von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

Joe was sixty-five years old and retired.

He lived in an old battered caravan by the sea on west coast of South Africa, it is a desert region an not many people live here, which is, as he likes it. He found a nice secluded place near the beach, miles from any people, and started fishing. He’s been fishing for two years.

One afternoon he got a bite on his line and gave the rod a jerk. When the fish was hooked he started reeling it in, it put up one hell of fight, but eventually he managed to get to shore. As he pulled the hook from his mouth, he saw that there was something strange about this fish. He inspected it closely, and yes it was true, he was sure. There could be no mistaking. He had caught the Holy Mackerel.

He knew it was the Holy Mackerel because, well, it was a mackerel, and it had a tiny halo over its head. Thus; the Holy Mackerel.

He was overjoyed. He had heard much talk of the Holy Mackerel, but would never have imagined that he would be the one to catch it. He tried conversing with fish by saying things like; “Boy, for a Holy Mackerel you sure put up one hell of a fight.” But the Mackerel remained mute, and never responded to one of his remarks.

He telephoned a newspaper group in Cape Town, and within hours his little caravan in the middle of nowhere, was surrounded by people and cameras. They came in cars, busses and helicopters, and still they came. Joe had put the Holy Mackerel in a plastic bucket filled with seawater.

The Mackerel swam around and around inside the little plastic bucket, with his little halo floating above his head, as the crowds surrounded him in eager anticipation of whatever was going to happen next. Surely the fish would talk and disclose some universal wisdom; after all, it was the Holy Mackerel.

But the fish remained silent for seven days, but after swimming around for seven days in a small circle in a plastic bucket, he gave it up and he spake. He started slowly

“Gaagh” said the fish, and after he had cleared his throat in this manner he continued. The cameras flashed and everyone hushed his neighbor to silence as they awaited the wise words of the Fish. And the Mackerel spoke.

“I just have this to say.” Said the Mackerel “There aint all that many fishes in the sea no more.” And then he said no more.

The people tried to coerce him with snacks and food, and one or two even threatened to fry him in a pan. But the Holy Mackerel was not phased, and kept his piece ever after.

When it became obvious to Joe that the fish was saying no more, there was the danger that he would lose his commercial value, so he sold it for a generous sum to the Cape Town aquarium. They put the Mackerel in a tank all on its own, and people from all over the world came to look at the Mackerel. And paid for it too. But the Mackerel never said another word. He just swam around in that tank with his little halo above his head, and enjoyed the admiring glances of the humans beyond the glass. What’s more, he was fed generously, because he was the star attraction.

But for the next fifty years people came to admire the Fish, and ponder over his prophetic words ‘There aint all that many fishes in the sea no more.’

Whatever could he have meant by that they wondered?

II.

Fifty years later a team of brilliant marine biologist, combined with a team of equally brilliant social scientists, came up with a treatise as to what the Mackerel meant by his prophetic statement.

They said that the global starvation the world was experiencing was directly due to the oceans eradicated fish stocks, and that this was what was meant by the Mackerel when he said ‘There aint all that many fishes in the sea no more.’

There theory was generally accepted by the starving population of the earth

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I live in Smalltown, USA, out in the Midwest. It is still called Smalltown but has grown into a bustling city since my youth.

That all happened when the yuppies came. Well they called themselves yuppies and came disguised as yuppies, but I knew better. I know what they really are; a brood of bats.

Yes sir, a brood of evil bloodsucking vampire bats. They hide away, a few of the leaders in their mansions, but most of the more common vampire bats simply nest in the thousands of townhouse complexes that have sprung up all over.

Here they breed and produce more bats, that will eventually grow up, marry a little female bat, and move into a little townhouse batnest of their own, to breed, and so on, and so on.

By day they come out of their nests and put on their sunglasses, climb into their little sports sedans and drive off through the heavy traffic to whichever IT firm they work for in the city. At night they return to their nests and transform into the true shape of the vampire bat; the kind where they flutter about on a pair of black wings and go flying in search of a meal.

They swarm in large groups on their helpless prey, which is usually a homeless old lady or stray dog, sinking in their fangs and draining the victim of the last ounce of its blood. Whereafter they return to their townhouse batnests and wash-up and brush their teeth (with herbal toothpaste), before turning in for good early morning sleep. Soon, they are battling through the traffic again, off to work at the IT firm.

