I Ate Hitler's Head

I turned myself into a crack and wormed my way into the Führerbunker, fissuring through nearly ten feet of reinforced concrete. I expected to see Adolf Hitler lying on the floral-print couch in his private quarters with a big hole in the top of his head, his dead hand clutching his Luger, the barrel stuck in his mouth, his blood and brains splattering the gray concrete wall behind him. And Eva Braun would be leaning against him, her death-glazed eyes blue, her lips bluer, a dainty hand clasping her throat, constricted by the cyanide capsule she’d bitten into moments before. But I must have misjudged the time slot due to clear-era turbulence. The newlyweds were still alive, doing a farewell fuck. (The following passage is for mature readers only. Discretion is advised.) [[The hell with discretion. Feed me the filth!]] [[I am mature, but I wish to avoid filth]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:purple))I should have looked away. Wanted to look away. Couldn’t look away. Had to watch Adolf’s (text-colour:yellow)[[solitary nut]] slapping against Eva’s squirming ass as he plunged his ball-turret gun into her Maginot Line with Blitzkrieg speed, then let out a grunt and scrambled his little sperm-Stukas to dive-bomb her cervix. (text-colour:black)[[I am mature, but I wish to avoid filth<-Continue]]

As the lovers’ passionate pants slowly subsided, I heard a distant *whump! whump!,* the sound of Russian mortar fire exploding in the courtyard above. A few sprinkles of plaster fell from the ceiling, pelting Hitler’s bare ass, rousing him from his sexual stupor. “Time to go,” he muttered, and extricated himself from Eva’s clutches. I watched the couple climb back into their clothes and my pulse quickened. I had a perfect vantage point for what was about to happen, since I was hiding inside a [[picture]] on the top shelf of a bookcase on the other side of the room. [[as soon as<-Continue]]

What, you didn’t know Adolf Hitler was born with only one ball? You must’ve slept through history class. [[The hell with discretion. Feed me the filth!<-Continue]]

A photo of pudgy Ernst Rohm standing in front of the flame-engulfed Reichstag building, smiling from scar to scar, looking sharp in his brown SA uniform, his right arm draped around the shoulder of his buddy Adolf, nattily attired in a trench coat and Homburg. (bg:magenta)[A year and a half later, Hitler would catch Rohm in bed with an 18-year-old storm trooper in the Hanselbauer Hotel in Bad Wiessee and pump the lovers full of bullets from an MG42 machine gun in a fit of jealousy.] [[as soon as<-Continue]]

As soon as Adolf and Eva were dead I would emerge from the picture frame, changing myself back to human form, and draw my machete from the sheath strapped to my thigh and separate Hitler’s head from his dead body and take it to... [[but the lovers<-Continue]]

But the lovers made no move to harm themselves. Instead they came over to the bookcase and Eva picked up the picture, staring right at me, although she couldn’t possibly recognize me for what I truly was. “Hey, das glas ist gesprungen,“ she said. "Wie ist das passiert?“ [[Activate translation spell]]

(text-colour:yellow)[[adolf took the photo<-“Hey, the glass is cracked. How did that happen?”]]

Adolf took the photo from her and I recoiled as his evil eyes drilled into mine, only inches away. “Vibrations from the shelling, no doubt,” he muttered, and handed back the photo. “What does it matter? The entire world has cracked wide open. Come, we must hurry!” Yet Eva lingered, running a finger along the crack, not realizing it was my body, and I shivered, aroused by her touch. If she kept it up much longer my shapeshifting spell would break and I’d revert to my true self, a tiny human figure bursting out of the glass of the picture frame and swiftly swelling to full size before I could calm down my biorhythms and reorient my chakras to assume another shape. [[but a moment later she shrugged<-Continue]]

But a moment later she shrugged and set the picture down, calming my libido, then she reached for a green book on the far end of the shelf and pulled it out a couple of inches. *Click ... Whirrrr.* Much to my surprise, the entire bookcase swung away from the wall and Eva stepped behind it. Adolf followed. Their footsteps echoed, fading fast. What the hell? I wriggled out of the picture frame and slithered through the air, coming around the side of the bookcase and stopping abruptly as I saw a low tunnel made of concrete, lit by a couple of bare bulbs in a curved ceiling. [[I resumed my normal shape<-Continue]]

I resumed my normal shape, wincing as cramps wracked my body – a frequent occurrence when I made a major morph – and I winced again as I noticed one of my six finger rings had gone dark, its magic drained by my recent exertions. No time to worry about that now. I waited a few seconds for my automatic Instapparel spell to cover my nakedness with a generic gray dress and black leather shoes, then I hurried into the tunnel and raced to the far end. I climbed an iron ladder, pushed up a manhole cover and stuck my head out just in time to see an olive-drab Fi 156 Storch single-engine aircraft rolling down the [[street in front of me.]] [[fuck<-Continue]]

“17th of June Street,” located in the Tiergarten District near the Brandenburg Gate. [[fuck<-Continue]]

“Fuck!” I muttered, glowering at the plane as it soared into the air and banked toward the sullen gray clouds. I couldn’t let them get away. Hitler’s head was worth big bucks to my client, Mr. Nogghunn, a collector of grisly artifacts. And I had a shitload of bills to pay. [[transform3<-Continue]]

(text-colour:cyan)[[Transform into a fighter plane and go after them<-Transform into a fighter plane]] (text-colour:green)[[Transform into a dragon]] (text-colour:#c3c1c1)[[Transform into a Valkyrie]]

It’s hard to morph into a machine; atoms aren’t nearly as malleable as cells. And I’d never attempted anything as complex as a fighter plane before, so I just had to [[wing it.]] [[but which one<-Continue]]

*Gesh! Boof! Thuff!* Green flakes sprouted all over my expanding body, itching like crazy for a few seconds, then quickly thickening into scales as my teeth sharpened to points and leathery wings unfurled from my shrugging shoulder blades. Exultantly I took to the air, flapping powerfully toward the clouds, and soon I saw the little Storch up ahead, buffeted by strong winds. As I screamed to the heavens and swooped down upon my prey, the [[pilot2<-pilot]] glanced over her shoulder, her jaw falling open as she spotted me. She shouted at Eva and Adolf, who were snuggling in the back seat, then gestured in my direction. The lovers twisted around and looked out the rear window, gaping at me, gobsmacked. [[should I ram<-Continue]]

