Abigrale Scond and the Penistone Skull

Grunting like a boar, Beedan Saftstane thrust his stubby prong into Abigrale Scond’s shapely young body as his sweaty paunch slapped against her well-developed abdominals. She moaned and groaned with arousal and met his thrusts with bucking hips – a remarkable display of strength considering the weight bearing down on her. Time had vandalized his once-handsome face, and an abundance of banquets had bloated his once-firm body. His cold, calloused hands ran roughshod over her flesh and his slobbery mouth drenched her in drool and his sweaty armpits and cigar-scented breath annoyed her nostrils. Yet Abigrale’s arousal was quite genuine. But it wasn’t his coarse intercourse driving her to the brink of orgasm, it was ... [[2<-continue]]

Power. The power contained in the skull sitting in the impervious golden box on the other side of the study, a priceless prize that would soon be hers. After a few more thrusts Saftstane gasped and shuddered, unleashing his liquid, then collapsed on top of her, wheezing like a steam locomotive with a leaky boiler. “Oh Beedie!” she cooed, stroking the bald spot on top of his head. “That was...” [[“better than I expected from a fat old fart like you”]] [[“best sex I’ve ever had!”]] [[“so good!”]]

His face grew even redder – not from exertion now, but fury. “You foul-tongued tart! I know I’m no great prize in the bedroom, not anymore, but you should’ve kept your opinions to yourself!” She shrugged. “Just being honest. Hey, at least you got a piece. At your age you’re lucky any woman would even...” He hauled off and punched her in the face with a meaty fist, then extricated himself, rolled off the couch and stood up. He unleashed a few more nasty words and punched her a second time. And she responded, driving her left heel into his groin. “Yow!” [[3<-continue]]

His ragged breathing subsided. His eyes grew cold. His expression darkened. “You must think I’m a fool! Best sex you’ve ever had? I doubt it’s the best sex you’ve had *this evening,* let alone your entire life!” “I was just trying to pay you a compliment.” He extricated himself and climbed off of her. “You mean butter me up so I keep my part of the bargain. Well forget it! I shall not be treated like some gullible schoolboy by a condescending, fork-tongued tart!” He thrust an arm at the door of the study. “Get out! Get your clothes on and get out, you lying whore!” “Not so fast, buster! You promised I could hold the skull and I’m not leaving here until I do!” [[4<-continue]]

She stroked his bald spot for a few moments, then murmured, “It’s getting late. I really must be going.” He pushed himself up, grunting, and pulled out of her, then rose unsteadily to his feet, placing one hand on the back of the couch to brace himself until his equilibrium returned. She swung out from under him and stood up, grabbed her clothes off the floor and started putting them on. He dressed more slowly. “Shall I call on you again tomorrow night?” she said as she zipped up her dress in the back. He buckled his belt, smiling sheepishly. “I think I’ll need a day or two to recover.” “Nonsense! You’re a human dynamo!” He laughed. “Perhaps I was ... once.” She started toward the door. Stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot! The skull. You said I could hold it.” [[5<-continue]]

She rose from the couch and scooped her clothes off the floor, gathered them to her bosom and ran toward the study door. She heard a clang. Wondered what it was. Found out. *Whack! Gunch!* The fireplace poker struck her in the back of the head, puncturing the bone. She hit the floor with a thud, her brain bleeding, swelling. Her last thoughts were not about her own skull, but the one in the golden box. If only she’d kept her comments to herself, she’d be holding the priceless artifact in her hot little hands. But now it was beyond her grasp. Forever. [[2<-try again]]

He grabbed her arm, hauled her to her feet and dragged her toward the door. “I said get out!” She wrenched free and kneed him in the nuts. “Yow!” He clutched his privates and staggered away. She snatched her clothes from the floor, clasped them to her bosom and scurried out of the study, then dressed quickly and trotted to the front door. She heard a click behind her. Turned. Saftstane was standing in the study doorway, aiming a Webley .44 caliber pistol at her head. *Bang!* [[2<-Try again]]

