Sincerely, Abraham Gagoundeballs.

In loving memory of my dear brother, Ahab Gagoundeballs.

May he rest in piece.

Mad Scoundrel, part 1.

Nobody left or entered the house while they sat in the tavern. And that is saying something, as they did sit there for seventeen hours, always keeping an eye on the front door. The good thing about this was of course that the people inside the house were not having any guests, meaning they would be all alone if three armed and angry men should kick in their door. The bad thing was that it was incredibly boring to watch. In addition, it was the chance that the men had wisely left the house, and fled to Riga.

But that could not be helped. The men who was said to live in the house had taken their money, and they wanted their money back. So Shaun the Plumber, StiedtGünther Von Niederland, and Ivan Hammer approached the small building.

It was not a very impressive building. It was in the middle of an all too common street, and it had a building looking exactly the same on either side. Just your average, post-apocalyptic, working class home. Being no strangers to this kind of procedures, the three gentlemen quickly devised a cunning plan. While Shaun would sneak up to the back, denying their enemies any chances of escape, while Ivan and StiedtGünther would storm into the building, and open fire on anything that happened to be inside.

The plan was swiftly set into motion. In order to go in with a little “shock and awe”, Stiedtgünther decided to let Ivan throw him into the house through the little window right next to the front door. It worked. The three men inside the house were indeed shocked when their game of bridge was interrupted by a small, but extremely armed dwarf crashing through their window. And they were really terrified when the dwarf hurled a grenade at them.

This dream woke me up tonight. I must record it before it disappears. A shaft of light shines through a crack in the smudged windows of an abandoned railway terminal. Specks of dust swirl around inside it. On the ground a dozen or so pigeons are picking barley from an upended brown-cloth sack. Suddenly footsteps echo out; a man wearing an open trenchcoat, a two-piece suit and a trilby walks determinedly towards the pack of doves. From the depths of his coat he draws a Thompson sub-machinegun with a wide gesture – he fires from the hip as he moves forward. Birds are strafed by the speeding bullets, blood and feathers fly. The train arrives at the station, all smoke and loud noise. Enemies burst forward from the other end of the station, menacing Nazis with gasmasks and glowing eyes. The man lunges forward and rolls, bullets whizzing past, he jumps. Miraculously he holds onto a handle on the locomotive and, firing with the other hand, follows the train as it speeds off.
Who is he? Is it me? Someone I know? Either way our fates are interconnected. I know it.

Part 2.

Ignoring Rurik’s silence, Willem continued.
“I have come to an agreement with the Fez. I will settle in Dixon, and build up the company again. As you know all too well, that is no easy task, and as such, I found myself in need of a team.”
Jackopy grinned ludicrously.
“Luckily, the Fez was willing to sell me his team, in exchange for a share. Seems like that episode with Hammer taught him not to put all his eggs in one basket. It’s good to have something to fall back on, you know, especially in turbulent times such as these”
Rurik, whose nervous state had now been replaced with one of shock, blurted out: “He sold us? But, but… What about me? I’m not working for you, no way!”
Jackopy raised his hands as if to reassure Rurik. “Don’t worry. I do not want you working for me either. It may be seventeen years since the incident at the chemical factory, but I do not forget, Rurik. And I do not forgive.”
As these ominous words were spoken, Jackopy signaled for the waiter, who arrived, carrying a small wooden box. He put this in front of Jackopy, before walking straight back to the other side of the room, as fast as he could without it being improper. Not that it would matter. The three men were the only ones in the tavern.
The box was nothing special to look at. It was about the size of Jackopy’s head, and it had no decoration, nor any ornaments of any kind. Yet Rurik kept staring at it, as if he expected something horrible to happen.
Jackopy, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying this a great deal. Placing his hand calmly on top of the box, he stated: “It cost me a great deal to buy you out from the Fez, but I believe this will be worth every penny” He then opened the box.
Rurik rose, gun in hand, but it was already too late. In fact, it had been to late the moment he entered the tavern, although he was not aware of it. Some really small legs crossed the table, and Rurik suddenly found himself bleeding from his throat. Jackopy sat for a few minutes, and watched as Rurik fell to the floor, trying to dig out the thing that was opening up his throat. It was to no avail. He soon stopped kicking, and Jackopy rose slowly, whispered a word, and closed the box.
He was carrying it with him as he left, and always the gentleman, he gave the horrified waiter a five-pound bill on the way out.