*Feff! Thoosh! Bwuff!* Big silvery-gray feathers sprouted on my shoulders. Black armor, studded with little copper skulls, curved snugly around my body. A four-foot-long Dragonfang sword materialized in my hands. I leapt into the sky, my powerful wings flapping majestically as I soared up to the clouds with Wagnerian music blasting inside my head and my Norse blood pulsing hot within my veins (odd, since I’m one hundred percent Scottish). I saw the little Storch up ahead, buffeted by strong winds, and I soon overtook it, screaming to the heavens as I swooped down upon my prey. The [[pilot]] glanced over her shoulder, her jaw falling open as she spotted me. [[eva and adolf were snuggling<-Continue]]

She looked like Cloris Leachman, but it was actually Hanna Reitsch, the legendary Nazi aviator who – among other aerial accomplishments – won the Iron Cross for test-piloting the Junkers Ju 87 Stuka dive bomber in 1937. [[eva and adolf were snuggling<-Continue]]

Eva and Adolf were snuggling in the back seat, oblivious, until the pilot shouted at them and gestured in my direction. The lovers twisted around and looked out the rear window and Eva screamed in fright, but Adolf had a far different reaction, beaming with astonished delight as his favorite Wagnerian fantasy came to life before his eyes. [[I raised my sword<-Continue]]

I raised my sword high above my head, grasping it in both hands, and brought it down hard, smashing through the plane’s roof and bisecting the fuselage. I followed up with a side stroke, slashing through Hitler’s neck. (text-colour:red)[[with eva’s screams<-*Wheshhh!*]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#b31414))With Eva’s screams ringing in my ears I grabbed Hitler’s head by the hair and lifted it triumphantly off the spurting stump of his neck, then twisted around and flew away from the crippled plane, my arms raised in triumph, the Nazi noggin clutched in one hand, my dripping sword in the other. I descended in a slow spiral, watching the broken plane tumble below me, its wings snapping off and fluttering away. Hanna Reitsch managed to bail out, but Eva had no parachute and remained in the back, screeching up a storm and cradling Hitler’s headless corpse in her arms as his spouting blood coated the passenger compartment in a splashy swirl, like a water sprinkler from hell. (text-colour:yellow)[[triumph<-Continue]]

I flew out of the [[time slot]] and reentered the astral plane, where I reverted to my human physique and donned my [[C-Shell]] and headed up Interstitial 80, bound for present-day Vladivostok in Reality 0, where my client awaited me in his posh villa overlooking the Volga. But wouldn’t you know, a history hiccup came out of nowhere and flung me into a cluster of fate fractals, fracturing them into past-present pieces and ruptured realities. Buffeted and bruised, I landed atop a toppled If-Then-Where-When, staring at the [[bizarre scene]] around me. [[satisfied I was<-Continue]]

(enchant:?page,(bg:(gradient: 0, 0.3874,#076e07,0.5861,#e619e5,0.8257,#197fe6)))(text-colour:black)[''Time slots are the size and shape of large doorways, with gleaming membranous centers that resemble the surface of soap bubbles, filled with swirling colors.''] (text-colour:white)[[triumph<-Continue]]

An energy shell made of protonic particles that protects against elementals and time-shears while the wearer is traveling through the space-time Continuum. [[triumph<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#7012ce))[The Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley was ramming its spar into the rear end of the eggshell man in the (text-colour:yellow)[[Bosch]] pit as bird-headed priests scrambled for cover. The dynamite keg at the end of the spar exploded, blasting off the back half of the hell shell, webbing it with cracks and revealing the interior, where four machine men of Zor were trekking up the rosy cheek of the Face on Mars as Robbie the Robot stood on the bridge of the massive nose, firing his red claw guns, blasting basketball-sized boogers streaming out of the six-foot-high nostrils. Suddenly a pack of greyhounds and greenhounds encircled me, but I scared them off with a loud toot.] (text-colour:yellow)[[satisfied I was<-Continue]]

Satisfied I was in no further danger, I took a look in my [[belt bag]], worried that Hitler’s head might have been damaged by the crash. [[oh shit<-Continue]]

Hieronymus Bosch, 16th century Dutch painter famous for his bizarre depictions of hell. [[bizarre scene<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#d4cece))''(text-colour:red)[A bright red Gucci knockoff made with anti-material, crafted in Atlantis, which makes the interior a hundred times larger than the exterior.]'' [[satisfied I was<-Continue]]

“Oh shit!” I’d completely forgotten the half-eaten Milky Way candy bar I’d left in the bag that morning – a [[stupid blunder.]] [[I reached into<-Continue]]

Two organic items cannot occupy space inside a quantum container at the same time without risking mutational melding anomalies induced by fluxing QE2-waves. [[I reached into<-Continue]]

I reached into the bag, took out the head and muttered a few more choice cuss words, for the flesh and blood and bone had transmuted into... Chocolate! And a crack in the skull revealed a nougat brain inside. Spewing language I shall not chronicle here, I dropped Hitler’s head back into the bag, then pulled some tuning forks and Tholian thread out of my fanny pack and began repairing the rips in my C-shell as dozens of other astral travelers flitted past on the Higher-Way above me, oblivious to my plight. [[as I waited for the energy<-Continue]]

As I waited for the energy level to ramp up to optimum, I gazed forlornly at the belt bag and heaved a heavy sigh. I hated do-overs, but I had no choice. I had to find the April 30, 1945 time slot all over again. And my client would not be pleased with the delay; he wanted results yesterday. Literally. [[I need some comfort<-Continue]]

*I need some comfort food, real bad.* I took the Milky Way out of the bag and snarfed it down. *Ahh. Better.* But I wanted more. I eyed the head. My mouth watered. *No, I mustn’t. That would be wrong on so many levels. No, no, no...* [[maybe just the tip<-Continue]]

*Maybe just the tip of the nose? One earlobe? A chip off the chocolaty chin?* I pulled the head out of the bag, brought it up to my mouth and took a nip out of the nose. [[“Mmmm!”]]

