that could have been waiting for a boy in the early night. He just went after the shadow, quietly sprinting, avoiding the dry leaves that would have crashed like thunder. A small girl in torn skirts stepped out in to the lamplight as he turned the corner to slide between the house and the garage.

She stood there, caught in the garage’s floodlight where Dan would sometimes draw chalk pictures on the pavement. Her dirty blond hair was in two greasy pigtails. Her eyes were blue on top of purplish-black crescent-shaped bruises. The truly remarkable thing was her doll. It was one of those lifelike things with the big plastic head and the creepy eyes that opened and closed. It was pristine.

Dan didn’t know what to do. He had thought in his boy’s mind that one of the neighbor boys was goofing on him, and that he was going to engage in some kind of contest of stealth and speed; however, he was ill equipped to handle this: a dirty girl that looked like she belonged in the trash. Dan stood there looking at her. He was turning something around in his mind, something new, something that had never occurred to him before, but now seemed so simple.

He held out his hand to her.

She held her doll close, protectively. She turned to look over her shoulder as if taking some unspoken cue from the darkness. She then stepped forward and took his hand.

“My name is Alice.” Pointing her chin at the doll, “This is Sally. She’s my baby.”

He felt her hand in his. Her hand was rough and cold. He thought that girls were supposed to be warm and soft. This simple touching of hands made Dan’s face wrinkle and he began to wonder if he had done the right thing. But it was too late. She had told him her name and had put her hand in his. “I’m Dan.”

“Hi Dan.” Alice looked at her doll. “Say, ‘Hi Dan,’ Sally.” Alice rocked her doll forward and it said, “Hi Dan,” in a voice that didn’t sound very much like Alice’s.

Dan winced and let go of her hand. The doll had spoken. It must have been a recording. Some of the newer dolls could do that, he reasoned, even though it didn’t seem very reasonable to him. Well, it was only polite that he answer back, “Hi Sally.” He immediately felt foolish, his cheeks warmed.

Alice smiled a big dirty smile, showing many gaps where her baby teeth had fallen out. She put her finger in the gap in the front of her smile. “See. Papa told me that the boys like gap-girls. Do you like gap-girls, Dan?”

Dan knew something in what she had said was wrong. He squinted at her in the lamplight. “Where do you live?”

Alice looked him up and down. She looked over her shoulder. “Can you keep a secret, Dan?” She rocked her doll and Sally’s eyes clicked shut then opened.

Dan felt as if Sally was going to say something, so he waited. He balanced on his toes then his heels, hands in his pockets.

“Dan?”

“Sure. Yeah.” Dan moved a little closer to Alice as if this secret was to be whispered into his ear.

“In your backyard. The alley really. But your backyard. Me, Papa, Mama, my little brother, Sally, and all my other dollies.”

Dan looked at Sally. The bright light danced on her plastic face. Her eyes were open. Suddenly, Dan felt in over his head. He wanted to do what was right. He wanted to help, but he was just Dan. His father wouldn’t have liked that thought. His father was always telling him to be somebody. His father had told him that if someone was in need that he should help.

Dan’s mouth felt dry. His tongue was thick with indecision. He had all the tools there in his mind. He was just about to take her hand again and make her come inside to talk with his parents, when Alice darted back into the shadows. Dan had made up his mind. He knew what to do. He ran after Alice. He had to help her.

Dan could see Alice near the fence that separated his yard and the alley. She was standing next to the gate. She was holding it open. In the crook of her left arm, Sally wore a desperate look. The light glinted off Sally’s eyes. And for just a moment, Dan thought that he had seen a tear in one of Sally’s eyes, wet and real. He stopped running, “Alice. Alice. Come inside with me. It’s warm. We have food.”

Dan thought that Alice looked stunned. She said something that he couldn’t hear. He tried to see who she was talking to. He couldn’t see anyone other than Sally. She must still be talking to Sally. She must.

Alice was standing next to him. Dan jumped.

“Dan.” Alice took his hand. “Dan. Come with me. Meet my parents, meet everyone.”

“No. Alice, come inside with me and have some hot chocolate. We have the kind with the little marshmallows.” Dan squeezed her hand and turned to head back toward the house.