As a beginning, I am hereby posting first part of a nauseating narrative retrieved from one of my pasients. Do enjoy it.

Mad waiter, part 1.

There was absolutely nothing about Wilfred Jackopy that gave any indication of danger. This short, chubby and red-faced man, elegantly dressed in a suit, with a bowler hat, a cane, and a rather ugly bow tie, seemed like the very essence of safety and comfort. Nevertheless, the man facing him did not look like he found Mr. Jackopy comforting at all.
He was squirming in his chair, situated at the other side of the small, round table, his back facing the wooden walls of the tavern. The man looked terrified, despite the fact that he was way more intimidating than Jackopy. The well-muscled body, the gun that could be glimpsed from underneath his coat, and the magnificent scar, running all the way across his forehead, clearly stated that this was a man quite capable of taking care of himself, and that he was no stranger to perilous situations.
And yet he was shivering, barely able to look at the rotund person sitting calmly in front of him, finishing his fourth glass of Brandy. Jackopy closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the taste, before he put his glass down, opened his mouth, and started talking.
“It HAS been a while, hasn’t it?” Not awaiting any reply, he continued: “I’ve been doing my best to keep up, of course, but there are still a few things I would like to sort out. First of all, how’s Vlacha doing?”
Swallowing, in a most loud and uncivilized manner, the nervous man replied: “Not too good. He fell with your warehouse, I’m afraid. The Fez still doesn’t know why he was there. He must have seen the trap, but instead of warning Hammer and the Italians, he joined them. He was mowed down along with the rest.”
One might think that such tragic news would put some sort of damper on Jackopy’s mood, but instead the small man began laughing quietly to himself.
“Well, the man was always somewhat of an enigma. It was never good to say what he was up to, with the kind of people he teamed up with.” Raising his glass once again, he proclaimed:
“To Vlacha! Never did I meet a man more annoying, stupid or funny!”
After the toast, Wilfred suddenly turned serious.
“But Rurik, I’m not here just to exchange news, no matter how intriguing they may be. We have business to discuss.”
The man whose name we must assume is Rurik, did not reply to this.

On behalf of the Fudgemunch Staff,
Col. Van Croft

So the third part is here. Once again, if you haven’t read the two previous segments in this tantalizing tale, I urge you to do so immediately. They can be found on the very page you are visiting right now. As for the author’s sanity, it is improving at a steady, but slow rate. I do hope that he will fully recover someday, but as you will soon see, he has experienced some quite terrible things in his seafaring life. So please, read this monstrous memory.

Part three: A series of unfortunate events.

The statement from the man who called himself Samuel did nothing to cool our nerves. In fact, we all bolted out of the door, slammed said door shut behind us, and because of a most unfortunate combination of panic and alcohol, headed for the roof. What we should have done of course, was to get the hell out of the building. However, we soon found ourself on this roof, shutting the door really thight behind us, and frantically checking our weapons, in order to confirm that they were in fact loaded, and that the mechanism hadn’t suffered from a sudden, unexplainable collapse.

As soon as we had assured ourselves that our weapons were, in fact, functional, we immediately began to point them at the door, while staring madly at said entrance. Of course, they did not come through the door at all. It was Joe Calhoun, third mate, who first noticed that something was amiss. He noticed a stinging pain in his neck, followed shortly by a more plesant feeling of death. However, his futile scream of terror drew our attention, so we turned around and spotted Joe’s assailant. Not that it was difficult to see. What we saw was enough to drive lesser men mad.

The shape of the creature was quite identical to that of a human being. However, if this thing had once been human, it had at some point lost all of its skin. Its toes and fingers had been malformed into cruel talons, which looked extremely lethal, and its teeth was definately not human. They were four times as long, and of a shape that stated that this, this was a predator. And most likely a dangerous one as that, as it was busy chewing at the former third mate’s neck. As I said, it was a grim sight, but this was men who had made it through the worst hells of Europe, Russia and Korsika, and they did not surrender easily.