A unique taste – mocha mixed with madness. [[I started to put<-Continue]]

I started to put the head away ... Hesitated as my stomach sang a siren song of desire. *OK, one earlobe. Just one. Then I’m done.* But I wasn’t done. I ate the other earlobe. And the chin. And chewed up one cheek. And then my willpower evaporated entirely and... [[yes i confess<-Continue]]

Yes. I confess. I did it. I ATE HITLER’S HEAD! [[Chocolate? What a rip-off!]] [[transform3<-Try a different path]]

(text-colour:green)[''What’s the matter? You want to read some gory cannibalistic crap about someone devouring an actual human head? You want a disgusting description of how I cracked the skull wide open with a hammer and chisel and grasped the brain and pulled it up and snipped the stem with a pair of shears and plopped the mind-meat into a stewpot, tossing in some parsley and butter, and after it was thoroughly cooked I set it on a platter and sliced it into bite-size pieces and popped one in my mouth and it tasted like veal only greasier and I probed the wrinkles with the tip of my tongue, tasting the evil still lurking in the synapses – tingling and sweet, but with a bitter aftertaste like Moxie soda. Then I scraped off a strip of forehead with an apple peeler and fried it in a skillet with some Vidalia onions and it tasted like venison bacon, and for dessert I baked the nose and dusted it with powdered sugar and the nostrils were a little too chewy for my liking, but I enjoyed the crunchy booger filling, and then I put the rest of the head in a freezer bag and put it in the fridge so I could have leftovers later. Satisfied, you sicko? Yuck!''] [[transform3<-Try a different path]]

Groan. [[but which one<-Continue]]

But which one? A muscular Focke-Wulf FW 190D? A slim Messerschmitt Me109? A gangly Junkers Ju 87 Stuka? Then I remembered the Allies had air superiority over Germany near the end of the war, so it would be smarter to change into a... [[P-51]] [[P-47]] [[P-38]]

The Mustang. Most advanced Allied fighter of the war. Only 12,300 pounds. Sleek and sexy, just like me. Perfect! [[like I said<-Continue]]

The hunky Thunderbolt. Weight: 14,000 pounds. Tell me, does this fuselage make me look fat? Yes. [[but which one<-Try again]]

The Lightning, an odd-looking, two-boomed plane. Weight: 12,790 pounds. I preferred something lighter and less complex. [[but which one<-Try again]]

Like I said, machine morphs are tricky, and before I was two-thirds through the transformation most of my metal molecules regressed into simpler forms – wood and canvas – and I turned into a Sopwith Camel biplane with a nine-cylinder Clerget engine instead of the Mustang’s twelve-cylinder Rolls Royce. *Eh, no biggie. I’m still more than a match for that silly little Storch.* I lofted into the sky, enjoying the twangy sensation of the wind in my wires and the gentle flexing of my ash spars ... *Oh no! More turbulence!* [[it shoved me sideways<-Continue]]

It shoved me sideways into a more compatible time-slot, and the ruins of 1945 Berlin gave way to the killing fields of France in 1918, where muddy, denuded earth stretched to the horizon, pocked by bomb craters and scarred by miles-long trenches filled with miserable men. *Rat-a-tat-a-tat-tat-tat!* “Ow! Ow! Ow!” Bullets tore through my fuselage and a few seconds later a [[Fokker flew<-fighter plane]] zoomed over me.

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#930101))(enchant:?passage,(bg:#c11010))A red Fokker Dr1 triplane with a nine-cylinder Oberursel Ur II rotary engine and two 7.92mm Spandau LMB 08/15 machine guns. (text-colour:yellow)[[the fokker banked<-Continue]]

The Fokker banked sharply to the left and came back around, the pilot glancing at me dispassionately as he flew by, only a few yards away. No doubt he planned to make a second pass to finish me off – but it wasn’t necessary. My molecules were breaking apart around the bullet wounds, my canvas reverting to dry, flaky flesh, my wooden struts becoming brittle bones. The lead in the bullets was wreaking havoc with the magical matrix within my cells, making it impossible to transform quickly into another solid body, so I dematerialized into... [[Vapor]] [[A bundle of energy]]

I vaporized myself into a white cloud about five feet long and whooshed toward the Fokker, pouring myself into the cockpit as the gobsmacked pilot’s goggled eyes gaped. “Hi there, [[Baron]],” I said in German. “That was pretty good shooting. Now let’s try your *other* gun.” I morphed my misty molecules into two ectoplasmic hands and a [[head]], then unzipped the fly on the Red Baron’s khaki pants, reached into his white [[boxers]] and grabbed his joystick. [[Warning: Dirty stuff ahead]] [[Give me the clean version]]

A tingly bundle of photons, protons, pythagons and vrilytes. Unfortunately, the Somme is located on one of the major Ley Lines in Europe and my quickly-created composite came apart, sprinkling my essence over the countryside, where it settled like raindrops onto the rotting corpses of German infantrymen. I’m still there to this day, my soul soaked up by the soil, my consciousness meandering across the mind-fields of time. [[Vapor<-Try again]]

Who else would be flying a red Fokker triplane but Baron Manfred Von Richthofen, the infamous “Red Baron,” [[second-best]] fighter pilot of World War I? [[Vapor<-Continue]]

The face closely resembled my own, but I’m no sculptor and couldn’t possibly do justice to my gorgeous countenance. [[Vapor<-Continue]]

Covered with little red Iron Crosses. [[Vapor<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#630cbb))My mouth settled over his rigid rod, nibbling on his knob, slicking his shaft with my teasing tongue as the Baron’s face expressed a mixture of arousal and incredulity, and the Fokker slowly sank lower ... lower. “Ach du lieber!” the Baron cried as he fired a burst of white blobs into my ethereal throat. (text-colour:yellow)[[Give me the clean version<-Continue]]

*Poppita-poppita-poppita-Popkin!* As we flew over Morlancourt Ridge, Sgt. Cedric Popkin of the First Australian Imperial Force opened up with his Vickers .303-caliber machine gun, riddling the Fokker. The bullets passed harmlessly through me, but one struck Von Richthofen, [[mortally wounding him.]] [[as he dazedly gazed<-Continue]]

Who was best? Rene Fonck of France, of course. [[Vapor<-Continue]]

As he dazedly gazed at me I kissed him on the cheek and muttered in his ear, “[[Das war fur die Achtzig]].” Then I drifted out of the cockpit just before the fighter slammed into the ground. But my feeling of triumph faded fast. I had failed to nab Hitler’s head, so I’d have to return to April 30, 1945 and try again. [[only one problem<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(text-colour:red)+(bg:white))The slug entered the Red Baron’s right lateral chest, passed through his right lung and heart, and exited his left chest. [[as he dazedly gazed<-Continue]]

(text-colour:yellow)[[as he dazedly gazed<-“That was for the Eighty.”]]