But, as I have mentioned, I am one of the lucky few who are wise to their evil plans of world conquest and domination. From here they will spread all over the globe, building townhouses and brooding millions of new vampire bats. They will someday rule mankind, and mankind will be their meal. They will stop at a MacDonald’s and order a big Mac mankind burger with a pint of blood, to go.

But I am safe from them here in my little basement room. I have my crucifix and wooden stakes. Various silver chains adorn my neck, and I have even swallowed a substantial amount of silver, which is said to make ones blood undrinkable to a vampire. Cloves of garlic hang about the room. No vampire bat will suck my blood. Just to make doubly sure I have my fully loaded pump-action shotgun by my side all the time. Let those bloodsucking yuppies come.

And while I wait for the day that the yuppie bats will inevitably come for me, as they come for everyone, time passes. And as time passes, the bats build new townhouse batnests, and continue to breed.

Breeding a myriad of bats.

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

I was perfect, I realized. Not Messiah perfect, like Jesus, or even Buddha, but a close second.

It was because one day, as I was walking down the street, it suddenly occurred to me that I was genetically perfect. That is, I was as genetically perfect as any human had ever been, therefore, I was perfect. As the realization of this genetical perfection of mine gradually sunk in, it dawned on me that I would have to do something constructive with my new found powers. In this regard I would need help, for I realized, the world was a troubled place. The local police station seemed like a good place to offer my services so I strolled over.

I walked up to the counter and said to the officer behind it “I have arrived.”
He looked up in a perplexed fashion and said “What?”
“I have arrived” I repeated myself, and added, “To solve some problems, of which I hear you people have your fair share, now, how can I be of service.”
The cop wasn’t busy with anything pressing so decided to humor me a bit longer.
“What makes you think there is anything you would be able to help us with?” he said smugly.

I explained my newfound perfection to him and assured him that it went hand in hand with vast cosmic powers, which in turn I would be able to use for the better of mankind, if I could only find a serious problem to solve.

“Why don’t you re-align the universe and solve all our problems?” he said and his fellow officers in the squad room laughed.
“That is the best idea I’ve heard all day.” I said and went to stand in a corner to re-align the universe. I stood there and concentrated, deciding that only a few minor adjustments to the cosmic wheels would be necessary. I re-aligned them slightly and then stopped to catch my breath and wipe a bit of sweat off my brow.

Just then someone off the street ran in and said, “ Have you people heard, George Bush just won the election.” ‘Shit, what have I done’ I thought to myself. I would better have to re-adjust the cosmic wheels back to the way they were. I went and stood in the corner and concentrated, but try as I might, I could not turn those big abstract wheels of time and space back to their original positions. I tried and tried till the sweat ran in rivulets down my face.

When I realized I was going to have no success, I turned back to the cop behind the counter and said, “ I confess, it was me, it is all my fault, and whatever happens hereafter is all also going to be my fault. I re-adjusted the wheels of the universe, but you proposed it.” I added accusingly.

The cop’s former good mood evaporated, because of what I had just said, or because of the news of the American presidential elections, I do not know to this day. But his whole demeanor towards me changed in a second, a bit scizo-like.

“Right, that’s it, off to the loony-bin with you.” he said, and momentarily six huge cops overpowered me and forced me into the most uncomfortable white sleeveless jacket I have ever been fitted with.

The ‘hospital’, as they refer to it, looks like one from the outside, with lovely rolling lawns and old Victorian red brick buildings. The inside, I found out later, looks more like scenes from Dante’s ‘Inferno’.

The white jacketed Doctor across from me asked the questions.
“What day is it today?” she asked. “Does it really matter, if you consider the bigger question? What is time? According to Janice Joplin ‘it’s all the same fucking day’ in anycase, man.” I replied.
A bit annoyed she continued, “What does it mean when I say ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’?”
“It means the tree isn’t standing on a hill.” I replied.
Now genuinely agitated she tried one more “ What does it mean when I say ‘people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?’”
“That would mean exactly the opposite of ‘ people in stone houses shouldn’t throw glasses.’” I replied.
Her final question to me was “Mr. Smith, do you drink?”
“It’s a bit early in the morning, but what the hell, make it a double.” I said enthusiastically.

So now I’ve been sitting in this little padded room for the last few years, while Bush is going bomb happy. Why don’t I change things back? You ask. Well, I’ve been trying all this time, but when I re-aligned the universe, my perfection slipped out of place a fraction, thus I am not perfect anymore, not even close. Being imperfect also means being virtually powerless. Certainly without any cosmic powers.

