========================================================================= Date: Fri, 4 Oct 1991 09:16:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #1 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney Issue #1 "Tapping the Mind" "Slumber, watcher, till the spheres, Six and twenty thousand years Have revolv'd, and I return To the spot where now I burn." -H.P. Lovecraft "Polaris" When I was younger, my life revolved around dreams. And when I grew older, the dreams seemed to drift away, beyond my grasp. I failed to believe and like the rest, decided that life goes on. High school days came and went, and then college. I was blindly trying to conform, failing to see the need to be an individualistic person. Soon, I found myself an aged man of 25. It was then that I began to dream again. Slowly, I walked down the stairs to my living room. A bright white light temperarily blinded me. I squinted to see. It was my friend Nick, dressed in blue jeans, a baseball cap, and a T-Shirt I never saw before. "Hey, Steve! You awake?" Suddenly I awoke, sweating in my bed. "Steve?" a voice replied, as Nick's head peered around the corner. "Unngh ... ouch ... what a headache!" "You drank too much last night." Nick mumbled with a smile. "Yeah-" I murmured, "But I usually don't get hangovers." "Well, there's a first for everything." Nick said, sitting on the only clean spot in my room at the time, my swivel chair, "Come on, we're gonna work on that tennis swing." "Yeah, that's right." I replied, still a little groggy, "I'll be right there, I gotta take a shower." Slowly, I sat up. My head was still buzzing, but not as bad as when I woke up. I found it a little easier to think straight. "Oh yeah." Nick added, "You like my new shirt?" "Yeah." I replied, staring at it, "It ... looks familiar." "Yeah, well, I've seen 'em around, so I decided to get one." "No." I mumbled, "I mean it REALLY looks familiar." I scratched my hair, which hurt like the rest of my body. "Where's your hat?" I asked. "Downstairs." he replied, "How'd you know I wore one today?" "Hat head." I answered as I entered the bathroom. I took a long hot shower. Perhaps too long. My mind kind of lost its sense of time in all that warmth. The incident bothered me a little and sort of struck me as strange. But, heck, strange was my middle name. Steven Strange Dylan, that's me. After realizing that I should drag myself out of the shower, I grudgingly did so, tossing on a blue robe. When I went out, I saw Nick reading the morning newspaper, or should I say, glancing at the comics. "Anything interesting?" I asked, not really caring. "Yeah." he laughed, "Garfield's pretty funny today." I acknowledged a reply with a quick glance his way as I took out a shirt from my closet. "You know, I never do get Doonesbury." he added, putting the paper down, "You ready?" "Just about." I replied, putting on my shorts. "Ok, I'll grab your racket and put it with mine in the car." Nick said as he dashed down the steps, taking two to three at a time "Alright." I answered, glancing at the newspaper. I tore myself away from the paper with a sigh. Garfield sucks. The workout was very atypical of my usual work out, plus or minus a few huffs and puffs. Nick joked about me feeling my age and deep inside, I chuckled, trying hard not to encourage him. "So, Steve, got any plans this weekend?" Nick asked, resting on a wooden bench. "You know me, always living life on the edge." I replied, with a slight smile "I've got a date with destiny." "You too?" he replied, "So, which movie is it?" "Crazy People." I sighed. "Seen it." he muttered, "How about The Return of the Living Dead?" "Again?!!" I complained, collapsing into the spot right next to him, "You know, there is such thing as too much of a good thing." "Not in my book." Nick corrected, watching a nearby female tennis player bend over to pick up a tennis ball. "Geesh ... you'll never change." "Not if I can help it." Nick grinned as he headed for the car. The drive home was filled with the usual antics. After a Tour De senselessness, we stopped at the nearest bar, the Bullmoose Cafe. It was probably named after Rocky and Bullwinkle. "Yo, bartender!" Nick yelled, "A beer!" "Hold your ass." the woman rebutted, walking to the tap. "And you?" she asked me. "Ah, do you have Coke?" "COKE?!" Nick gasped, "This is a BAR, man! Lighten up!" I sighed. "Give this man a Bud." "A Coke." I mumbled, "I don't feel like drinking right now." "Alright." she replied, "One Coke and one beer." "And don't put so much of a head on it, okay?!" Nick added. Moments later, the bartender returned. "A Coke for you ... and you got only a little head." I chuckled, "Face it, you were burned." "Ha ha ... VERY funny!" he mumbled, grabbing his beer. "That's two dollars." "Here's a five, keep the change." I replied. "Thanks." she said with a smile. "She likes you!" Nick grinned as the bartender left. Nick stared longingly at her. "GOD! I like the way her ass moves when she walks!" "Shut up." I replied, drinking my Coke. Nick took another long gulp. "Hey, I heard some quack opened a business down the ways a bit." "What?" I asked. "A psychic something or other." Nick chuckled, moving his fingers in rasping, shaking movements, "Want to hear what the gypsy lady has to say?" "Whatever." I replied, not really interested. "Come on ... it'll be fun." Nick smiled as he rolled his eyes and extended his arms outward, "You will meet a tall blonde stranger." I smiled as Nick opened his eyes, seeing the bartender staring at him. "You know." she replied, "I think you had one too many." I laughed, "Naw ... he's always that way." Nick downed the rest of his drink and left. I finished my drink and shared a laugh with the bartender. As I picked up my coat, she added that she was off at eight, at which point I accepted the offer to meet her then. "What took you?" Nick mumbled, still a bit sore. "Had to finish the drink." "Yeah, gotta watch for that caffine rush." Slowly, we headed to the shop. It was small and cliche'. On the window was a painting of a palm with an eye in the middle and circles coming from the pupil. Nick anxiously entered the room. There were candles, hanging strings of beads and burning incense all over the place. "Geesh ... she's going for the complete look." Nick said, nudging me in the side. A Greek woman with an olive completion and long black hair entered the room. "I've been expecting you." "Sure you have." Nick replied, sitting himself down at the table. "First you must grease my palm." she said, opening her hand. Nick took out a ten spot and placed it on her hand. "The spirits look at you in harmonious pleasure." she said, closing her palm slowly, "Tell your friend, Mr. Dylan, to sit down." "How did she-" "It's just some parlor trick." Nick replied. Somehow, I wasn't convinced, and then again, I have always been a sucker; the kind P.T. Barnum talked about. "I am Shanna." she introduced, "Keeper of the spirits and all the secrets that they confide in me. Extend your hand." I did so, at which point, she traced the lines of my hand with her finger. "You are troubled at something that you do not yet understand." I watched her face as it changed from concerned to serene. "But, all will come to you withing the following hours. I must warn you-" She closed my hand as concern washed upon the features of her face, "Once the power which you have contained is tapped, there is no stopping the flow." I stared at her, more confused and concerned than when I came in. "Deep, huh?" Nick said as we left the psychic place. "Yeah." I mumbled, wondering what she meant. "Don't let it get to you." Nick smiled, "It's just some prerehearsed mumbo jumbo and, by the looks of things, she's got you hooked." Nick opened his car door and hit the automatic door switch. "Getting in?" "Oh yeah." I replied, shaking the deep thoughts within my mind. "Forget about it." Nick mentioned with a smirk, "It's all a big act." "You're probably right." I replied. Nick started the car and we headed home. Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. Anyone may hardcopy this story so long as nothing in the story has been changed. This story may be freely distributed so long as its done so free of charge and I get the credit I deserve. Any publication of this story, or any other story by me, in a collection, can only be done with my permission. ========================================================================= Date: Mon, 7 Oct 1991 13:22:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #2 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney Issue #2 "Tapping The Mind" part 2 "It was dark when I awakened -- or I came to if it was that. I was aware at once that there was something wrong. There was no sound ... I opened my eyes and everything was blurry." -John Gardner "Grendel" Slowly, I walked across a bridge, and verged upon a mass of people; People I have never seen before but somehow looked familiar. I weaved my way through the masses, trying to block out their conversations in a casual accord. A man with long black hair turned to me, "You're one of us, aren't you?!!" "Excuse me?" I asked. "You're a mind trekker!" he replied, grabbing me, "You're one of us!" I felt the hands grip on my arms. "This is a dream." "You go on believing it, buddy!" he replied, punching me. I collapsed on the ground, breathing hard. No one paid any attention to what was going on. "You know." he replied, revealing a knife, "I could kill you in a second ... or do you believe that this ain't real either?" I stared at him, trying to back away, but I was constantly pushed back by the masses. "Oh, it's real alright." he replied, grabbing a woman who was passing by, "Real sharp!" He thrusted the knife into her throat. Blood shot out, and a gurgling sound came from her mouth, sounding like a fish tank air filter. The man then dropped her body like a sack of bricks. "You can call me the Stalker." he replied with a grin as he lit a cigarette, "You'll grow to fear me." I awoke in my bed, sweating. It was just a dream, but it seemed so real. I could feel the arms grasping me. The blood- I felt a wetness that wasn't my own. Slowly, I turned my head. Beside me was the bartender I spent the night with, with a knife in her throat. "It was just a dream." I mumbled. I picked up the phone to dial 911, hesitated, and put the phone on the hook. What was I going to tell them? She was killed by the stalker in her dream? What is there to convince them that I didn't kill her? What is there to convince ME that I didn't kill her?!! Carefully, I erased any evidence of my being there. After I finished erasing prints and cleaning the place (but making sure it is not TOO clean), I grabbed a handkerchief and dialed the police, leaving an annonymous tip. Grabbing my coat, I left the apartment. I mumbled to myself "what do I do?" a couple hundred times. The music from my stereo didn't help keep my mind from the picture forged in my mind. "Am I a killer?" I asked myself, stopping the car. Thinking, I realized that there was only one person who may help. Rediculous as it sounded, I drove to the psychic place. "You're back." Shanna replied as I entered the place, "I knew you would come." I didn't have the patience to ask her how she knew. "Listen, I have one question!" I replied, with a frantic sound in my voice. "Am I for real?" she asked, "Am I legitimate in my trade? Or is this all a front?" I stared as she stole my thoughts from my mind. I sensed that she wanted me to sit down and did so. She sat at the table and took out Tarot cards. "Ah ... the Hangman's card ... death ... of someone you knew ... one you reciently met." She flipped over another card below it. "Yes ... the card of fate ... you are destined to be something more." Another card. "The card of change." "Wait." I replied, placing my hand on hers, "I don't understand. Tell me something that I can use." "I cannot." I stared agasp, "Why not? You know my name, knew that I was coming back, probably know my favorite color-" "Black." "-and you can't help me." She looked at me, her face showing no emotion, "I cannot help one who is not willing to believe." "Believe what?!!" "Believe in the etherial world." she replied as the lights faded as if it was on cue, "The doorway is closed to one who is not willing to open it, to one who shuns their existance." "Ghost." "Hardly." she replied, closing her eyes, "There is much more ... much much more." "Tell me." "The gate to the etherial world, through you is partially open. You have seen some of the enbodiments of the unknown." She paused as if for dramatic effect, "There is so much that you do not know and cannot understand. That is what you must learn to believe. You must forget all that you have been taught and learn anew." "Tell me about the Stalker." Her eyes clamped open, "You SAW him?!" "Ah ... yes. What's wrong?!" "Has he tempted your soul?" she asked, "No ... I would have sensed it in the air. But, he has killed." "Yes." I answered. "Strange he did not eliminate you. But, he knew." "Knew what?" "You're a mind trekker." I sat back, uneasy, "What is a mind trekker?" "One who traverses in the etherial world." "What is the etherial world?" "The etherial world is many things. Some call it dreams, some call it death ... to others it is heaven, to some it is hell." "And I can 'walk' through this ... dimension?" "Your powers are still afresh. With time, you will learn the extent of them." she said, closing her eyes again, "But, you may not have the time. The Stalker may sense the threat you pose." "So ... what do I do? Eliminate him?" "Even I do not know the answer to the question you pose." Shanna said in a flowing voice, "The spirits don't tell me all the secrets." I waited, wondering if I should leave now, or push my luck. "I am drained." she sighed, "Go, and be wary." I got up and left the room, looking back as I exited the door, seeing that she was gone. I drove home. I don't remember the drive home. One moment, I was sitting in the car, parked next to the psychic place; the next moment, I was in the car, parked in my driveway. I rushed up the stairs to my bedroom. Quickly, I pushed all of the papers off of the bed, got undressed, and went to bed. I was still wide awake, so I took a couple sleeping pills ... my ticket to entering the etherial realm. I woke up in my bed. It was 10pm, and nothing happened. I still felt a bit groggy from oversleeping. Slowly I got up, stumbling through my room, and opened my door. Before me was a long drop. I looked down, shaking my head, straining my eyes to see the bottom. There was none. I have done it. I re-entered the etherial realm ... or, rather, some twisted part of it. I leaned out the door, looking up. Nothing was holding this room up. Nothing was anywhere around this room. This room just held there in the air, defying the gravity which held steadfast on my being, but not in the room that I was within. I grabbed a piece of crumpled paper and dropped it. The paper dropped, falling farther and farther down until it was a speck and then nothing. I was trapped in this room until the sleeping pills wore off. "Steven." a voice replied. I turned around and my heart jumped to my throat. "Ah ... you remember your pal, I see." he laughed, holding out his knife, "Well, let's see just how sharp you REALLY are!" MINDING THE MAIL Hey! This is the author and creator of Mind Trek, Ken Cooney. I hope you enjoy this new series. Watch for other superhero series in the works in the near future. If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this new comic series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or, dare I say, fan mail) will be added in a future comic of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Dancing With Death! Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. Anyone may hardcopy this story so long as nothing in the story has been changed. This story may be freely distributed so long as its done so free of charge and I get the credit I deserve. Any publication of this story, or any other story by me, in a collection or otherwise, can only be done with my permission. I claim the sole rights to my characters and the contents within. ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 10 Oct 1991 13:55:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #3 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney Issue #3 "Dancing With Death" "He had followed a dream, and it had brought him here to die" - Marion Zimmer Bradley "The Spell Sword" "So, where have you been?" the Stalker asked, "Not so eager to play are we?" I didn't speak, trying to access the situation. Dark overtones in the room slowly seaped through the cracks of the walls. Startled, I backed off. "You know, you can always wake up." the Stalker laughed, "But you can't, can you? No, you probably would have done it by now. "Yeah, you're out like a light." he said, looking at the bed. I turned to see myself lying on the bed. "You don't get it, do you!" the Stalker mocked, "You're not real! At least not in the sense that this room, bed, and your body shell is." "So, what am I?" "A neuronic embodiment of yourself." "And you?" "I'm real!" he laughed, "As real as this BED-" The Stalker shook the bed. "-as REAL as this ROOM-" Quickly, the Stalker smashed his fist through the wall. "-as real ... as your body shell!" The Stalker thrusted his knife to the shell's heart. "NO!" I yelled, grabbing his arm. "You can't resist!" he laughed, "I am STRONGER!" He threw me back like a raggedy doll. "I've been doing this LONGER that you have!" The Stalker said, raising his knife, "For *I* am DEATH!" Quickly, I jumped for my shell, in an effort to save it, and fell right through. I jolted awake. It was daylight, and I was alive. The headache started again, just like last time I was jolted awake. "A hell of a trip." I murmured, looking to the wall. The hole was still there. "What a trip." I sighed. I slowly got out of bed and stretched. "Time to make the doughnuts." I smirked, thinking of that morning cup of coffee that I usually start my day with. I slowly walked down the stairs. Near the bottom, my foot lost it's hold, and I fell. Thinking quickly, I reached for the railing. Missed. I plummeted to the ground. "Ouch." I mumbled, getting up. I looked to see if anything was broken. My feet weren't there. I stared as I lifted my right foot, watching it slowly emerge from the step. "What the-" I started as I placed the foot back on the step. Slowly, I raised my other foot. "But how?" I asked, looking up the stairs, "unless-" I dashed up the stairs and threw the door open. My body was still in the bed. I did not awake as I thought I did. So, what happened? I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking. "I jumped in, and ..." I looked to my body, still lying there. "Am I ... dead?" I asked. With that thought, I stared at myself, lying there. I phased my hand into my warm body. Quickly, I pulled it out. Speaking a silent prayer, I jumped into my body. It was dark and I didn't know where I was now. It certainly wasn't my room. That's for sure. In the distance, I saw a light. "A light!" I replied, running to it. It was just a street light. "Where am I?" I asked. I heard voices. "Yo! You did't have to kill him." "He was gettin' to me, man!" "Damn, ten bucks?!!" I turned to see three men looking at a body on the ground. "Shee ... if I knew dat, I would have nailed that chump on thirty second street." I slowly hid myself in the shadows and approached closer. "Yo, what we do wit' the body." "Dump em!" "YOU dump him, I ain' touchin' no corpse!" "Look, we're ALL gonna be touchin him." the third man replied, pointing his gun to the other two, "Or yous gonna be joinin' him." The two looked at eachother and each grabbed a leg. In staggering motion, the three dragged the man across the pavement. "Hey! Watch the head!" the third shouted. "Why should we care?!! The sucker's dead!" "We want it ta look like an accident." the third explained, "That's why I hit him over the head wit this blunt object over here." "So, where we ditch 'em?" "In the river." "Suppose he floats." "He won't float!" "What if he does?!" "TRUST ME ... the corpse WON'T float, now get a move on before somebody spots us." They dragged the body my way. I stood still, not making a sound. The skinny one looked my way. "Hey! I think I saw somethin'." The three stopped. My heart stopped. "Yo ... it ain't nuthin!" "Yeah, man! You're getting paranoid!" the second replied, "Who's gonna be at the docks at two thirty, man!" They passed me without a second glance. Didn't they see me? I thought for a second and slowly followed them. "HEY!" I yelled. They didn't turn around. "HEY YOU!" Nothing. They can't hear me. Quickly, I ran to the three, clenching my fists together. I dived at the fat one and fell right through and into the dead body. "What the-" the skinny guy muttered. "What's a matter? Getting creapy feelings?" "I thought I saw it move." "Listen!" the fat one yelled, "It's DEAD! It ain't movin'!" "Man, I thought I saw it, too." "What are we, a bunch of morons?! Corpses don't move!!!" Suddenly, the body shook. "DAMN!" the skinny one yelled, dropping the legs, "That corpse of yours is still alive!" I stared at the three who were looking right at me and paniced. My thoughts said "MOVE!", but I couldn't. The other two had me in their grasp. "Let go!" I yelled. "Sheeit! HE TALKED!" the second one yelled, dropping the head. "OUCH!" I shouted. "I'm gonna kill that mother!" the fat one yelled, grabbing a crowbar. I kicked him in the groin and struggled as his grip weakened. "Get that mother!" he yelled, doubling over. I punched the skinny one in the nose. Blood gushed everywhere as he collapsed to the floor. Watching this, the second turned and ran. Exhausted, I dropped to the ground. In the distance I heard sirens. Cops! Quickly, I got up, out of the body. I looked back. My legs were still within his. I slowly got up, watching them seperate as if through osmosis. The two men I attacked were still moaning. I turned around to see the body resting there; unmoving. I reached to his heart, seeing my hand phase through him. "Over here!" a voice shouted. I quickly stood up and ran for the darkness again. After running for a long time, I stopped, panting. "Where am I going?" "Home." a voice in my head replied. "But, where is it?" I asked myself as I collapsed to the ground. After some unknown amount of time, I got up. I was in my room again. I looked to my bed. My body wasn't there waiting for me. I was really awake. "Strange." I replied as I slowly headed down the stairs. I opened my front door and grabbed the morning paper. The picture on the front page caught my eye. It was him, the dead man. I stood there, unable to turn my head away from the newsprint. "I was there." I gasped, "I was REALLY there." _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Welcome, dear reader, to the editor's section. Here, I will respond to questions and comments posted by you, the reader, about this series: ============================================================================== Well heck, *I* like it! But I've always been a sucker for the surreal. BTW -- The powers involved have me curious. Are they magickal? Psychic? Transdimensional? Are they accidental, bestowed, or genetic? I'm not fishing for answers, here -- I figure future issues will tell me -- but my curiosity should betray my interest. Critical Comment: I'd be happier (as a reader) if messages from you to us be sent in seperate posts -- I'm hoping most people don't use Teasers et al in Metaworld. This is just a suggestion, of course. Metauniverally yours, Sabre Well, Saber, I have no plans to include "teasers" into my stories. As for the powers, I'm sure your answers will come in the following issue. - Ken "Duke Da Duck" Cooney ============================================================================== If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this new comic series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or, dare I say, fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: The Answer Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. Anyone may hardcopy this story so long as nothing in the story has been changed. This story may be freely distributed so long as its done so free of charge and I get the credit I deserve. Any publication of this story, or any other story by me, in a collection or otherwise, can only be done with my permission. I claim the sole rights to my characters and the contents within. ========================================================================= Date: Fri, 11 Oct 1991 15:40:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #4 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #4 "The Answer" "You might even be able to recall all of it under the propper cerebrial stimulation, but mostly you don't care. You let go. Even if you watch some emotional scene between strangers and even if your interested; still, if it's of no great concern to you -- you let it go -- you forget." -- Issac Asimov "Foundation And Earth" After a long drive, I arrived at the psychic place. I looked at the place in amazement. It was boarded up, and it look like it aged for a few years. In the distance, I saw Shanna. She looked at me, turned