Only one problem – when you exit time slots they tend to break free of their moorings and drift through the astral, getting sucked into unpredictable past-ways or propelled into epoch pockets. In other words, the April 30 slot could be anywhere and finding it again would be a royal pain in the ass. [[hunt it down<-Continue]]

There are a number of methods for hunting down time slots – sniffing the astral aether with a mummified bloodhound nose, for instance, or dowsing the dimensions with a branch from a witchwood tree, or tracking the tempus-fugitsu with Atlantean talismans, or all of the above. And if those methods fail, you can always roam around aimlessly, hoping you’ll stumble across the desired slot through sheer dumb luck. [[the hunt begins<-Continue]]

First I traveled to Nikumaroro Island, a remote coral atoll in the western Pacific lying several miles above the sunken city of Atlantis. Soon my rings brimmed with refreshed magical energy and the cramps wracking my body subsided, so I returned to the astral to begin the hunt for the wayward April 30 time slot, heading up I-80 and passing countless quantum chronospheres and entropic islands where scattered slots drifted. And I spied an intriguing sight... [[A pirate ship!]] [[Roaring Twenties gangsters shooting Tommy guns!]]

Should I ram the plane with my snout? Crush it in my gigantic jaws? Smash it with my tail? As I pondered the possibilities a microburst caught me, wrenching me into another time slot where the gutted ruins of Berlin gave way to the undamaged buildings of London. No sign of the Storch, but a massive Zeppelin with a big black Iron Cross on its side was droning over Piccadilly Circus, and as I watched in horror bombs began dropping from its belly like iron turds. “You motherfucker!” I screeched – although it came out of my reptilian mouth as a cacophonous caw. [[my lungs swelled<-Continue]]

As I screamed to the heavens and swooped down upon my prey, the [[pilot2<-pilot]] glanced over her shoulder, her jaw falling open as she spotted me. She shouted at Eva and Adolf, who were snuggling in the back seat, then gestured in my direction. The lovers twisted around and looked out the rear window, gaping at me, gobsmacked. [[should I ram<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#b80000))My lungs swelled like massive bellows and the sparking glands at the top of my tonsils contracted and I unleashed my death breath, hurling hellfire at the Zeppelin, snorting in satisfaction as the krauts’ killing contraption crumpled in a convulsing conflagration, leaving a thick streak of oily black smoke in the air as the dirigible dove downward to its doom, bursting apart as it hit the ground, spewing a sea of flames. Then the world shuddered and shimmered and another airship appeared, even bigger than the first. It had no iron cross on its side, but a small swastika on the top tail fin. Without hesitation I spat out more flaming fury. Too late I realized I was no longer over the heart of London, but a large grass airfield, and the craft was not a warship but... (text-colour:black)[[not a warship but<-Continue]]

[[The Goodyear blimp]] [[The SpaceX Starship]] [[The Hindenburg]]

Dummkopf! [[not a warship but<-Try again]]

Elon, get out of my game! [[not a warship but<-Try again]]

Excerpt from Herbert Morrison’s radio broadcast from Lakehurst, N.J., on May 6, 1937: ”... It's practically standing still now; they've dropped ropes out of the nose of the ship and it's been taken a hold of down on the field by a number of men. It's starting to rain again – the rain had slacked up a little bit. The back motors of the ship are just holding it, just enough to keep it from ... (bg:#044e04)[“Holy smokes! A weird aircraft just came down out of the storm clouds and it’s diving toward the Hindenburg! It’s nearly as big as the Hindenburg itself, but it’s shaped like a dragon and the wings are flapping and the tail is twitching and the jaws are opening and if I didn’t know better I’d swear it was a real dragon! Charlie, do you see what I see, or am I cracking up?] “Ladies and gentlemen, Charlie sees it too! And the people here on the ground see it and they’re pointing at it and yelling and ... Oh God, there’s fire shooting out of its mouth and the Hindenburg just burst into flames! Get this Charlie! Get this Charlie! ''(bg:orange)+(text-colour:black)[“It's on fire and it's crashing! Terrible! Oh, my! Get out of the way, please! It's falling on the mooring mast and this is terrible; this is one of the worst catastrophes in the world. And oh, the flames are burning four or five hundred feet into the sky. It's a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen. And the frame is crashing to the ground, not quite to the mooring mast. Oh, the humanity, and all the passengers screaming around here! I can't even talk to people whose friends were on there!]'' (bg:#9a0404)[“It's completely a mass of smoking wreckage. And everybody can hardly breathe and talk and the screaming ... I'm sorry, I can’t breathe. I’m going to step inside where I ...] “Oh my God! The dragon ship just disappeared! It didn’t fly up into the clouds, it simply vanished into thin air! “Listen, folks, I'm gonna have to stop for a minute because I’ve lost my voice. This is the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed ... and the weirdest. “Charlie, gimme your flask. I need a snort!” [[I felt like shit<-Continue]]

I felt like shit as I headed up the astral, knowing I’d caused one of the greatest disasters in aviation history – and worse yet, I’d failed to acquire Hitler’s head as promised, which meant I’d have to start all over again. [[only one problem<-Continue]]

(enchant:?page,(bg:navy))I won’t lie to you. I had no reason to think the April 30, 1945, time slot was anywhere nearby, but I’d always wanted to be a pirate so I altered course and dove toward the ship, a three-master with a tattered, (text-colour:yellow)[[odd looking]] flag and billowing sails full of cannon ball holes. I landed on the pitching, wave-washed deck and shapeshifted into a bluebottle fly and began buzzing around the ship, having a look-see. I noticed most of the crew were women, and all them were wearing pink woolen caps, and that piqued my interest. Only one pirate in history decked out her crew that way, the infamous Bonny-Anne Nograse. I’d seen several portraits of her in books of maritime lore so I knew what she looked like, but none of the sailors on deck resembled her so I made my way down to the captain’s cabin, landing on the brass knob of a thick oak door and peering through the keyhole. *Holy shit!* (text-colour:yellow)[[the light from a huge<-Continue]]