I can do nothing but try, under heavy sedation, but perfection eludes me. How can I ever regain my perfection and re-adjust the cosmic wheels again? If anything ever seemed impossible to me, this does. Turn Oh Cosmic Wheels, why won’t you turn?

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

It was a sunshiny day at ‘the place’ and the people were going ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’. They were going ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’ because they had outsmarted Batty. He was somewhere far away flying harmlessly through space.

They went about their daily business at work, school and home, assured in the fact that Batty no longer posed a threat to their peaceful existence. The day passed peacefully and uneventfully. As darkness fell over ‘the place’ the people closed their windows and shut their doors, and turned in for a good nights rest, except for a few late night revelers in the city pubs.

But, unbeknownst to the people, Batty and Belinda were close by. They were somewhere in space, close to the place, but they were no longer alone. They had prospered in space. In tow flew their offspring, four little bats; Berty, Batny, Betty and little baby bat. One happy, albeit thirsty, vampire bat family.

The mayor was one of the late night revelers at a local pub, and started walking home in a carefree fashion, after all, there weren’t any bats around tonight. He was also bound to be re-elected, he thought to himself, after all it had been his idea that they should escape the bat and fool him. He was laughing to himself as he strolled down the street, ‘Ho-Ho-Ho.’ But suddenly he was over whelmed by six thirsty bloodsucking bats, they appeared out of the night as if from nowhere. His tune changed to ‘Argh!-Argh!-Argh!’ as he was being mangled to death by the bloodsucking bats. Once he had expired, Batty and his family had a virtual feast of blood. They sucked, and sucked, until their little bellies were filled to capacity. In the early morning hours, while ‘the place’ was still shrouded in semi-darkness, they retired to Batty’s old cave for a good days rest. They had flown far, and blood was their reward. The pure life giving essence of blood.

As a new day dawned over the place, the people found the mangled remains of the mayor in a lonely side street, the place was a bloody mess, and they knew, Batty was back. They had traveled across the galaxy in an attempt to evade the bloodsucker but had failed. There was no escaping that bloodthirsty bat. The people all packed their bags and headed for the launch pad in town. They were getting away while it was still day.

Batty the vampire bat could feel there was something amiss when he awoke this evening….

The End.

von Jacques Pinard Brown (Copyright)

He flew further than his little wings had ever flapped. They flapped until they felt they could flap no more. Flutter, flutter, flutter, flapped the wings of little Batty.

Until he flew so far that he came to where he had never been before; a completely different place. Here he glided to the ground, and found that the streets and houses were also deserted. Then he spotted an utterly peculiar bat, with a tag around his neck that said ‘Bobby’.

“Hello Bat, I’m Batty from ‘the place’, tell me, did the people come past here by any chance?” said Batty. The utterly peculiar bat nodded confirmation with his head but said nothing. His head, however, kept nodding up and down, so Batty took that for a yes. He hadn’t expected anything more from such an utterly peculiar bat, so he flew on.

Outside of town Batty came across another bat, he gave him one looked and realized this was a totally way-out bat. His hair was cut in a rooster and dyed purple. He sported an assortment of belly, nose and earrings, and was lavishly endowed with cheap tattoos. One large tattoo on his forearm read ‘Benny’.

“Hello bat, I’m Batty, can you by any chance tell me where the people might have gone?” The way-out bat replied, “I don’t know where they go, but they go ‘Ho-Ho-Ho’.” That was a great help, thought Batty to himself as he fluttered away.

Batty flew to the top of the tallest building in town, sat on the ledge, and rolled a joint. As he smoked it he pondered his predicament. When he had finished, he flew around in abstract circles, as he pondered it some more. This went on for what felt to Batty like a prolonged period of time, when the realization hit him. The people had gone back to ‘the place’, seeing as they had run out of places to go. He felt joy in his little heart at the prospect of the return trip.

He brushed his fangs and combed his hair, and took off his dirty white T-shirt that said, ‘WATCH OUT – I BITE!’. He took a clean one from his overnight bag that said, ‘BLOOD AND SMOKE.’ and put it on. Then he put the dirty shirt in the bag, along with his comb and toothbrush, zipped it up, and flew off into the everlasting darkness of space.

So sons and daughters, beware, this very night, in the dark reaches of space, a vampire bat is flying in search of the earth, in search of mankind, in search of blood.