To whom it may concern

Check out this logo from Tales from the Gas Station's favourite (stupidest) murder cult, the Mathmetists:



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The Mayor's smile did not waver.

"You've been out of circulation for a long time," he said. "Maybe you didn't notice what happens to people in this town when they lose a loved one." His grin narrowed to become a smirk. "Maybe there wasn't anyone you loved, or maybe you just don't remember them."

Dash said nothing, but Sara Sue felt him freeze beside her, and could tell the barb had hit home. The Mayor continued.

"But the people who die here, they don't move on in the way we expect. They linger. They infect the people that miss them."

Ongoing Verse: Pay Attention

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Mister Radford took one look at the bags under Dash's eyes, did a quick mental calculation on the odds of anyone that sleep-deprived managing to shoplift successfully, and decided the permanent, all-time, no take-backsies mega-ban could be put on hold today.

"Here," he said, tipping an extra shot of java into what was quickly becoming less of a coffee-flavoured milkshake, and more a tall glass of iced caffeine that had been briefly shown a picture of some ice-cream.

"Thanks," said Dash, causing a few bristles on Radford's moustache to turn white from shock.

"Maybe that's what had happened to the kid's hair too," Radford thought. "He caught himself being polite one day and all the colour got bleached right out of him in confusion and fright."

Out loud - but not too loud, because his one-time-only, after-this-the-ban-is-back-in-effect-forever customer didn't look like he could take it, he said "No problem."

There was silence for a moment, as Radford busied himself wiping down the already spotless counter and Dash appeared to sleep with his eyes open.

"Not that it's any of my business," Radford began.

"It's not," said Dash, proving that the exhaustion had not yet permanently damaged his intrinsic rudeness.

Radford felt strangely relieved, though he didn't let his smile show.

"Fair enough," he said. "But if late nights have you feeling a little peaky, I just got some of the new Super Sanity Saver sleep aides in stock."

Dash blinked, slowly.

"Aren't those the sunglasses people wear so they can look at the popcorn god without losing their minds?" he said. "I don't think that's going to help at night."

"Same company," said Radford. "But these are ear plugs. Guaranteed to block the Call of the Void for one hundred nights mini-"

"Sold," said Dash, and actually reached for his wallet.

Ongoing Verse: First Kiss

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: The Powers That Be

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It had been five weeks of blinding sunshine, and since the mysterious and no doubt Bureau-related loss of his last unbroken pair of sunglasses, Marshall Teller had been squinting for all of it.

Simon had offered him first pick from his own small collection, but as Simon’s taste ran to bright colours and cartoon dinosaurs, Marshall had politely declined. Even Dash, apparently sick of the complaining which accompanied the sight of every sun-soaked line of parked cars, had shoplifted him a handful from the World o’ Stuff bargain bin, dumping them on the kitchen table one night with an admonishment to “just pick one and shut up”.

Marshall wasn’t sure if he’d deliberately picked the ugliest ones on offer, or if the World o’ Stuff didn’t have many good options, or if Dash just had very, very bad taste in eyewear. In any case, none of them were a good fit, and he’d had an awkward moment when Mister Radford caught him trying to sneak them back into the shop and offered to let him keep the lot, since, in the shop-keeper’s own words, nobody in town wanted to pay actual money to wear a single one of them.

Come to think of it, that whole encounter probably added weight to the “nothing decent there to steal” side of things. Marshall, who’d been planning on yelling at his least-trusted associate for one, his horrible fashion sense and two, forcing him to keep Mister Radford’s unsellable trash, decided he might keep quiet about it after all.

Now, staring out the grimy window of their small kitchenette, Marshall Teller took in the grey skies and wet sidewalks, and sighed in relief.

He slipped his hands into his jacket pocket, freezing as his fingers brushed against the smooth, round plastic of an earpiece.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Weather

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Simon flinched as Marshall closed the door of the microwave and stabbed the power button.

"It's okay," Marshall assured his most trusted associate. "Like you said, the rifts are slowing down now. Besides, the last one only opened this morning; it'll take a while for the power to build back up."

"It's not that," said Simon. "You're reheating that burger with the garnish still on. Are you really going to eat hot lettuce?"

Marshall shrugged.

"Sometimes in life, you have to take the reheated lettuce with the leftover burger," he said. "As the old saying goes."

"Does it?"

"Does now."


Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"That was pathetic," said Dash. "I might not remember anything beyond the last six months, but I feel confident saying that was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

"Don't listen to him, Marshall," Simon said loyally. "You did fine."