So 16 firearms broke the eerie silence that had followed Calhoun’s death cry, and the creature was blown to pieces. However, it must have come from somewhere, and as there wasn’t a lot of options, everyone rushed to the edge of the roof. What we saw was approximately a hundred foul creatures, equal to the one we had slain a moment ago, climbing with great determination towards us. It was unbelieveable how they managed to climb the plain, concrete walls of the scyscraper. We did not ponder this for long, but instantly began to fire at the beasts. The next minutes were… intense.

Everyone was firing as fast as they could at the climbing madness, but they were climbing incredibly fast, considering the conditions. Now and then one of them would be hit by a bullet, loose its grip and plummet towards certain death, but other times a lucky devil would manage to climb over the edge, jump at an unfortunate sailor and tear his throath out. We had lost another five men in this manner, when we received yet another unexpected surprise.

“Did you really have to leave so fast? Breathing company is scarce here, you know.”

Samuels’s voice was low, confident, and something we really did not want to hear at the moment. Yet there he stood, the zombies nowhere to be seen. Those of us who weren’t too busy with the blood-crazed attackers, let out a moan of displeasure. Ivan, on the other hand, reacted quite differently. He pulled out that monstrous gun of his, pointed it between Samuels’s eyes, said “That’s enough”, and pulled the trigger. Samuels body fell limp to the floor at once, and for someone reason, our companion in the big coat produced a knife, and began removing the head, all the while mumbling someting about an anticlimax.

While he was occupied with this, Ivan and the captain had a quick conversation, (only two sentences, really) and decided it was time to leave. So we all began our descent down the stairs. The Captain and Ivan in front, then the crew, with the coat-guy making the rear, carrying the head of Samuel, and slamming the door shut behind him.

So we ran down the stairs, and came panting out on the street, wich to our great surprise were empty. We wasted no time, but ran straight back to the ship, and left the cursed place. Of the 20 men that had accompanied the captain and our two benefactors, only 8 remained.

We did not sail home straight away, however. Ivan wanted to explore the rest of the coastline, so we sailed south for a week or so. In the end, we actually found a settlement, inhabited by some hundred villagers, who were starving and most of all wanted to go to Europe. Ivan promptly denied them passage on the ship, (with the captains consent) traded them some food in exchange for a most valuable-looking gem, and promised to tell the royal navy of their predicament. After that, we left them, and sailed home. Originally Ivan and his partner wanted to throw Samuels head overboard, but decided to hang on to it, as the head began talking once we had passed Nova Scotia. The head quickly gained some popularity among the crew, telling jokes and amusing tales from what he claimed to be the excotic east. As to our voyage, it went smoothly except for the fact that 80% of the remaing crew died of typhoid fewer. But most of these were simply ordinary deckhands, and thus of no interest. We arrived in Amsterdam, divided the payment, and began spending it on alcohol, wenches and dancing monkeys, waiting for our next adventure.

<THE END>

A brief report on how I came to travel through Northern Italy in a 1925 Fiat along with Vidar Geiteseng; and, how I made my way to Dixon. Current status of the Vatican and evaluation of my mission there will be published in a later report.

I rappelled down the Vatican wall, escaping the chaos inside. Geiteseng had gone this way before me, and the one thought on my mind was to comply with my orders: capture him dead or alive. In the far end of the cobbled street ahead of me I could see him struggling with a Fiat 509, trying to hotwire the ignition. I broke into a run, determined to reach him before he could escape. The car was making noises now, but it sounded like he wasn’t holding the wires steadily enough; the engine was coughing sporadically. He had not noticed me yet so I increased my pace, and just as the vehicle roared and spat exhaust I was by the door. Now, I will readily admit that my actions after that point can be held at fault; however it would seem that, considering Geitesengs recent return to a lawful status, it was the correct thing to do after all.