I confess: I had no reason to think the April 30, 1945 time slot was anywhere near the Roaring Twenties, but I’d always been fascinated by that period in history and I’d never come across a Twenties slot before, so I surrendered to temptation and went in, diving toward downtown Chicago at the stroke of midnight, following a sweet twelve-cylinder cream-colored Duesenberg roadster with purple fenders and running boards that was racing down Larrabee Street, pursued by a dark-blue LaSalle coupe, each car filled with men in pinstriped suits and fedoras firing at each other with Thompson submachine guns. The cars swerved onto Dickens Avenue, tires squealing, just as a sailor stepped into the crosswalk. The Deuce struck him, flinging him ten feet into the air, and he landed atop a mailbox, his hull broken beyond repair. The Deuce collided with the curb and bounded onto the sidewalk, flattening a [[flapper]] and ramming into a fire hydrant. [[as water from the broken<-Continue]]

Pink skull, yellow crossbones, purple background. [[A pirate ship!<-Continue]]

The light from a huge mullioned window at the back of the cabin played across the flesh of a naked [[woman]] lying on a queen-size four-poster bed with lavender satin sheets. Her black leather duds were draped over a fancy armchair with red velvet cushions, and one boot sat on the floor beneath it. [[she only needed one<-Continue]]

Tall and buxom, with muscular thighs and tangled dark hair falling to her broad shoulders. She wore a crimson patch – covering her nose, not her eye – and sported a tattoo of a black, broken heart on her left bicep. *That's her! That's Bonny-Anne!* [[the light from a huge<-Continue]]

She only needed one, for her left leg ended in a stump covered by a black leather cap trimmed in gold filigree with a silver-rimmed hole in the center. [[she held her mahogany<-Dirty alerty]] [[Keep it clean]]

Sudden silence inside the cabin. The captain must’ve heard me. I tried to shapeshift, but my chakras were all out of whack now, my finger rings shorting out as the facets flickered. The door swung open swiftly and two legs appeared in my field of vision. The right one ended in a bare foot with pink polish on the toenails. The peg leg was on the other, glistening with pussy juice. I elevated my eyes up those sturdy but shapely legs to the bare, firmly toned midriff ... the hastily buttoned bustier ... the cavernous cleavage ... the pugnacious chin, ripe lips, nose patch ... and finally, Bonny-Anne's dark and narrowed eyes. [[who the hell<-Continue]]

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded in a husky voice. I got to my feet, giving her a weak smile. “Spekky’s my name. Spekky Truxel.” “How in bloody blazes did you get on my ship?” “Uh ... good question.” “And you’d better have a damn good answer!” [[damn good answer<-Continue]]

Oddly enough, she didn’t believe my story and made me take a long walk on a short plank. After I hit the water I morphed into a sea creature and headed for the nearest ley line so I could get back on the astral. And I didn't choose the creature at random; I had a definite porpoise in mind. [[damn good answer<-Try again]]

This answer has been removed due to copyright infringement. And because no one likes a smart ass. [[damn good answer<-Try again]]

“Oh, I do. I do. You see, it was like this. I was ... um ... I was sitting in a pub in Dublin minding my own business and having a Guinness and all of a sudden I felt woozy and passed out and when I came to I found myself bound hand and foot and lying on a filthy bunk in some stinky, leaky old ship and some horrible men told me they were white slavers and they were taking me to a notorious slave market in Australia so they could auction me off to the highest bidder.” I shuddered. “Oh, it was dreadful! Anyway, after a few days at sea a big storm came up and the ship started to sink and I managed to free myself from my bonds and jump overboard and I took the rope with me, figuring it might come in handy, and I grabbed hold of a piece of flotsam – or maybe it was jetsam; I never could keep those two straight – and I drifted for days and days and then I spotted your ship and I started to signal you until I saw your pirate flag and I figured I’d better sneak on board because you might not want a passenger so I waited till you got close and then I tossed my rope and managed to lasso that big stick on the front of your ship...” “The bowsprit?” “Is that what they call it? My, that’s interesting. Anyway, I climbed up to the deck and then snuck down to the cellar...” “You mean the hold?” “If that’s what you call the room at the bottom of the ship, that’s where I went. I hid down there for awhile, but I’ve never been a freeloader and I didn’t want to start now so I worked up my courage and came to your cabin to give myself up and plead for mercy and I promise I’ll work really hard to earn my keep if you’ll just give me a chance ... or you can drop me at the nearest port of call if that’s your druthers.” Bonny-Anne stared at me in silence. The seconds dragged by. Finally she spoke: “Your story stinks like a week-old mackerel.” [[my heart sank<-Continue]]

My heart sank. “Oh?” I said innocently. “How so?” “There’s no way in hell you could’ve climbed onto the deck of this ship without one of my crew spotting you.” She placed her fingers on the handle of a dagger sheathed on her belt. “Now tell me how you *really* got on board or I’ll cut your lying tongue out of your head!” “I’m not lying! No one spotted me because it was a dark and moonless night.” “If that’s true, how could you see our pirate flag, or the bowsprit?” “Oh, I have great night vision. Like a cat.” “I see. And you were going to signal us but thought better of it?” “Yes.” “How did you expect us to see your signal on a dark and moonless night?” “Uh ... I didn’t. I was going to yell as loud as I could and pray you heard me. Until I changed my mind, that is.” The captain reached for an oil lamp mounted on a bracket beside the door, twisting the wick knob to plunge the corridor into shadows. Then she bent down, tugged off her boot, straightened up and held it out to me. “Take it,” she said. I did, baffled. [[alright miss catty eyes<-Continue]]