He gazed at the hand she was holding out toward him -- the same one that had stroked his staff into a state of stiffness a few minutes earlier, just before the consummation commenced. Such a talented girl. So skilled at the art of lust. He had grown tired of the town’s typical tawdry tarts and their tepid erotic repertoire. Abigrale was a different breed altogether. An amorous artiste. She had earned the privilege of touching the skull. He crossed to the other side of the study and stood before a marble pedestal, on top of which sat a square [[metal cube,]] about 12 inches to a side. [[5a<-continue]]

Made of orichalcum, a reddish-gold metal forged in Atlantis at the dawn of time, the cube was smuggled to the surface world by Plato during the ill-fated Antikythera Expedition over a thousand years ago. [[5a<-continue]]

The cube appeared to be solid -- no openings, no seams -- and could only be opened through magic. Saftstane had purchased it at a curio shop in Istanbul several years earlier and it cost over a hundred thousand pounds -- a pittance compared to the value of the artifact within. Saftstane raised his arms, palms facing the box, and intoned: “Actevasto corvodrestu zana zamba firam drom!” And the reddish-gold box glowed like a sunset and the front of it shimmered and dissolved, revealing the interior. And there it was ... [[the Penistone skull!]] [[6<-continue]]

A crystal-clear green skull with three eye sockets, and a nubby horn protruding from the center of the forehead. Discovered in a freshly dug irrigation ditch in Penistone, Sheffield, in 1802, the skull was made from a single piece of perfectly smooth gnomestone with no chisel marks upon it. Embedded deep within the skull were silvery channels resembling blood vessels. Since no earthly sculptor possibly could have made these channels within the solid stone, some surmised the skull was produced by highly advanced aliens and the channels contained the encoded wisdom of their race. Others claimed the skull wasn’t a carving at all, but the crystallized, transmuted head of an actual being – some supernatural or extraterrestrial entity of immense, dormant power just waiting to be awakened, for good or ill. [[6<-continue]]

Saftstane reached into the golden box, took out the skull and held it out to Abigrale. She gasped in delight, her eyes glittering as brightly as the stone. “Oh Beedie! It’s gorgeous!” He placed it in her upturned palms and a shudder of desire ran through her as she felt the incredibly old energy pulsating within its depths. Nothing excited her more than power. Nothing. She had to have it! She clasped the skull to her bosom and reached out her left hand, stroking Saftstane’s flabby jowls. “Beedie, you’re the greatest!” He blushed. And the redness spread across his entire face, then his upper body. The color darkened to maroon, turned purple -- because the black ring on her finger contained a powerful potion she had just injected into his bloodstream via a tiny spring-loaded needle. For a moment, Saftstane gaped at her with bulging, baffled eyes and then... [[fainted]] [[fell down dead]] [[froze solid]]

Abigrale scrambled into her clothes, shoved the skull into her bag and left the mansion. She trotted two blocks, hailed a taxi cab and returned to her hotel, then packed quickly, checked out and went to the train station, where she took the 10:11 to London. There she got on an airship to complete the final leg of her journey – and keep a date with the notorious Johnny Falingo. [[johnny<-continue]]

Abigrale scrambled into her clothes, shoved the skull into her bag and left the mansion. She trotted two blocks, hailed a taxi cab and returned to her hotel, then packed quickly, checked out and went to the train station, where she boarded the 10:11, bound for London. [[train terror<-continue]]

A dozen couples were out on the dance floor strutting their stuff as the band pounded out *Maple Leaf Rag,* but most of the well-heeled clientele were cooling those heels at the tables, guzzling and gobbling champagne and sirloins like there was no tomorrow and puffing on expensive cigars purchased from scantily clad “smoke girls.” “The sky’s the limit” was the motto at the *Nimbocana Club* – not surprising, since it was inside the airship [[Lindberger.]] [[13<-continue]]