“No.” She held on to his hand and planted her feet. She wouldn’t budge. “Come with me.”

Dan wasn’t about to give up. Perhaps if he went with her she’d come around and return with him. She seemed to really want to show him something. Once she did, he’d ask again.

Dan was full of stories about adventures. His friends were always out getting into trouble. Over lunch, at school, they’d tell him of their adventures and how much trouble they were in with their parents. They’d go around the table, each telling a tale of some exploit that meant that they were grounded. When they’d get around to Dan, they’d laugh. Dan the man, they’d say, Dan the do-nothing man. Boring old Dan.

Dan had adventures, but they were not the kind of adventures that you share with your friends. They were the kind of adventures that get you punched and left for dead in the boy’s bathroom with your shirt over your head and your pants around your knees. They were the kind of adventures that you kept to yourself.

Dan didn’t like to talk about his adventures. They were his. Like the time his mother asked him to ride his bike two miles to the store and pick up fixings for salad: romaine lettuce, two tomatoes, carrots, olives, chives, and a bottle of dressing. Any dressing, she had said he could pick. Surprise me, his mother had said. She had trusted him with him a twenty dollar bill. That was an adventure. He didn’t even know what romaine lettuce was. He had to ask, and asking was hard. But he got on alright and paid for everything on the list and made it home. Part of him had thought that he might not make it. That there was something out there, in the streets, that would try and stop him.

Dan wanted to have a real adventure, one that he could share around the lunchroom table with the other guys. With Alice leading him forward by the hand, it felt like one of those adventures that always happened to someone else. A smile crossed Dan’s face. He was ready.

Alice giggled as they ran through the gate which led into the alley and the darkness that waited beyond the floodlight’s reach.

Dan stood looking down at the dark hole in the pavement. Alice had slid the drainage cover off just enough that she could squeeze through. She had wrapped Sally in her skirts and climbed down. Dan couldn’t wait for lunch on Monday. The guys wouldn’t believe him. They’d laugh. He knew they would, but he’d stick to his guns. He’d tell them that he went into the sewer with a girl. This was exactly the kind of adventure he had wanted. He’d only go down for a few minutes then he’d convince her to come back with him to the house.

Dan looked up to make sure that he knew where he was. He could see Jimmy’s house and Jen’s house and the stop sign that was bent over when the Murphy’s oldest boy hit it with the truck. He wasn’t very far from home at all.

“Dan,” Alice called. “Hurry, Dan, before someone comes.”

Dan climbed down into the dark. His shoe squished something at the bottom. It smelled foul. Like when his father forgot to flush. He couldn’t see anything either, except lighter shades of complete darkness. “Alice.” He held out his hands in front of himself and swung them side to side. “Alice, I can’t see.”

“Open your eyes, silly.”

Dan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He saw pink everywhere. Cotton-candy pink, everywhere, pink curtains hanging in front of a pink window. Pink cushions on a pink bed between pink dressers, pink everywhere. Alice’s dress was perfectly pink. Dan looked around as if he had just entered the candy store on his birthday.

Alice was standing in front of a bookcase filled with dolls of all kinds. “Do you like my dollies?”

Dan took a closer look. One shelf had really fat dolls that were filled with smaller dolls. Another shelf had the kind he’d seen at his grandmother’s, the kind with the wrinkled potato faces and beady black button eyes. One shelf had a row of baby dolls with bottles. He picked one up.

“Careful. Those wet themselves if you feed them.”

Dan quickly put it back on the shelf. He turned to look at another row of small plastic ones. They had big heads and big eyes. When he picked up the one with brown hair and the firefighter’s helmet, the head rocked back and forth as if it were on a spring. Dan could hear Alice giggle.

“Do you like my room?”

“You have a lot of dolls.” Dan reached for a set of adult looking dolls. These were more like Barbie and Ken. These he knew. Jen had Barbies. These were dressed like Dan’s parents would if they had to go to work. The Ken-like one even had a little briefcase in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The woman had a green purse and a cup of coffee. Dan picked her up. She looked a lot like an older version of Alice.

“Those are my parents.” She picked up her father by his stiff plastic legs and held him out to Dan. “Here. You play Papa and I’ll play Mama.” She took the Barbie from him.