I soon grew tired of pirate life. There was little action and lots of chores – swabbing the deck and picking weevils out of the porridge and scouring pots and pans and mending sails and standing in a swaying crow’s nest for hours on end, staring at an empty horizon. And when we did encounter ships worth plundering they gave up without a fight the moment they spied our flag, for Bonny-Anne Nograse had a fearsome reputation, greatly exaggerated. I easily could have turned into a bird or a fish and escaped when no one was looking, but I didn’t want Bonny-Anne to think I’d jumped ship or fallen overboard; she would’ve wasted a lot of time searching for me. There had to be a better way. And I got my chance on a June afternoon when the *Queen Cwestalia* engaged in a furious fight in the fjords of Finland against a fleet of French frigates. [[the french managed<-Continue]]

I served aboard the *Queen Cwestalia* for four months – until that [[fateful]] day when a British Royal Navy man-o-war, the *HMS Harrumph,* caught up with us off the coast of Corsica and sank us after an epic battle. [[officially<-Continue]]

I knew Bonny-Anne Nograse was doomed to die at sea – it’s been the subject of many a ballad (*Who Slew The Stumpy Strumpet of the Seven Seas?* and *Drown Thy Woes, O Watery Wench* being the most famous) – and I could have warned her to avoid Corsican waters, claiming I’d had some sort of premonition, but she wouldn’t have believed me. And besides, I wanted to witness her dramatic demise first-hand. [[Stick around<-Continue]]

Officially, there were no survivors; the pirates who lived through the battle itself were devoured by a [[shiver]] of sharks. [[but that’s not quite true<-Continue]]

Believe it or not, that’s what marine biologists call a group of sharks. Weird, huh? [[but that’s not quite true<-Continue]]

But that’s not quite true. One of the pirates did survive. Me. But not for long. I became an albatross and flapped away from the melee, heading toward a ley line a few hundred miles away, where I intended to find another access point to the astral and continue my search for the April 30 time slot. But as I passed over a merchant ship some asshole shot me with a crossbow. Mortally wounded, I could have changed into some other form – healing myself as I rearranged the damaged cells – but that takes time, and only seconds after hitting the water I was devoured by a shark. After he digested me and pooped me back into the ocean I slowly settled to the bottom, where I lie to this day, a mound of sludge serving as home to a family of lungfish. [[Jump ship ASAP<-Try Again]]

The French managed to board us and – although I’m a world-class fencer – I allowed a handsome lieutenant to poke me with his saber (not the first time I’ve been poked by a Frenchman). I fell into the water and sank out of sight and I’m sure Bonny-Anne and my shipmates assumed I was dead, but I actually changed into a porpoise and swam away. I headed for a ley line about seven hundred miles away and as the late afternoon sun blazed across the water I spied an island and decided to go ashore and take a little nap before continuing. As I waded onto the beach I reverted to my normal self, then lay down in the warm, white sand, enjoying the strong breeze wafting over my wet skin and rustling the leaves of the mango trees as the playful waves lapped at my feet. *Sigh.* Such a nice contrast after the clamor of battle. I started to drift off... *THUPF!* [[I sat bolt upright<-Continue]]

I sat bolt upright, looking all around, trying to locate the source of the loud noise... *KLANG! ... THUPF! ... KLANG!* What the hell? I became a parrot and flew up to the treetops and spied a clearing in the center of the island... “Holy shit!” [[two mammoth<-Continue]]

Two [[mammoth metal men]] were sitting in the clearing side by side, holding gigantic cards and facing a bronze helmet the size of a house that lay upside down in the sand about twenty yards away. The giant on the left took a card from his hand and flipped it toward the helmet, but it flew right over it and hit the ground about ten yards beyond, landing in the middle of half a dozen other cards. *THUPF* The giant on the right snorted. “My, my, my, you’re really off today!” he said in Greek, his voice hollow and booming. “Shut up and toss!” the Left Giant retorted. The Right Giant selected one of his own cards and sent it spinning through the air. It sailed wide of the helmet by a good five yards and the Left Giant started to chuckle – until the card curved back around like a boomerang, hovered directly over the helmet for a moment or two, and dropped inside. *KLANG!* The Right Giant raised his fist in the air. “Ha! What do you say to that?” [[I say it was a fluke<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(text-colour:black)+(bg:grey))(enchant:?passage,(bg:grey))''Tall as six-story buildings and made of heavily oxidized bronze held together with rivets as big as my fist. They had angular features, square jaws and blank eyes and were clad in cuirasses and pleated kilts, and shod in caligae. A golden chain was wrapped around each giant’s left ankle, the links as big as wagon wheels. '' (text-colour:yellow)[[two mammoth<-Continue]]

“I say it was a fluke. The wind caught the card and brought it back.” “The wind comes from the gods. They favor me.” “The gods have no need to send us wind. Your mouth provides an ample supply.” “Sore loser!” “Cheat!” “Quit yakking and take your turn.” Grumbling, the Left Giant plucked another card from his hand, drew his arm back, hesitated, waggled his wrist slightly, hesitated some more, then hurled the card like a baseball pitcher might throw a slider. *KLANG!* The card bounced off the helmet’s nose guard and soared high in the air, heading for the far side of the clearing over twenty yards away, where it took a sudden nose dive into the ground – *THUPF!* – sticking up at an angle with one corner buried in the sand. Right Giant giggled. Soon it grew into a guffaw. “Shut your mouth!” Left Giant said. His suggestion was ignored. He tossed his cards to the ground, scrambled to his feet and seized his companion by the throat. Right Giant broke the hold and took a swing at him. The fight was on! [[as the battling behemoths<-Continue]]

As the battling behemoths exchanged blows – *BWANG! ... BWANG! ... BWANG!* – my attention was abruptly diverted, my eyes fixating on the card at the edge of the clearing as its face lit up for a moment and I realized it wasn’t a card after all, but a time slot! And the image in its depths was very familiar... The Führerbunker! [[the gargantuan grapplers<-Continue]]

The gargantuan grapplers got closer, twisting around and around, pummeling each other with their massive fists and staggering straight toward the Führerbunker card. If they stepped on it they might damage it severely, even destroy it completely. Frantically I flapped my wings and flew forward to intercept them, screeching at the top of my lungs, but I was so small they didn’t notice me, so in desperation I dove toward the card, hoping to dart inside. *VOPP!* One giant’s right fist missed its target and struck me a glancing blow, slamming me to the ground and shocking my bird body back into a human shape. [[hey, watch it<-Continue]]