My memory of the happenings are blurry at best, but it seems to me that the following occurred: During my sprint I had drawn the Sten gun slung around my shoulder, and I was now knocking tthe barrel on the car’s window. Upon gaining Geiteseng’s attention I motioned for him to step out of the car, slowly, and he complied after a few moments. As he was stepping out I informed him that he was under arrest and that he was being brought to the British Central Command in Dixon for questioning. I thought I had the situation under control, and there is a possibility that I let my guard down slightly. Either way, I had not accounted for his lightning reflexes, because as I asked him to turn around he drew his handgun in a swift motion and shot me in the chest at point blank range. Everything blurred out and I vaguely remember squeezing the trigger and hearing a shout before I was hit again, this time in the thigh, and then a blow to the head and darkness.

When I came to I was apparently lying in the back seat, and the car was speeding along some rickety road. I instantly reached for my gun, but the searing pain in my chest made me lean back. My wounds had been bandaged, but were still extremly painful. I must have made a noise, because Geiteseng shot me a glance in the rear view mirror and exclaimed: “You’re awake.” I grunted in reply and he continued. The details of the conversation are hazy, but I remember that he insisted that were on the same side, and that we had nothing to gain from killing each other. In hindsight he was probably just as wounded as I, and there had never been any real animosity between us. There was a train station two days from our present location, and we agreed that he would let me off there, and we would make no attempt whatsoever to kill eachother. During this time we hardly spoke to eachother, tense but polite if something had to be said. Really, what was there to talk about in such a situation? We parted outside of the derelict station, the wind howling across the barren wasteland. Geiteseng leaned over the passenger seat with one hand on the door, and yelled out a final sentence: ”Tell the BCC that I am not available for questioning at the moment, but that I will report to them as soon as I am able to.” The door slammed shut and he sped off.

“Seeing as I feel a written account of the following incidents are important, I will try to give you a detailed recollection of the events as possible, sitting here among all these books have given me a sting of nostalgia, and the inspiration to write something to be honest, and what better topic than the time I met the person that inspired me to visit America. As I mentioned earlier in this letter, I had thrown away my beans, they really do start to taste like shit if you eat them  for extended periods of time. I figured I’d wait awhile until it got dark before I began, and so I did. When the darkness rolled in I pulled the balaclava over my head, and the gas-mask over that again. Felt like I made a rather imposing character really, standing there mostly in ragged, brown and black clothing, with a sinister looking gas-mask covering my face. I loaded my rifle as I sat into the vehicle, put the rifle between my legs and closed the door. I rummaged around the backseat and, luckily enough, found two grenades tucked between a seat and a crate, underneath the  pressurized gasoline canisters. It’s amazing what you can find if you look in a post-apocalyptic world. I muttered a prayer as I rolled down the two windows and placed the grenades in my lap.

As I pointed the nose of the car towards the German camp I started humming. It was an old Serbian lullaby my mother had used to sing to me back when I was still young and innocent, beautiful it was, it was painful trying to remember the name, so long ago, everyone gone now… The vehicle started to roll, the sound of gravel crushing beneath the wheels made for an ill-meaning omen I had not foreseen. The downward angle of the hill was steep enough to give me the speed I needed, it was dark and the posted guards had no torches to speak of, so I could get pretty close without anyone noticing. When I was about 30 feet from the closest guard, I turned the key and the engine came alive. The sight must’ve been real frightening for the kid, he looked no older than 17. The look on his face as I turned on the light of the bright yellow morris and floored the pedal, was priceless, his eyes getting wider, I could clearly make out the white in eyes even at this distance. He made an almost childish face as I heard him curse me in his commanding language. That’s when I remembered, just as I watched his face disappear beneath my bonnet, Uspavanka. The name of the song my mother used to sing, Uspavanka, a beautiful song.

I aimed my car further into the camp, where I could see the small tidy groups the bastards had set up, clenched my knees together to steady the wheel and picked up the two grenades, pulled the pin and flung them out the two windows. If I was lucky they’d land right in the middle of the groups. Afew loud thumps sounded as I hit some sleeping Germans, and afew that were running away, nothing fancy. I stepped on the throttle and pushed the pedal as far into the floor as I could, making for the darkness and cover of the forrest. Then they started to fire at me, after what had felt like ages they’d decided to try and kill me. One bullet hit my rear-view mirror, another the radio, it didn’t matter, the bloody thing didn’t work anyway.