The next morning, Peeves the butler was surprised to find a life-size stone statue of his master standing in the middle of the study. Although Mr. Saftstane’s portrait had been painted some years before, he’d never expressed any desire to commission a statue, and no sculptor had ever visited the mansion. Perhaps the statue was a gift from some admirer. But it wasn’t a particularly flattering likeness, capturing Mr. Saftstane’s flawed features with a realism bordering on rudeness -- and with a very odd expression on his face. Peeves also noted that the golden cube-safe was open and empty, but since Mr. Saftstane was the only one who knew the magic unlocking spell, the butler assumed he had taken the skull himself. Peeves intended to ask about these two curious developments when his master returned from ... wherever he had gone. But he never did. [[froze3<-continue]]

A missing-person report was filed and the authorities investigated thoroughly and the newspapers played it up big, but no trace of Mr. Saftstane was ever found. Eventually the furor died down, and seven years after his mysterious disappearance, Beedan Saftstane was declared legally dead and an estate sale was held. The statue was purchased by an art museum in Paris, but is not currently on public display due to the unsettling effect it has on some of the more sensitive members of the public, who claim they hear the statue whispering, although the words are never loud enough to understand. [[johnny<-continue]]

Abigrale shut the door of her private compartment and sank down on the seat. Resting one hand on her bulging handbag, she gazed out the window at the moon-bathed countryside rushing by. Around midnight she decided to turn in. She got up and placed the handbag in the overhead storage bin on the other side of the compartment, then opened her suitcase and took out her nightgown. She removed her dress, put on the gown, pulled down the sleeper bed above her seat, climbed in and twisted the gas knob on the lamp mounted on the wall next to the bed, plunging the compartment into moon-glossed shadows. The swaying carriage and rhythmic clacking of the rails lulled her to sleep. An hour passed... *Plop!* [[7<-continue]]

Something landed on her pillow. Something big and heavy. She stared at the dark blob as she reached behind her, fumbling for the knob on the lamp. She twisted it and light filled the room, revealing ... The skull! “Oh my Goddess!” She leapt out of bed, went to the storage bin, flung up the door and took down her bag. It felt just as heavy as before. She pulled open the top and looked inside. “GAAA!” [[8<-continue]]

The head of Beedan Saftstane glared up at her, his eyes glazed with death, his mouth frozen in a grimace of agony. “How?” she gasped. The dead man blinked. His eyes focused on her. His purple lips moved. “Thiefffff,” he rasped. “Murderessss!” “AHH!” [[9<-continue]]

She rushed to the window, dropped the bag on the floor, slid the window down. The unmuffled sounds of the chugging engine and clattering tracks assaulted her ears, no longer a lullaby. She picked up the bag and hurled it into the night. Heaving a heavy sigh, she shut the window and slowly turned around. “AAAHHHH!” [[10<-continue]]

The head! Lying on her pillow where the green skull had been only moments before. “That does it!” she said. “I’m outa here!” She trotted to the door, unlocked it, slid it open, stepped out into the corridor. Tripped. Fell. Gaped at the object lying at her feet. “No!” [[11<-continue]]

She got up and kicked the head viciously with her bare foot, ignoring the twinge of pain in her toes. The grisly object rolled down the corridor and she followed, kicking, kicking, till they got to the far end of the rail car. She opened the side door. The countryside flashed past. The wind grabbed at her gown. She gave the head another boot. It rolled to the edge of the doorway, stopped. Growling, Abigrale swung her leg with all her might. Connected. The head didn’t budge. She tried one last time. As her foot struck the dead man’s face, his mouth opened, capturing her big toe. He bit down, hard. “Ow!” Sobbing with fear and frustration, she bent down and grabbed the head, tugging, twisting, jerking, screeching. She lost her balance and tumbled out the door. [[12<-continue]]

The next morning the body of a young woman wearing nothing but a nightgown was found next to railroad tracks just south of Smoth-Upon-Drear. There were no signs of foul play, but curiously enough the big toe on the woman’s right foot was missing – not amputated, but bitten off. The police dismissed it as the work of some hungry animal that had come across the body while searching for food. The investigation into the circumstances surrounding the woman’s death yielded more questions than answers and the case was finally marked “Cold,” and remains so to this day. [[fainted<-try again - fainted]] [[froze solid<-try again - froze solid]]

