So, once again, it’s been a minute since I’ve sent one of these out. If I were one of my clients, I’d be reprimanding them for their lack of consistency, throwing my hands up in response to the lack of “results” or success metrics. What is (was?) it they say about the cobbler’s kids and their lack of nice footwear? Do we even call them cobblers anymore?
Editorial aside: According to the interweb, the word “cobbler” was originally used deprecatingly, describing someone who wasn’t very good at their job. Somehow (I didn’t travel too deep down the etymological rabbit hole, sorry), that eventually became super specific to those who repaired shoes but didn’t seem to be able to make them.
Interesting, right?
ANYWAY, since the last one of these missives, we sent all of our Bestiary copies out, and I’m now working on an e-commerce page where we can sell them more effectively. One exists here, but it doesn’t facilitate shipping very easily. If you’re interested in buying a copy, contact me at mike@madquillcomics.com, and I’ll send you a link. Otherwise, watch for our new Shopify (or like-minded online shop) page soon.
Apart from that, we’re (Kevin Manklow and I) working on the next volume, Feral: The Beast Within. Stay tuned for more updates on that (nothing better than an update about a non-existent update, right?).
I thought I’d also try something new for the next couple of emails and share some prose I worked on recently.
Hungry Harry: A short story
A while back, I was asked to contribute a short story as part of a larger Kickstarter graphic novel campaign for Incident Report from Attic Door Media.
Incident Report takes place in a world where superpowers are a mundane part of life. People don’t have secret identities and vigilante night jobs. They become teachers or firemen. They work 9 to 5. Some fly to the office, but most take the subway.
Humans with enhanced abilities are called Chimerans. They are registered with the International Chimeran Administration (I.C.A.), a global organization dedicated to helping them integrate into society. They work to minimize harm caused by dangerous or destructive abilities and provide support and training to super-powered kids and their families.
You should check it out. The Kickstarter campaign is over (successfully funded!), but you can get copies here.
Anyway, Hungry Harry is an original horror short I wrote set in the Chimeranverse. It lives as a digital offering and is one of five shorts that became part of the larger Incident Report graphic novel series.
Here’s part one for your reading pleasure…
Hungry Harry
By Mike Connell
New Hope, Pennsylvania, 2015
Harry rolled to a stop in his dirty, white 1961 Ford Econoline cargo van, shifting jerkily into park, and almost simultaneously pulling out a cigarette to settle it.
He liked to get to these meetings early. His day-to-day could get pretty busy, so sometimes it was nice to take some time. Just stop. Sit. Smoke. Reflect on the day.
This was one of his favorite rendezvous locations. It wasn’t anything special. The spot. Just a small recess at the side of a small road in rural Pennsylvania.
He grew up near here.
It was just on the outskirts of New Hope, a city whose name ruined the retroactively named Episode IV for Harry. He didn’t hate New Hope. But he didn’t like it, either. Which is why he loved this spot. It was on the outskirts. The fringe. On the outside, looking in at what hope, new or otherwise, looked like.
En route to New Hope, 1986
Six-year-old Harry stared out the window of what he remembers as a 1980s white Datsun hatchback. With big rust holes on the side. His mum, chain smoking, was explaining why they were moving. Again.
Harry didn’t really remember the last time they moved, but he remembered not liking it. This time, he was leaving two friends and an awesome tree fort behind. Not happy.
“Turns out they didn’t like my type there, buddy,” she explained through the smoke. “They don’t get the answers they like, they turn on you fast.”
She turned up the music.
I study nuclear science
I love my classes
I got a crazy teacher, he wears dark glasses
Things are going great, and they're only getting better
I'm doing all right, getting good grades
The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades…
Harry’s mom was Chimeran. Sometimes they… What did she call it? Defied her? Classied? Whatever it was, sometimes, instead of an ogger, (which is what she called herself. Said her Mum had it too. A grandmother he had never met) they called her a clearvoy… clairvoint? Or something like a diver, although Harry had no idea what diving had to do with knowing what was going to happen.
His mum couldn’t tell the future, really. It was more like reading one of those horror-scopes in the paper. Helpful, his mum said. But not always right.
She said it was like Harry flushing the toilet. Unreliable. She always wrinkled her nose when she said that. And laughed. Harry didn’t think it was funny.
Anyway, he understood. It didn’t always work. Even if it did, it wouldn’t matter, she said.
“The folks who come to me want answers I won’t likely be able to give them.”
Years later, Harry would finally get some more insight into what his mum was, and what she could do. He always knew, up to a point, but it wasn’t until after she had passed, and he was looking through her International Chimeran Agency documentation and classification certificates, that he made the connection. Not oggers, in fact, but augurs, a classification that, at higher levels, usually worked for the government. Counter-intelligence efforts, and the like. Or the ICA itself for who knows what.
Not Harry’s mom, though. And he remembered her being okay with that. Her’s was more the parlor trick, circus-sideshow skill level. She was right more often than not, but she couldn’t nail down the details. A death in the family could cover a lot of ground, for instance: Grandparent. Dog. Goldfish. Houseplant. Hopes and dreams. Something would die. That was the only certainty.
Still, Harry remembered that, for her, it meant less responsibility. Less pressure. Especially with having to take care of Harry all on her own.
Well I'm heavenly blessed and worldly wise
I'm a peeping-tom techie with x-ray eyes
Things are going great, and they're only getting better
I'm doing all right, getting good grades
The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades
“New Hope, though… that’s the place for us, Harry,” she beamed, tousling his red hair.
Tune in next week (what are the odds, right?) for part two!