Then the explosions I was waiting for came, two loud ones, and screams, lots of screams, at least the shooting stopped. I made for the largest and meanest looking tree I could see, and yes trees can look mean. At least this one did. I grabbed my rifle and opened the door of the car, jumped and rolled as the car continued towards the mean looking tree. It wrapped around it pretty nicely if I may say so myself. I stood up, dusted off my clothes and ran for the closest tree I thought would make a decent climbing tree. I remembered all those hours I had spent climbing trees as a kid, good fun indeed. It was harder with a rifle on my back, and I broke a few branches off too, I was heavier now than I used to be. When I reached a branch that could be used to sit on, I did. I changed my aim towards the German camp and with the thermal vision  I had been so lucky to acquire after I woke up in that orange tank, I was able to see a small ring of German soldiers walking towards where I’d left my car. Six people, one of them holding a torch, a burning one to be exact. I had a few good things to say about Germans, they were clever, and organized. This group was at least one of these things, hopefully it would be just organized. They formed a neat circle around my car as they closed in on it, just as I’d hoped for. The one with the torch in his hand leaned forward, and into the car with a stupid look on his face. I shrugged and released a bullet towards the now clearly visible tanks in the backseat. The gas mixed splendidly with the torch, just like I’d hoped for. Following another explosion and a few screams, the formerly organized group of German soldiers were now a burning mass of uniformed humanoid shapes.

I turned my gaze towards the chaos that now engulfed the German camp. People running everywhere, screaming and shouting, holding back entrails and the younger ones crying for their mothers. My grenades had apparently bitten quite a chunk out of their ranks, cause all I could see now was 5 armed Germans making their way towards the burning wreckage of my morris, shooting wildly into the forrest. I calmly raised the scope to my eye and breathed…And I breathed again, and again until the sight was following the heart of the closest one. And I pressed the trigger. A slight recoil lifted the rifle upwards towards the next soldier and with a smooth, flowing motion I reloaded another bullet into the chamber. The next ones followed swiftly. No need to go into detail, but I was left unhurt, it was after all pitch-black and I was the only one able to see in the dark.

After I jumped down from my vantage-point, I walked through the corpses, finishing off the wounded using my combat knife, until I reached a pole that had crudely been pushed down, into the ground.Scattered around it lay rocks and pieces of cans, apparently thrown at the person tied around it.  Attached to it sat a very, very confused young man. The bastard Germans had pulled a black piece of cloth over his head, so he couldn’t see. They never were good at treating their prisoners very well. See, that’s why you kill them, or else they catch you and take you prisoner.

I decided I’d give the guy a little fright as I cut off the ropes keeping him down, so I kept my gas-mask on and stood as tall and intimidating as I could. I asked him in my most authoritative voice if  he could pull of the damned thing wrapped around his head. When he did, I stood there. Clad in my now very dusty clothes, a dripping knife in hand, as I introduced myself. “Hello there friend, I’m Ivan.”

Part two: Drama in Manhattan.

The voyage, at least, vent smoothly. No lives were lost, if one is willing to ignore the death of quartermaster Richard Haynes. Twelve days after we had left Amsterdam, we discovered that his dice were in fact, false. Thus, he was sent off the ship. Too bad there wasn’t any land nearby.

So, after a rather dull voyage, we sailed into New York. Passing the spot where the statue of liberty apparently used to be (only the feet left), we anchored up outside the city. Or the ruins of the city, if one is to be precise. The days had not been well to the poor apple. The once so magnificent skyscrapers stood empty before us, devoured of all life, colour and flammable materials. Despite all the damage the buildings must have taken, though,  they seemed quite intact. The city was completely quiet, debris floating in the streets, and no matter which way you were looking, there was nothing but the empty scyskrapers to look at.

Our employers were extremely eager to explore this desolate ruin, and so, the captain ordered 20 men to arm themselves. These fortunate souls were going to explore the area with him, Ivan, and the frightened guy in the big coat. (We decided to call him that, as he stared at us like we were zombiefied, every time we attempted to speak to him.) Naturally, I was among the 20.