“Hey, watch it, you big oaf!” I yelled (my language spell automatically translating my words into Greek). The metal men froze, then turned their heads to gape at me. “A tiny girl!” Left Giant said in awe. “A tiny, pretty girl!” Right Giant said. “Who are you?” Left Giant said. “Where did you come from?” Right Giant said. Massaging my aching jaw, I replied: “My name is Spekky Truxel and I’m a priestess sent to this island on a holy mission by the gods themselves! Who are you that dare defy the will of the gods?” [[right giant pointed<-Continue]]

Right Giant pointed a thumb at himself. “I am Talos Two.” “I am Talos Three,” his companion said. “We guard this island for the gods,” Two said. “They didn’t tell us you were coming,” Three said. “What do you seek here, little sorceress?” Two said. I gestured at the time slots. “The doorways of the gods – which you presume to use as common playing cards!” [[the giants exchanged<-Continue]]

The giants exchanged a glance. “We did not know they were divine doorways,” Three said. “We prayed for diversion,” Two said, “and the doorways showed up soon after, dropping out of the clear blue sky. We assumed they were playing cards, sent in answer to our prayers.” “Although they weren’t what we wanted,” Three grumbled. “We asked for chessmen or dominoes. Perhaps an archery set or bocce balls. But we got the cards instead – or what we thought were cards.” “They are a fine gift, also,” Two said hastily, casting an anxious glance at the heavens, fearing his companion’s comment might anger the Almighties. [[oh yes, yes<-Continue]]

“Oh yes, yes,” Three quickly agreed. “It is fun to toss them at the hat.” “And to look at the pretty pictures,” Two said. “And to argue about who is the better player,” Three said. “Yes, the fights are the best part,” Two said. Talos Three let out a rusty sigh. “And now the gods send you to take back their gift and we must find a new diversion.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going to take your cards. I just want to pass through one of them so I can continue my divine mission.” Talos Three bowed his head. “You are most...” The sound of chimes interrupted him. The two metal men glanced down at their left legs, where their golden chains were flashing in time with the chimes. [[our ankle<-Continue]]

“Our ankle monitors,” Three said. “We must go to our cave and check our [[nails]],” Two said. [[they stood up<-Continue]]

Like the original Talos, the two card players were created by the Greek god Hephaestus with only one vein in their bodies, running from neck to ankle and sealed by a single nail, the loss of which would cause all the ichor to drain out of them, resulting in their demise. [[they stood up<-Continue]]

They stood up, towering over me. “Farewell, little sorceress,” Two said. “Give our regards to the gods,” Three said. I smiled. “I’ll do that.” They turned around and lumbered to the far side of the clearing, stepped over the trees with ease and disappeared behind a hill. [[I hopped<-Continue]]

I hopped into the April 30, 1945 time slot, changing myself into a crack and fissuring through nearly ten feet of reinforced concrete, and soon I was standing inside the Führerbunker, brandishing my machete as I snuck up behind the unsuspecting couple copulating on the couch. [[Epilogue]]

“Sure took you long enough,” [[Mr. Nogghunn]] grumbled as I set the box down on the diamond-shaped marble table – which had once resided in the banquet hall of the debauchery-drenched palace of Emperor Caligula in ancient Rome. “I ran into difficulties,” I said evenly. He waved a dismissive hand, his pinky ring twinkling in the light from the firepit crackling nearby. “Spare me the details. You got what I wanted. That’s all that matters.” He picked up a sacrificial Aztec dagger with a cat’s-eye-encrusted handle and a wavy-edged blade made of flint and used it to cut through the twine binding the white cardboard box. He opened the lid, scowling as he saw the foam [[packing peanuts.]] [[he scooped<-Continue]]

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#045d04))[A bulbous head with a thickly ridged brow, deep-set triangular eyes and wavy burgundy hair; a turnip-shaped body, spindly limbs, sausage fingers, minty skin. He wore a quilted indigo smoking jacket and shark-skin slacks and black Oxfords. His voice had a slight trill to it. I think he was from the Canal Zone, but not the one in Panama.] (text-colour:yellow)[[Epilogue<-Continue]]

I could have used crumpled paper as a cushioning material – the *London Times* from 1888, for instance, or Jesse James wanted posters from 1875, or British broadsides from 1798 – but Mr. Nogghunn was an annoying man and I enjoyed annoying him back. [[he scooped<-Continue]]

He scooped out several handfuls, tossing them contemptuously onto the flagstones, then peered into the box, beaming. “At last!” He reached inside with both hands as more peanuts spilled out, then lifted up the head, gazing at it rapturously, running his fingers lovingly over the Führer’s face, stroking the hair, sticking a finger deep into the gaping exit wound till he touched the brain itself. When he pulled his finger out he was surprised to see the tip was covered with a brown substance. He brought his hand up to his nose, sniffed the finger, frowned, licked it, then looked up at me, astonished. “Chocolate?” he said. “It’s a long story,” I said. [[and now it’s over<-Continue]]

And now it’s over.

(enchant:?passage,(bg:#8f0000))''Flossie Blay, a girl in her twenties with bright red lipstick and dark, bobbed hair and a lavender headband with a white feather sticking out of it. She wore rolled-down hose and a short, sleeveless, powder-blue drop-waist dress with a plunging neckline and fringed hem. Her friends would remember Flossie as a goodtime girl who could really “cut a rug” when a speakeasy band struck up the *Charleston.* But her *pas de deux* with the Deuce was a dance of death.'' (text-colour:yellow)[[as water from the broken<-Continue]]

As water from the broken hydrant fountained into the air the gangsters bailed out of the Deuce and made a run for it, but the La Salle screeched to a halt and the occupants cut loose with their Tommy guns one last time, mowing down their foes. I was circling overhead in the form of a crow, soaking it all in, but just when I thought the show was over things got even more interesting as a police car came barreling around the corner. “Beat it!” one of the killers cried. “It’s the coppers!” The LaSalle roared up the street with the police car in hot pursuit, weaving recklessly through the relatively light late-night traffic. The crook car made a crazy turn onto Clark Street with only two wheels on the ground, nearly tipping over, and seconds later the driver stomped on the brakes and the LaSalle shuddered to a stop in the middle of the street and the hoods dove out and hightailed it into a rundown garage with a sign proclaiming *S-M-C Cartage Company* over the door. I landed in an adjacent alley, morphed into a mouse and scurried inside, eager to see the denouement. [[the cop car swerved<-Continue]]