around, and started walking. "WAIT!" I yelled. She continued walking. Slowly, I caught up with her. "I gotta talk with you." I said, panting. "I know, but I must go." "GO?! Where?! Why?!" I asked. She contiued walking at a faster pace. "LISTEN!" I yelled, grabbing her arm. "We will meet me at the lion's head at dusk." "WHAT?!" She continued walking, turning around the corner. I rushed around the block and looked, but she was no where to be seen. "The lion's head ... the lion's head." I mumbled to myself as I hopped into the car, "A zoo?! Does she mean a zoo?!" I started the car and started driving. "No, it can't be." I kept driving, not really caring where I went. "THE lion's head." I repeated, "Maybe a club?" Something caught the corner of my eye. I stepped on the brake. Slowly, I backed up the car. Off in the distance, within the cemetary I saw a tomb ... and above it, a lion's head. The sky grew dark as thunder clouds drifted overhead. I cautiously got out of the car and headed to the tomb. The wind picked up a little, setting a chill up my spine. I pushed the door open and saw a dim candlelit room. Kneeling on the floor was Shanna. "What's the deal?" "Shh.." she replied, getting up, "Look." I stepped foward, into the light, and saw a stone slab with a carved seal on it. "An angry spirit lies within." she pointed out, "Buried alive." I stared at the slab. "There is a crack-" she said as her finger traced it, "-along the far edge of the seal. His anger has made him stronger." "Is this why you summoned me here?" I found myself asking her. "Not yet." she replied, "First, I sense that you need some answers." "Well, first of all, what happened to your place?" "That old place has been boarded up for years." she explained. "But yesterday-" "All you saw was what I wanted you to see. A post hypnotic suggestion, if you will." "And today-" "The same thing." I stood there, listening to the wrasping wind. "Was it all an illusion?" "No." she replied, "Your powers, your dreams ... all real." "And the Stalker?" "He's real, too." "He tried to kill me ... or what he called my BODY SHELL?" "A person is made up of two parts: The flesh and the soul. The flesh being the body shell which confinds us all and the soul which knows no bounds; which only shackles are your limitations, and of course, time. "You see, the mind is very powerful. With those who are gifted, they can enter the Etherial World. Most children have that ability, but, as they grow older, their innocense and beliefs are tainted and they lose that ability. The ability of sight without seeing." "So, the dreams-" "- are one of the doorways to the Etherial World." she continued, "Most people forget their dreams. Their subconscious does this to protect them from what they experience. Others remember bits and pieces, or only if they are jolted from the Etherial World. "And a select few, have the ability to walk freely." "Mind Trekkers?" I asked. "Yes." "And the Stalker?" "That's a longer story ... and now is not the time to talk-" I wanted to know more about the Stalker, but I figured if she knew so much about me and my powers, she knows when to tell me what I need to know ... I hope. "Is it true, if you die in your dream, you die for real?" "Yes." "So, the Stalker can kill me." "Sometimes." she answered, "If you think you're dead, you WILL die, but nievely thinking that your immortal in your Etherial state can be your downfall." "The Stalker's downfall?" "Perhaps." "Don't you KNOW him by now?" "He shields his mind, as most people do, but in defense. Anything that you fear, love, hate can be used against you. It's important to know thyself before knowing your enemy." I looked on, still confused. I decided to keep pursing answers. "One time, I jumped into my body shell and I ...", I stumbled for words, "Teleported?" "Soul spanning." She explained, "At times, a Trekker can jump from one empty shell to the nearest empty one and claim it." "And the dead man?" "Was such a shell." she replied, "You will find this tactic useful in offense, defence, and rejuvination." "Re-what?!" "A soul can last only 24 hours out of it's shell. After that it starts losing composition until it finally fades away." "Why didn't the Stalker claim my body shell?" "He cannot." Shanna responded, "Atleast, not unwillingly. To claim a body shell, there is an ego battle. Your ego is strong, and the Stalker might lose. If he loses, he will become weaker." "So, I should challenge him." "Definately not. He is strong in his own rights and you'll be fighting on his turf, playing by his rules." I didn't like the sound of that and kept it in mind. "So ... when will I have to ... -er ... fight this ... THING?" "On All Hallow's Eve." Elsewhere, in the city of Hartford, a man wanders around, mumbling to himself: "Run away run away run away." he gasped. Limping, he grabbed his bleeding leg and turned down an alley. "Dead end, dirt bag!" a voice replied. The man turned around, "Not you! I was so close!" "Too close." the voice replied, as his shadow entered the light. The man held a machine gun in his hand, his teeth tightly clenching his cigar in his mouth. There was a fine shine on his kevlar armor and army boots. "Hey, I'll give you a fighting chance." the mercenary replied, grabbing a handheld gun from his left boot and tossing it his way, "Which is more than you gave the punk that is splattered all over the pavement." "I didn't kill them!" "Oh, you did much worse than that! You slowly destroyed his mind with your filth. Little Johny then decided to see if he can fly and jumped off a sky scraper. Well, now John Doe is just another statistic and his blood is all over your hands. "A clean business man, using the business as a tax write off, tainting the city with junk, paying the police under the table ..." The mercenary shook his head in disgust. "Well, you had quite a business." the Mercenary grunted, "But I'm closing shop! So pick up the gun and defend yourself, or I'll rid the disease right now." The mercenary trained his gun down on the man, spitting his old cigar on the ground and crushing it with his boot. His blank stare watched a bead of sweat slowly drip from the side of the man's face. The mercenary lowered his gun to the ground, growing impatient. "You've got a shot at killing me; a shot of walking away with your hands clean of this mess. I'm the only thing standing between you and your criminal conviction. Kill me and you don't have a case; you walk scott free, back to your colonial house with your white picket fence, your wife, your dog, your two kids, your shirt and tie, and your candy coated poison." the mercenary replied, "I have no more clips. This is my last bullet and my night scope is off. If you think you can take me, take me! Or I'll finish off your scrawny little ass right now!" The man rushed for the gun and shot, sheering the mercenary's arm. The mercenary fired back at the same split second, sheering the man's head; a clean shot between the eyes. The mercenary dragged the body into the dumpster. "Welcome to your new home." he replied, lighting a new cigar, "With the rest of the garbage." =============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Well, I hope you enjoyed this issue which shedded some light into the powers of the Mind Trekker. Still, there are many questions that will be addressed in future episodes. I'll leave those aside for now as I'll start working on a few plots to spur more interest in the following issues. If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this new comic series, or possibly if you want to see more appearances of the mercenary (in this comic or possibly in his own) drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Drugged And Dangerous! Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. Anyone may hardcopy this story so long as nothing in the story has been changed. This story may be freely distributed so long as its done so free of charge and I get the credit I deserve. Any publication of this story, or any other story by me, in a collection or otherwise, can only be done with my permission. I claim the sole rights to my characters and the contents within. ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 29 Oct 1991 21:09:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #5 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 5 "Grave Awakenings" "He was dead. There seemed little doubt about that ... He looked up from side to side, and it became clear to him that whatever part of him it was that was moving, it wasn't any part of his body." -Douglas Adams "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency" I stood in the darkness, watching a cold mist roll across the ground. I walked by the grave stones one by one. Slowly, I came upon one stone and stopped. My hand traced the etchings on the stone. This one died last night. "So, this is where you rest." I said, feeling a distant remorse. The earth rumbed and shook as the ground I now stood upon moved. I was caught off guard and fell to the ground. "Earthquake?" I asked, crawling backwards. The ground split, loose sand slid inside the crack. The crack grew until a hand emerged. Attached to the hand was an arm and to the arm, a body and attached to the body, a man -- a man I knew -- the body I invaded with my Etherial form. "I must find him!" he replied, pulling himself out of the ground. "Find who?" I muttered to myself. "My son." he replied, rushing off. "He ... heard me?" I asked, "What am I saying? I'm talking to a dead man and I'm wondering about him HEARING me?!!" "I'm coming Timmy!" a voice cried. "You must come out." a familiar voice replied. I awoke, lying on the cold stone floor of the same tomb I walked into last night. Above me was Shanna. "The voice-" "Was me, calling you back." "And the other?" "You know him, I sense." "Vaguely. I jumped into his body last night." I replied, getting up, "What happened last night?!" "The scents from the candles made you weary, inducing sleep." "Was it just a dream?" I wondered, "No, somehow I doubt it." "This man ... did he say something?" "Timmy." I muttered, "He said the name Timmy." "You must seek this Timmy out." she replied. "Where do I start?" "Start with your vision. What clues did it give you?" "I saw a cemetary ... THIS cemetary ... and a tombstone. What was the name on the stone? Johnson? Yeah, I think it was Philip Johnson." Shanna grabbed the candles and started to leave. "Where are you going?" "I'll return when you need me most. For now-" she answered, turning around, "You must look for this Philip Johnson and Timmy." I didn't bother following her. I knew that I wouldn't be able to find her if I tried. I got up off of the cold floor, dusted myself off, and headed for my car. There was a ticket placed on it sometime last night. I grabbed the ticket, grumbled to myself, and hopped into the car. "Maybe a nice hot shower will help get my brain into high gear." I replied, scratching my head. I drove off and headed for home. After a long drive, I finally arrived home. The sky was growing dark and rain started to fall. Cursing to myself for not bringing an umbrella or even a rain coat, I dashed into to outcove of my apartment. I looked down at the slightly damp paper on the welcome mat. "Why can't he just place it in the door?!" I muttered, opening the storm door. I grabbed the paper, tossing it onto the couch and dashed upstairs; looking forward to a nice, hot shower. After a long, hot shower, I sat down at the chair by my computer keyboard. If truth be known, this story that I lived would make a great tale; and me being a writer, I had to resist writing about it. I switched on the computer, watched it boot up, entered the directory for the word processor, executed the file, and waited. Soon, a blank screen appeared on my monitor. At this point, I'd sit at the computer and stare at the screen. And stare. And stare. Some writers call this writers' block; I call it frustration. After sitting infront of the blank screen for some time, I decided to collapse on the spot. Maybe roaming around a bit would be the key to unlock this problem I had. So, I slept. After waking up, I held my breath, turned around, and jumped into my body shell. I found myself at the cemetary again. I looked about and saw nothing but head stones. "Timmy." A man rushed by me, the same man that I saw dead a few days ago. I decided that this time I was not going to lose him. I followed him through the streets and alleyways. Finally, he stopped at a house. "Timmy." he said, placing his hands on the glass. I walked closer, looking at the house. The man immediately turned around and grabbed me by the shirt. "Why are you following me?!!" he hissed. I gasped, trying to clear my throat. "I SAID, WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!!" he yelled, shaking me. "I'm a spirit." I replied, trying not to confuse him with the same technicle gibberish that I've been bombarded with for the past few days. "Bull!" "And so are you." The man laughed. "I'm alive!" he replied, "A little worse for wear, but I'm alive!" "No you're not ... you're a spirit." I said, walking through the window pane. "How'd you-" "I told you." I replied, walking back through, "Follow me." "OH NO ... I'll break the window!" I pushed him through the window onto the living room floor. "Hey!" he yelled, "You could have killed me!" Slowly, he got himself up, and turned around. "Hey ..." he gasped, "The window's not broken ... not a scratch." The man touched the window, pressing hard, but his hand wouldn't go through. "Ha! This is a parlor trick, right? There is a hole somewhere in this window, isn't there?!" The man started feeling the window as if he was a mime trapped in a pantomime wall. "It's no trick, you're dead." I explained, "And the sooner your mind loses the grip on tangibility, the sooner that you'll realize-" The man turned around to see a four year old walking toward him. "Timmy!" he shouted in joy as he extended his arms. Timmy ran to the man, dashing through him, and toward the tv set. "But ... how?!" the man asked, looking at his hands, "No .. no ... NO!" The man jumped through the window, shattering it into pieces. I quickly ran after him. "What happened to the window, Timmy?" a woman asked as she ran into the living room. "I donno." Timmy answered, fixated upon the tv set. "I lost him again." I muttered, curing under my breath. Reluctantly, I woke up. I shook the remaining drowsiness from my head. My neck was stiff from sleeping on the computer. I bet I had indentations on my arms and face from sleeping on the keyboard. From below, I heard a bustling. I got up, still feeling groggy, and decided to look around the apartment. "Geesh! You look like scar face!" my room mate replied. "Funny Matt." I smirked, rubbing my face. "I got some groceries in the car." "So what'd you get?" "Soda. It was only eighty-eight cents for a two liter." Matt said with a smile "So I got ten." "Well, at least we wont die of thirst." I smirked. "I got real food, too!" "As opposed to surreal food?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm. "You gonna stand there and watch me bring in the stuff or are you going to help?" "Well, the thought of watching you bring the stuff MIGHT be rather entertaining." "Yo! I could use a hand!" Dean said, struggling to push the door open. I tried to resist the urge to clap, but the better part of me gave in. "Funny, Steve." he muttered, dropping the bag on the floor, "Woosh!" "You should work out more." I commented. "Talking about working you, did you?" Matt asked. "Yep." I lied, "And you?" "Well, I skipped this whole week." "Shame shame!" "Dude, I have a whole lot of work to do." Matt replied, trying to justify himself. There was a knock at the door. I glanced over seeing a rather shy, attractive woman with a fragile smile. I stared at her for a while. I've seen her before many times. I wondered if she knew me, if she felt as awkward at that monent as I did. "Hi, is Evan here?" she asked. "I don't know, you can check upstairs." I shrugged. She disappeared up the staircase. Matt looked at me funny. "What?" I asked. "Don't think of it." "Think of what?" I replied, acting defensive. "You know what I mean." Matt obscurely noted. "I have NO idea what you're talking about." "Whatever." he muttered, disappearing into the kitchen. To be honest, I've always wanted to talk to her in the past, but I could never get myself to do so. I could never truely express myself. Usually, I found that words fell out of my mouth like rain long before I ever spoke them. In my mind, I'd make elaborate speeches; words that left me as soon as I made eye contact ... or at least as close as I dared go to her. Some people say that I'm a very empathetic person; which could possibly explain why the power I have has manifested itself so strongly within me. I just wish that I had the courage that I had in my dreams. "Dreams." I thought, "I could try that." With that in mind, I headed back to my room, and lied upon my bed. ============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) As you might have noticed, there has been a title change at the last minute; the story line changed to the one I am currently exploring. If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Skeleton's In My Closet, Monsters Under My Bed Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. Anyone may hardcopy this story so long as nothing in the story has been changed. This story may be freely distributed so long as its done so free of charge and I get the credit I deserve. Any publication of this story, or any other story by me, in a collection or otherwise, can only be done with my permission. I claim the sole rights to my characters and the contents within. ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 30 Oct 1991 16:54:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #6 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #6 "Skeletons In My Closet, Monsters Under My Bed" "A movement caught his eye, and he glanced across the door. There was a man standing there. He had been there all along, Cleve realized, but so still, and so perfectly a part of this room, that he had not been visible until he moved his eyes and looked Cleve's way." -- Clive Barker "In The Flesh" The air seemed much colder than I remembered the floor of the tomb ever being; the sky seemed much darker that I ever remembered seeing it. Looming in the distance was a small door. I walked up to it and looked at it. It was an ordinary wooden door with a brass doorknob. I turned the knob and opened the door. Beyond the door was a child's room. "Are you here to eat me up?" a silent voice asked. I turned my attention to a small bed. Within it was a little boy, clenching his teddy bear as if it were more vital to him than anything else in the world. "No, I'm not." I replied. "You sure?" he asked. "I'm sure." I smiled, "Tell me, do I look like a monster." "No." he answered, still gripping his bear, "You better go. The monster might come out of the closet and eat you up." "Well, I'll close the door then, alright?" The boy remained silent, staring into the darkness beyond the closet door. I closed the door and sat down in a wooden chair beside him. "I wish my dad was here." he continued, "He'd fight the monster." "Where is your dad?" "He went away. That's what mommy said. He went away." The boy loosened his grip on his bear so that he was hugging it. "Well, you should sleep." I commented. "If I sleep, the monster will eat me." "No he won't." I replied, taking off a necklace, "Wear this." "What's that?" he asked, curious. "It's a magic necklace. It prevents monsters from eating you in your sleep." I answered, handing it to him. "Really?" "Yeah. I don't need it anymore. I can fight the monsters on my own without it, now." The boy took the neckless, looked at it closely, and put it on. "Now get some sleep." "Okay." he said, "By the way, I'm Timmy." "I know." I smiled, "You can call me the sandman." "Can you tell me a story, Mr. Sandman?" "Well, I'm not really good at telling stories-" "Please!" "Alright." I said, sitting back and closing my eyes, "Once upon a time there was a castle made of diamonds-" There was a banging at the closet door. "It's him!" I stared at the door, uncertain what it was. "I'll see what it is." I said, walking to the door. "No! Don't open it!" "Don't worry, I can handle this. It's probably nothing." I answered, opening the door. I was wrong. "Hi, Steve. The boogie man has come to take junior away." the Stalker grinned, looking in. "You know ..." the Stalker added, "You should have listened to the kid." I stood there before the Stalker. Somehow my mind could not register the danger that stood before me. "Think damn it, think!" I thought to myself. "Aren't you going to let me in?" the Stalker grinned, "I've come to see the boy." "Leave Timmy out of this!" I demanded. "Ah, so forceful, aren't we?" he laughed, taking off his black cloak. The cloak flew in the air, smothering my sight. Nay, it was engulfing the whole room, and me in it. I staggered to the wall, my knee bumping into a desk. "Damn! I'm gonna feel that when I get out!" I cursed as my fingers felt up and down the wall for a light switch. I flicked the switch. "Damn, nothing." I muttered, "Timmy?" Silence. Inside of me, I felt an anger building. "DAMN LIGHT!" A dim, blue glow filled the room. I looked around, looking for the light source, when I realized that it was I. "Timmy?" I said, looking toward the bed. The bed was empty. I looked around, grabbed a nearby baseball bat and held it firmly in my hands. "LIGHT!" I repeated aloud. The dim glow transfered itself onto the bat. "It's time for the hunter to become the hunted." I replied, walking to the closet. I looked inside the closet, pushing aside some shirts and pants. "Nothing." I muttered, tapping the wall lightly with my fist, "Hollow." I held the bat back and swung as hard as I could, smashing a small portion of the wall. I pushed at some of the pieces that still clung to the wall and looked inside. Bringing the bat closer, I noticed that beyond the wall was a hallway. "I thought so." I said, bashing at the wall, making the hole bigger. I side stepped through the hole in the wall and looked further. "Timmy?!" I asked. "Timmytimmytimmytimmy-" The voice bounced off of the walls. "Timmy!" I yelled. "TimmytimmytimmytimmystevenstevenstevenSTEVEN!" "You better not hurt him!" I yelled, running down the hall. "The boy dies tonight tonighttonighttonight!" the voice barked back. I stopped at the end of the hall, where it split in two directions. On the wall were the words "CHOOSE" was scrawled in blood. I looked down both paths. "Which one?" I asked myself, closing my eyes. I looked down both paths again, and spotted someting in the right path. Quickly, I rushed down the right corridor and looked at what was lying on the floor. It was a teddy bear -- Timmy's teddy bear. I reached down to pick it up when a hand smashed through the floor, and clenched my neck. "The bat." I choked, trying to find some strength. The hand pulled back through the floor, taking me with it. I ached. Moaning, I desperately tried to open my eyes. My right hand loosened its grip on my bat, and it fell onto the floor. "Well, it looks that you've found me!" the Stalker chuckled. I gasped for air, reaching for the hand, trying to loosen its grip. "Ah ... not so talkative now I see!" the Stalker laughed, "It looks like my sparring partner is keeping you busy." I looked at the source of the hand, barely picking out features of the face and body of its owner. "Slayer, put the nice man down!" the Stalker replied. With a strong thrust, Slayer flung me through the air and into a wooden wall. I heard a few bones crack. For the moment, my body was numb. The glow from the bat that was well beyond my reach shadowed upon Slayer's muscles, face, and long hair. It was then that I realized that Slayer was not a man, or if he was, he was disfigured. His enormously long, muscular arms reached to the ground. His face was more like a cross between a wolf and a man. His chest was huge, almost bulging to the point of exploding. His legs were about the size of my waist, and his feet had only four toes on each foot. Slayer looked at me with his searing red eyes. It seemed that steam was coming from his bull-like nose, and perhaps it was. "Put him out of his misery." the Stalker ordered, grabbing Timmy by the hand. "What are you going to do to the boy?!" I yelled, spitting blood, "You gonna kill him?!" "Oh no ... I have need for such a youthful body." the Stalker laughed, leading Timmy down into the darkness. Slayer watched the two go, and then focused his attention upon me. With an ice cold stare, he slowly walked toward me. "If you die in a dream, you die for real." I muttered, closing my eyes. Slayer stopped a foot from me, clenched his fists, and raised them. "BAT!" I cried aloud. The bat picked itself up from the floor and flew toward me as if possessed, and slammed head first into Slayer's back. A few cracks were heard as Slayer fell beside me. Fueled by the pain, I grabbed the bat at whacked Slayer in the head. Slayer screamed, swinging at me and barely missing. Tightly, I held the bat with both hands, I swung at his head. A loud cracking sound echoed through the room. I