When every man had been given his rifle, we ventured into Manhattan. For the first ten minutes or so, we walked down the empty streets, without hearing or seeing anything that even resembled life. Then we met a man.

We walked around a corner, and there he was, sitting in the middle of the street. He was wearing what might once have been a decent suit, but was now a ragged and thorn piece of filthy fabric. As mentioned, he was sitting in the middle of the street, staring down into the cracked asphalt. At first we stared at him for half a minute, having no idea of what we should do. In the end, Ivan decided to aproach the sorry figure, and talk to him.

When he heard Ivans greeting, the man rised slowly, until he was staring Ivan right in the eye. For the first time, we now had the chance to clearly see the mans face. He wasn’t looking too good. His skin we’re almos grey from all the dust it had absorbed, and his hair looked as though he hadn’t washed it for years. (This was probably true.) His lips were sore and swollen, and from his left eye, a yellowish ichor protruded, spilling down his cheek and onto his shoulder. The man then mumbled in a hoarse and inarticulate manner, that he had an appointment at his office, turned around, and began walking into an alley. Ivan decided that the man were of no further interest to us, and so, we kept on walking.

Two minutes later, we discovered that three men were missing. It is not uncommon that sailors run away when they finally get ashore, so this was the first solution that came to our minds. Then someone pointed out that the closest brothel was on the other side of the atlantic, and that these three were reliable veterans. They had even remained loyal throughout the entire Korsika-expedition, something that really few of us managed.( I certainly didn’t)
Thus, something terrible had most likely befallen them.
As we had neither heard nor seen nothing, we had no idea what had happened to the missing sailors. Noone could tell excactly when they last had seen them, and instead of spending the rest of the day on a probably fruitless search, It was decided (Or rather the Ivan, frightened guy and the captain decided) that we shold press on for a little longer, and then look for the missing people on the way back.

We walked on for a few more minutes, before Ivan stopped at a rather high scyskraper. He then stated, that in order to get a good view of our surroundings, we should go to the top of this gargantuan structure. The pleas and arguments against the idea (pointing out that the elevator probably wasn’t functional) were ignored, and so, we found ourselves walking the stairs, up to the very top of the damned building. We had reached the 4th flour when we discovered that three more people were missing. This did nothing to lighten the mood, despite the captain saying that every man now would get a bigger share of the payment. Some people were now so frightened that they claimed this was worse than Korsika, but this was laughed at by those of us who hadn’t repressed the whole incident.

Since we hadn’t heard or seen anything this time either, and nobody answered when we shouted, it was decided that we should get to the top of the building as quickly as possible, so that we would be done with this miserable expedition, and be able to go back to the ship. We quickly walked the hundreds of steps that remained, and found ourselves at the top floor, with yet another stair leading up to the roof. Before we entered the roof however, the frightened guy wanted to explore the top floor, and opened a nearby door. What we saw startled us a great deal.

Behind the door was a long white corridor, illuminated by a single lightbulb, hanging in a wire from the ceiling. At the end of this corridor there stood two zombies. This didn’t unnerve us at all. In our trade, zombies are not uncommon, nor particularly dangerous in small numbers. What DID unnerve us, was the man standing betveen them. He was wearing a flawless white suit, a green silk tie, and some very expensive-looking cuff links. He seemed somewhat old, probably in his mid-fiftees. Yet, his face had very few wrinkles, and his face had a pleasant, healthy look, witha slightly red nose in the middle. His hair was white, short, and well cut, and the same could be said about his beard. His eyes were brightly green, though with a somewhat cold glance in them. The unnerving thing about him wasn’t really this.
It was the fact that he was standing betveen two zombies, and they didn’t try to tear him to small, bloody pieces.

Then the man spoke. He spoke with a mild, quiet voice, yet his words were crystal clear, gliding down the corridor and into our (horribly frightened) heads.
 “Welcome!” he said. Everyone was too stunned to answer.
“My name is Samuel,” he continued, “and this, is my empire.”