"The game machine laughed at him," said Dash. "A glowing green skull appeared on the screen, laughed and called him a loser."

"You couldn't do any better," Simon shot back. "I bet you don't even know how to play Mutant Attack."

Dash shrugged.

"I know enough not to get laughed at by green pixelated skulls," he said.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The sandwich was hastily prepared, thrown together during a quick trip home at lunch and messily wrapped in tinfoil, and it was just about the best thing Dash had ever eaten.

"Thanks," he said, crumpling up the silvery foil and, by way of showing he meant it, actually tossing it into the correct recycling bin on the first try.

"It's fine," said Marshall, who was a little embarrassed both by the enthusiasm (for a given, Dash X-ish definition of enthusiasm) being shown for a simple ham and cheese, and because he really, really should have prepared for this.

Next time.

Ongoing Verse: First Kiss

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"This is really embarrassing," said the demon of rot and crawling filth, one buzzing and multitudinous limb rubbing the vaguely head-shaped lump atop what might, with some imagination, be considered it's torso. "But could you...?"

Simon stood and walked to the large window overlooking a communal garden choked with weeds and rusted metal debris.

"This way," he said, holding the window open as far as it would go.

On the couch, Marshall and Dash watched as an approximately man-shaped thing comprised of fat and swarming bluebottles repeatedly slammed itself into the glass pane.

"A little higher," said Simon, ever patient.

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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The ground beneath the Eerie Municipal Pool had collapsed, sucking two dozen swimmers and thousands of gallons of water down into the echoing chasm below.

Marshall Teller peered out over the raggedy edge of the hole, feeling broken blue-white tile crunch beneath his feet and wishing there was a safety rail to hang onto.

"What's your theory?" asked Dash. "Giant moles? Shoddy workmanship? Human sacrifice to something with an aquatic theme? Do we need to call your ex down at the Sushi Bar?"

Marshall shook his head.

"Smell that chlorine?" he asked. "No way Janet's bosses eat anything that tainted."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Ongoing Verse: Janet

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The footprints were strange, ragged and uneven, so much so that Marshall almost thought that they might have been several different tracks left by several different creatures, all passing the same way over a short space of time.

That would have been boring, though, and in the absence of any obviously nefarious maneuvering from City Hall, the continued outage of the satellite dish back at his house, and his own lack of funds following a very ill-advised bargain with his most untrusted non-associate Dash X, he would need to make his own fun.

Clearly, there was a shape-shifter in Eerie.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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"That," said Dash X, his eyes wide and his voice tinged with genuine emotion. "Was beautiful."

Simon scowled at him, then at his baby brother.

"Don't talk to him," he said. "He's in trouble. You're in trouble! You're both in trouble!"

Dash spread his hands wide.

"I swear, Shrimpenstein, I had nothing to do with this. I was just innocently minding my own business in a security camera blind spot and saw the whole thing play out."

"I got pancakes," Harley informed him solemnly.

Dash smirked. "You sure did."

Simon closed his eyes tight. Was nine too young to go bald from stress? He thought he might be on his way to finding out...

"Dash," he said. "Thank you very much for bringing him home, but please don't encourage this."

Dash shook his head.

"You realise that's like asking fans of cheesy musicals not to encourage Andrew Lloyd Webber, right?" he said. "I've never seen anything like that before. I've gotta know how he did it."

"He's not showing you anything," Simon said. "You don't need my little brother to teach you better ways to crime, okay?"

He paused.

"Anyway, it wouldn't work. Harley's much, much cuter than you are."

Ongoing Verse: Holmes Brothers

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Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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"You bought a television," Simon said.

"Yes?"

"But, I mean... you bought a television. A new one. A big one, even."

"It was what Mister Radford had in stock."

(It had been in stock, along with several other, smaller, less expensive televisions, but Marshall didn't feel the need to mention that part.)

"We could have got one second-hand," said Simon. "Or picked one up for free down at the town dump. I'm getting pretty good at spotting the ones that aren't haunted by Mister Wilson, you know."

"We could have stolen one," said Dash. "I was going to, after work."

Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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The door did not fit quite right in it's warped and time-worn frame, and when the wind blew, an icy cold crept in through the hidden spaces where old wood failed to meet older particle board.

Dash X drew closer to the scavenged space heater, whose single working bar glowed a bright and brave shade of orange as it struggled to dispel the chill. Behind it, an extension cord snaked across dusty floorboards, trailing up rotten stairs until it reached a broken window pane.

The glowing green mould growing outside crackled and pulsed with electricity as it climbed the walls.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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