Dan took the one Alice held out for him. It was a doll. It was plastic. Its hair was molded perfectly. Dan held the doll so that he was looking at its profile. This doll had a belly that hung over its belt. Dan had never seen a doll that looked so life like before.

“Over here, Dan.” Alice was pointing to a small doll-sized table on top of her dresser. “Set Papa there, please.”

Dan folded the doll’s legs so that it was in a sitting position and pushed it up to the table. “Okay.”

Alice smiled. “Mama, say ‘Does Papa want a cup of tea?’”

“Does Papa want a cup of tea?” the doll asked.

“Your turn Dan, tell Papa to say something back to Mama.” Alice crossed her arms in front of her and waited.

Great, Dan thought, more talking dolls. He wondered how they worked. They seemed too small to have batteries. He picked his up and lifted the shirt in the back, looking for the switch.

“Dan! Put Papa down!” She stomped her foot. “Now!”

Dan snapped to attention. He looked at the little tea party. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He smelled flowers and mint. When he opened his eyes, Alice was still waiting for him. “Daddy, say ‘Why, yes, I’d love some tea. Thank you.’”

Dan’s doll spoke back the words he had given it. It wasn’t his voice. It was deep and raspy. Before Dan could give this voice much thought, Alice’s mommy doll picked up the teapot and the daddy doll’s teacup. The mother doll poured the daddy doll a cup of tea, spilling just a little.

Dan watched as the two dolls enjoyed their tea. On the doll’s table, next to the sugar bowl, there was a plate of cookies. “Daddy, say, ‘Please pass the cookies.’”


The daddy doll repeated his words. The mommy doll passed the small plate. The daddy doll took one and ate it.

Dan thought the scene was nice. It was what he thought should happen between a mommy and a daddy. He looked at the dolls enjoying themselves. Dan didn’t want it to stop. He looked around and felt like the other dolls were watching him, knew what he was feeling inside. He felt a tingling sensation wash over his skin. He shuddered.

Dan said, “Daddy, say, ‘Thank you Mommy.’”

Alice looked at Dan. “Mama, say, ‘You’re welcome. Now, finish your tea.’”

As Dan heard the mommy doll say, ‘you’re welcome,’ he pursed his lips. Something was wrong. It was just play, but it made him miss his parents. It was all too perfect.

Dan had had enough adventure. “Alice, I want to go home.” And he moved away from her and the dolls. He turned to leave. He saw a door. He walked over to it. The door wouldn’t open.

Alice touched Dan’s shoulder while holding the mommy doll. “Mama, what do you think?” She waited.

Dan brushed Alice’s hand off his shoulder. He tried the door again. “It’s locked.”

The mommy doll answered, “I like him.”

Alice lay down on her bed and hugged a pillow to her chest. “You have to stay.”

“No. I want to leave.”

Alice waved her hand as if she were coming out from behind a curtain or finishing a curtsy. “They like you.”

In unison, every doll stood and said, “Stay Dan. We like you.”

Dan fell to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest.

“Oh. What’s wrong Dan?” Alice asked.

“My parents…”

“They won’t find you.”

Dan screamed and banged on the door.

Alice set the pillow down. “How rude!”

“Help! I’m down here! Help me!” Dan kicked at the door. His eyes were clenched and wet.

“Stop it, Stop it. Stop it!” Alice gripped Dan by his hair and dragged him kicking and screaming towards her bed.

Dan whimpered.

Alice grinned through the greasy part in her hair. “You’ve been a very bad dolly.”

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THE SOULLESS MACHINE REVIEW February 2009

CTHULHU’S NIGHTMARE by Bric Barnes
PARKER’S BACK by Flannery O’Conner
TO BUILD A FIRE by Jack London
THE STORY OF AN HOUR by Kate Chopin
THE HANDSOMEST DROWNED MAN IN THE WORLD by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Extra:
EPIC FAIL by Amy Letts
Mixed Greens Catalog No. 10
Charles Darwin Turns 200
Asphalt Sky Vol 1. Issue 2

From: Attack of the Movie Watchers
Confessions of a Shopaholic (2009)
The Gene Generation (2007)