stood in silence, holding the broken bat, looking down at the beast that now lied infront of me. Blood slowly drooled from his mouth and nose. "Dead, I hope." I muttered, straining to get up, feeling a sharp pain. A loud bell blasted in the air. "NOT NOW!" I howled. I got up with a quick jolt. Once again, I was in my room. I looked to the left of my bed, and hit the alarm. Six O'clock. My head ached, my body ached. Heck, I was really worse for wear. Groaning, I got up. It was then that I noticed the broken piece of bat by the side of my bed. "I ... brought it back?" I asked myself, "I wonder if that means ..." Without a second's thought, I rushed to the closet, grabbed an aluminum bat that was lying in the corner of my closet, and headed back for my bed. "This time, it's MY turn!" I hissed, closing my eyes. This time, I was determined to return with Timmy, or not at all! ============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Stalking The Stalker Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. Anyone may hardcopy this story so long as nothing in the story has been changed. This story may be freely distributed so long as its done so free of charge and I get the credit I deserve. Any publication of this story, or any other story by me, in a collection or otherwise, can only be done with my permission. I claim the sole rights to my characters and the contents within. ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 4 Mar 1992 17:17:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #1 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney "INTRODUCTION" In our minds, there are no bounds, no limits. In dreams, we break out of our fragile shells. We leave our minds unguarded, unwatched. We let the monsters run rampant within our head, unleashed in dreams. Dreams. The core of pure fear, absolute chaos, and unabridged desire. We control our dreams, or perhaps they control us, taking us on a trip of the subconscious. Where there are no rules, no norms. We dream of dragons and demons, and fear them or possibly we envy their powers. We walk along the realm of the infinite possibilities of "what if". Personal pieces of what make us who we are unfold in abstract and concrete images. The world of dreams brings to mind who we are and who we can become. Sometimes, these visions interest us; sometimes, we dread them. Visions of the past replay themselves as if they were trying to solve some puzzle of the fantasy world that many of us have built around us as a wall. Questions arise, such as: What if I took another path? What if I had tried another option? Is there such thing as fate? For the latter question, I believe that fate is a weak description on what goes on when our subconscious wanders. There is a binding of the subconscious world, encompassing not only dreams but spirits, out-of-body experience, being in other people's dreams, ESP, telekinetics, and all of the many powers of the mind. It is believed that man only uses ten percent of his mind. That is not always true. Some people have the ability to expand that range and some can do so only in dreams -- and a select few can walk freely among the subconscious world. The mind trekkers. I write this series knowing, and possibly fearing, that I may somehow reveal my wall, my weaknesses, my fears, my ambitions and desires -- fearing that someone may know my true self better than I do -- fearing that my wall that I have grown accustomed to and have relied upon for so many years may crumble, taking me along for the ride. ================================================================================ MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 1 "The Dreamer" "Slumber, watcher, till the spheres, Six and twenty thousand years Have revolv'd, and I return To the spot where now I burn." -- H.P. Lovecraft "Polaris" When I was younger, my life revolved around dreams. And when I grew older, the dreams seemed to drift away, beyond my grasp. I failed to believe and like the rest, decided that life goes on. High school days came and went, and then college. I was blindly trying to conform to society, trying to do what society expected of me. I failed to see the need to be an individualistic person. It wasn't until my senior year that I found myself an aged man of twenty-one. Society tied onto that age some significance, be it the entering of manhood or perhaps the age which one could legally drink (although many people drink before then). For me, this change was significantly different; it was when that I began to dream again. It was morning. After rubbing my eyes, I shruggingly got up, lifting myself out of bed. I shook the remaining drowsiness that I felt and slowly walked down the stairs to my living room. There was a knock at the door and before I could open it, I was blinded by a bright white light. Squinting to see, I noticed that it was my friend Nick, dressed in blue jeans, a baseball cap, and a T-Shirt I never saw before. "Hey, Steve! You awake?" Suddenly I awoke, sweating in my bed. "Steve?" a voice replied, as Nick's head peered around the corner. "Unngh ... ouch ... what a headache!" "You drank too much last night," Nick mumbled with a smile. "Yeah," I murmured, "But I usually don't get hangovers." "Well, there's a first for everything," Nick said, sitting on the only clean spot in my room at the time, my swivel chair. "Come on, we're gonna work on that tennis swing." "Yeah, that's right," I replied, still feeling a little groggy. "I'll be right there, I gotta take a shower." Slowly, I sat up. My head was still buzzing, but not as bad as when I woke up. I found it a little easier to think straight. "Oh yeah," Nick added, "You like my new shirt?" "Yeah," I replied, staring at it, "It ... looks familiar." "Yeah, well, I've seen 'em around, so I decided to get one." "No," I mumbled, "I mean it REALLY looks familiar." I scratched my hair, which hurt like the rest of my body. "Where's your hat?" I asked. "Downstairs," he replied. "How'd you know I wore one today?" "Hat head," I answered as I entered the bathroom. I took a long hot shower. Perhaps too long. My mind kind of lost its sense of time in all that warmth. Something about that incident bothered me a little, I couldn't figure out what, but something struck me as strange. Somehow the significant details were lost somewhere in my mind. But, heck, strange was my middle name. Steven Strange Dylan, that's me. After realizing that I should drag myself out of the shower, I reluctantly did so, tossing on a blue robe. When I went out, I saw Nick reading the morning newspaper, or should I say, glancing at the comics. "Anything interesting?" I asked, not really caring. "Yeah," he laughed, "Garfield's pretty funny today." I acknowledged a reply with a quick glance his way as I took out a shirt from my closet. "You know, I never do get Doonesbury," he added, putting the paper down. "You ready?" "Just about," I replied, putting on my shorts. "Ok, I'll grab your racket and put it with mine in the car." Nick said as he dashed down the steps, taking two to three steps at a time. "Alright," I answered, glancing at the newspaper. I tore myself away from the paper with a sigh. Garfield sucks. The workout was very atypical of my usual work out, plus or minus a few huffs and puffs. Nick joked about me feeling my age and deep inside, I chuckled, trying hard not to encourage him. "So, Steve, got any plans this weekend?" Nick asked, resting on a wooden bench. "You know me, always living life on the edge," I replied, with a slight smile. "I've got a date with destiny." "You too?" he replied, "So, which movie is it?" "Crazy People," I sighed. "Seen it," he muttered. "How about The Return of the Living Dead?" "Again?!!" I complained, collapsing into the spot right next to him, "You know, there is such thing as too much of a good thing." "Not in my book," Nick corrected as he watched a nearby female tennis player bend over to pick up a tennis ball. "Geesh ... you'll never change." "Not if I can help it," Nick grinned as he headed for the car. The drive home was filled with the usual antics. After a Tour De senselessness, we stopped at the nearest bar, the Bullmoose Cafe. It was probably named after Rocky and Bullwinkle. "Yo, bartender!" Nick yelled, "A beer!" "Hold your ass!" the woman rebutted, walking to the tap. "And you?" she asked me. "Ah, do you have Coke?" "COKE?!" Nick gasped. "This is a BAR, man! Lighten up!" I