The cop car swerved to the curb on the far side of the street and two officers got out, guns drawn, crouching behind the right front fender. One of the cops cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted: “You guys in the garage! We’ve got you surrounded! Come out with your hands up!” “Fuck you, flatfoot!” came the reply. The cops glanced at each other and the driver jerked a thumb toward the rear of the patrol car. The other cop nodded and they holstered their pistols and trotted to the back, opening up the trunk and taking out a V-shaped steel blade, which they lugged to the front and mounted on bolts attached to the fenders. With the battering ram in place, they climbed back into the car and the cop on the passenger side grabbed a sawed-off shotgun from a rack beneath the seat as the driver put the car in reverse and swung it to the left so it was facing the garage. After waiting for a bus and a milk wagon to pass by, the driver floored the gas, sending the patrol car hurtling toward the building. *THUDOOM!* [[they bashed through<-Continue]]

They bashed through the overhead door and it fell onto the hood, splitting apart, then clattered to the floor as the patrol car plowed into a pyramid of [[wooden barrels<-wooden barrels,]] nearly squashing the hunkered-down hoods who’d been hiding behind it, though they somehow managed to scramble out of the way in the nick of time. [[the cops leapt<-Continue]]

Strangely enough, although the ruptured barrels were labeled “Roofing Nails,” it was ninety-nine-proof Canadian whiskey that burst forth. [[they bashed through<-Continue]]

The cops leapt out of their car, leveling their weapons at the cowering criminals. “Get your hands up!” the driver commanded. The crooks complied. The driver gestured at the far side of the garage. “OK, you bums, get over there and lean against that wall and make it snappy!” The grumbling gangsters obeyed. They didn’t hear [[another man]] softly stroll into the garage through the back door. [[he unbuttoned<-Continue]]

A chubby civilian with three nasty scars on the left side of his face, he wore a white fedora and a purple double-breasted three-piece suit and a black vest and a red silk tie with a jacquard pattern. A diamond pinky ring adorned his right hand. [[he unbuttoned<-Continue]]

He unbuttoned his tan wool overcoat to reveal a [[schnazzy Tommy gun]] and as he took it out and aimed it at the gangsters a sadistic glee glinted in his eyes. “Hiya, Bugs,” he said affably, flashing a sharky grin. The tallest of the gangsters spun around, his face paling. “Capone!” “The one and only.” “Why you dirty...” (bg:red)[*CAPOW! CAPOW! CAPOW! CAPOW! CAPONE!* The Tommy gun chattered, blasting bullets into Bugs Moran and his boys, the slaying slugs kicking up little craters as they exited the gangsters’ bodies and ricocheted off the brick wall.] [[as the gunfire echoed<-Continue]]

Nickel plated with ivory grips and a Valentine drawn with pink lipstick on the front of the disk-shaped magazine by Daisy, his favorite whore. [[he unbuttoned<-Continue]]

As the gunfire echoed into silence, booze and blood spread across the floor, joining together in a grisly confluence. A chuckling Capone handed the Tommy to one of the “cops” and dug a cigar out of his vest pocket. He bit off the end, spat it at Bugs’s corpse and clenched the cigar between his teeth as the other “cop” sprang forward, dutifully flicking a Ronson lighter. [[after capone and<-Continue]]

After Capone and his friends left I heard whimpering, so I emerged from the shadows and scurried over to a Ford truck with its hood open. A German shepherd cowered beneath the vehicle, freaked out by the loud noises. I restored my human self and approached him. “It’s OK, big fella,” I said in my most soothing voice, speaking in doggese, the universal canine language. “The shooting’s over.” He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and I stroked his head. His tail began to wag. As my hand brushed the fur between his perking ears, strange stirrings coursed through my body and... *Pwoof! Pwoof!* Much to my surprise, my body quickly converted into a canine configuration – a collie, to be precise. The shepherd’s eyes reflected his surprise and his tail froze for a moment, then wagged faster. [[who are you<-Continue]]

“Who are you?” he said in a gruff voice. “They call me Spekky. What’s your name?” “They call me Highball.” He gazed sadly at the sprawled corpses. “At least they used to. Looks like I’ll have to find new masters now.” I put a paw atop his. “Them’s the breaks, kiddo. But you’re a good boy. You’ll make out alright.” Now his tail was wagging like crazy, a blur of fur, and he started panting, hard, and before we knew it we were nuzzling each other’s snouts and sniffing each other’s butts and then... Needless to say, we did it doggie style. [[Oh, how sweet! But where in hell is Hitler's head?]]

[[Tell her the truth]] [[“I beamed down from the Starship Enterprise”]] [[Spin a plausible yarn]]

(enchant:?passage,(text-colour:yellow)+(bg:#b800b8))''She held her mahogany peg leg in her right hand, inserting it slowly into her pussy and rotating it slightly, then easing it almost all the way out. Then in again ... out ... in ... *Shlurp ... shlurp ... moan...* I lost my composure, my body popping back to normal as it thudded to the floor.'' (text-colour:white)[[sudden silence<-Continue]]

I lost my composure, my body popping back to normal as it thudded to the floor. [[sudden silence<-Continue]]

Yo ho ho and a bottle of booze / You shouldn't need any more clues. [[the hunt begins<-Continue]]

“Alright, miss catty eyes,” she said, “look inside the boot and tell me what you see at the bottom.” I peered into the boot’s blackness and, much to my relief, my vision did not fail me. I raised my head, smiling. “Looks like a gold doubloon with a dent in the center.” Bonny-Anne arched an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.” She took back the boot and put it on, then turned up the lamp and gave me a wry smile. “Alright, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” Just as I started to relax, she drew the dagger with lightning speed and brought the tip within an inch of my neck. “But if you slack off, or I find out you’re a bloody spy, you’ll walk the plank for sure.” She lowered the dagger. “Fair enough?” I grinned, rendering a snappy salute. “Seawoman Truxel reporting for duty, ma’am!” [[Jump ship ASAP]] [[Stick around]]