One of the largest and most luxurious airships in the world, with eight double-boiler engines capable of producing twelve hundred chugs per minute. It boasted two five-star restaurants, a swanky nightclub, a beauty parlor, a barber shop, a gymnasium, a souvenir shop, three hundred luxurious first-class suites and two hundred steerage cabins. [[13<-continue]]

In the eye of this happy hurricane sat Johnny Falingo, owner of the club, decked out in a white tux with a red carnation in the lapel. He had dark, wavy hair and a pencil mustache and a rough-hewn face with a little hole in his chin. A Colt .45 automatic bulged beneath his tailored coat. Abigrale wore a sea-foam green chiffon gown. The bag sat on the floor between her feet, with her ankles pressed tightly against it. “Did you have much trouble getting the goods?” Johnny said. “Not really,” she replied. She took a small bite of her salad and a sip of absinthe. He excavated another chunk out of his steak, shoved it in his mouth and chewed it up, chasing it down with a swig of beer. “I knew I could count on you.” He raised his glass. “A toast, to our biggest score ever!” She touched her glass to his. *Clink* They downed their drinks, ordered refills, watched the dancing couples for awhile. When the band took five, Johnny rose from the table. “Let’s go to my office and get down to business.” She stood. “Let’s.” The crowd parted as they passed. Even people who had no idea who Johnny was instinctively knew to get out of his way. [[14<-continue]]

At the end of a carpeted corridor Johnny opened a red door and Abigrale entered. He followed, closing the door behind him, then strolled to a huge mahogany desk and unlocked a drawer, removing a valise. He tugged open the top, turned the valise upside-down and dumped a quarter of a million bucks onto the desktop. He grinned. “Your turn, doll.” She opened her bag, took out the skull and set it down next to the mound of money. Johnny picked up the artifact, running his fingertips over its immaculately smooth surface. “I wish I could show off this chunk of ice to all the high-falutin’ hoity-toities who think I got no class,” he said. “They’d be green with envy! But that wouldn’t be smart. The fewer people who know about this, the better.” “You can tell all in your memoirs.” He chuckled. “I may just do that.” [[She starts grabbing stacks of money from the desk]] [[She climbs onto the top of the desk]]

As she picked up the first stack of dough, Johnny reached for a fountain pen sticking out of a marble holder on the desk. But instead of pulling the pen out, he yanked it down like a lever. *Click Kathunk!* A trap door in front of the desk snapped open and Abigrale plunged downward, screeching cusswords. She grabbed for a girder as she zoomed past, but it was just out of reach. *Zich!* She tore through the bottom of the Lindberger’s canvas hull and began the long plunge through the night sky, heading for the glistening black mass of the Atlantic Ocean far, far below. [[She climbs onto the top of the desk<-try again]]

He glanced at a pair of fountain pens sticking out of a marble holder on his desk, and his right hand moved slightly in that direction, then stopped. His eyes returned to Abigrale’s face – fixing her with an intense stare, like a predator about to strike. An alarm bell went off in her head. As she started to pick up the first stack of dough, he reached for one of the pens. She tossed the stack at his face, then leapt onto the desk, grabbed the pen and tried to pull it out of the holder. It wouldn’t budge. Playing a hunch, she pushed the pen down, like a lever. *Click Kathunk!* [[15<-continue]]

She glanced behind her and saw a trap door in the floor snap open, right where she’d been standing. She turned back to Johnny. “You dirty double-crossing louse!” He thrust his right hand under the lapel of his tux, reaching for his rod. She dove off the side of the desk and did a cartwheel as she slipped a hand through the slit in the side of her gown and yanked her Smith & Wesson nickel-plated snub-nose .38 revolver from her thigh holster. Johnny drew a bead on her, but she fired first, filling him full of lead, marring his immaculate white tux with six red blotches. [[16<-continue]]

She dragged his body to the trap door and gave it a good shove. “Bye bye, Johnny,” she said, watching the corpse punch through the bottom of the Lindberger’s canvas hull and begin the long plunge through the night sky, heading for the glistening black mass of the Atlantic Ocean far, far below. THE END