sighed. "Give this man a Bud." "A Coke," I mumbled. "I don't feel like drinking this early in the day." "Alright," she replied. "One Coke and one beer." "And don't put so much of a head on it, okay?!" Nick added. Moments later, the bartender returned. "A Coke for you ... and you've got only a little head." she smirked. I chuckled, "Face it, you were burned." "Ha ha ... VERY funny!" he mumbled, grabbing his beer. "That's two dollars." "Here's a five, keep the change," I replied. "Thanks," she said with a smile. "She likes you!" Nick grinned as the bartender left, nudging me in the ribs. "GOD! I like the way her ass moves when she walks!" "Shut up," I replied, drinking my Coke. Nick took another long gulp of his beer. "Hey, I heard some quack opened a business down the ways a bit." "What?" I asked, feeling lost in his usual muttering that he called conversation. "A psychic something or other," Nick chuckled, moving his fingers in rasping, shaking movements. "Want to hear what the gypsy lady has to say?" "Whatever," I replied, not really interested. "Come on ... it'll be fun," Nick smiled as he rolled his eyes and extended his arms outward. "You will meet a tall blonde stranger." I smiled as Nick opened his eyes, seeing the bartender staring at him. "You know," she replied, "I think you had one too many." I laughed. "Naw ... he's always that way." Nick downed the rest of his drink and left. I finished my drink and shared a laugh with the bartender. As I picked up my coat, she added that she was off at eight, at which point I accepted the offer to meet her then. "What took you?" Nick mumbled, still a bit sore. "Had to finish the drink." "Yeah, gotta watch for that caffeine rush." Nick sarcastically mentioned as he started to walk down the street. After a few minutes, we were at the front of the shop. It was small and cliche' looking. On the window was a painting of a palm with an eye in the middle and circles coming from the pupil. Nick anxiously entered the room. There were candles, hanging strings of beads, and burning incense all over the place. "Geesh ... she's going for the complete look," Nick said, nudging me in the side again. A Greek woman with an olive completion and long black hair entered the room. "I've been expecting you." "Sure you have," Nick replied, sitting himself down at the table. "First you must grease my palm," she said, opening her hand. Nick took out a ten spot and placed it on her hand. "The spirits look at you in harmonious pleasure," she said, closing her palm slowly. "Tell your friend, Mr. Dylan, to sit down." "How did she-" "It's just some parlor trick," Nick replied. Somehow, I wasn't convinced, but then again, I have always been a sucker; the kind P.T. Barnum talked about. "I am Shanna," she introduced. "Keeper of the spirits and all the secrets that they confide in me. Extend your hand." I did so, at which point, she traced the lines of my hand with her finger. "You are troubled at something that you do not yet understand." I watched her face as it changed from concerned to serene. "But, all will come to you within the following hours. I must warn you-" She closed my hand as concern washed upon the features of her face, "Once the power which you have contained is tapped, there is no stopping the flow." I stared at her, more confused and concerned than when I came in. "Deep, huh?" Nick said as we left the psychic place. "Yeah," I mumbled, wondering what she meant. "Don't let it get to you," Nick smiled. "It's just some rehearsed mumbo jumbo and, by the looks of things, she's got you hooked." Nick opened his car door and hit the automatic door switch. "Getting in?" "Oh yeah," I replied, shaking the deep thoughts within my mind. "Forget about it," Nick mentioned with a smirk. "It's all a big act." "You're probably right," I replied. Nick started the car and we headed home. =============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Tapping The Mind ================================================================================ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ================================================================================ ========================================================================= Date: Sat, 7 Mar 1992 18:39:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #2 (part one) MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 2 "Tapping The Mind" "It was dark when I awakened -- or I came to if it was that. I was aware at once that there was something wrong. There was no sound ... I opened my eyes and everything was blurry." -- John Gardner "Grendel" Slowly, I walked across a bridge, and verged upon a mass of people; people I have never seen before but somehow looked familiar. I weaved my way through the masses, trying to block out their conversations in a casual accord. A man with long black hair turned to me, "You're one of us, aren't you?!!" "Excuse me?" I asked. "You're a mind trekker!" he replied, grabbing me. "You're one of us!" I felt the hands grip on my arms. "This is a dream." I said. "You go on believing it, buddy!" he replied, punching me in the stomach. I collapsed on the ground, breathing hard. No one paid any attention to what was going on. "You know," he replied, revealing a knife, "I could kill you in a second ... or do you believe that this ain't real either?" I stared at him, trying to back away, but I was constantly pushed back by the masses. "Oh, it's real alright," he replied, grabbing a woman who was passing by. "Real sharp!" He thrusted the knife into her throat. Blood shot out, and a gurgling sound came from her mouth, sounding like a fish tank air filter. The man then let her body drop to the floor. "You can call me the Stalker," he stated with a grin, as he lit a cigarette. "You'll grow to fear me." I awoke in my bed, sweating. It was just a dream, but it seemed so real. I could feel the arms grasping me. The blood- I felt a wetness that wasn't my own. Slowly, I turned my head. Beside me was the bartender I spent the night with, with a knife in her throat. "It was just a dream." I mumbled. I picked up the phone to dial 911, hesitated, and put the phone on the hook. What was I going to tell them? She was killed by the stalker in her dream? What is there to convince them that I didn't kill her? What is there to convince ME that I didn't kill her?!! Carefully, I erased any evidence of my being there. After I finished wiping all of my prints and cleaning the place (but making sure that the room wasn't TOO clean), I grabbed a handkerchief and dialed the police, leaving an anonymous tip. Grabbing my coat, I left the apartment, hopped into my car, and drove off. I was hoping the drive would clear my mind, or possible cleanse it, but it didn't. I found myself mumbling "what do I do?" a couple hundred times. The music from my stereo didn't help keep me from remembering the picture forged in my mind. "Am I a killer?" I asked myself, stopping the car. I realized that there was only one person who may help. Ridiculous as it sounded, I turned the car and headed for the psychic place. "You're back," Shanna replied as I entered the place. "I knew you would come." I didn't have the patience to ask her how she knew. "Listen, I have one question!" I replied, with a frantic sound in my voice. "Am I for real?" she asked. "Am I legitimate in my trade? Or is this all a front?" I stared at her as she stole my thoughts from my mind. I sensed that she wanted me to sit down and did so. She sat at the table and took out Tarot cards. "Shuffle these." I stared at her, grabbed the cards and did so. After a while, I placed them down infront of her. She picked the card on the top of the deck and placed it face up. "Ah ... the card of death ... things are changing in your life ..." She flipped over another card, placing it perpendicular on top of the first. "Yes ... the castle ... you are not bound by these changes you are experiencing, you will control the situation ..." Another card, this one places to the east of the two. "The card of the future-" "Wait." I replied, placing my hand on hers. "I don't understand. Tell me something that I can use." "I cannot." I stared agape, "Why not? You know my name, knew that I was coming back, probably know my favorite color-" "Black." "-and you can't help me." She looked at me, her face showing no emotion, "I cannot help one who is not willing to believe." "Believe what?!!" "Believe in the etherial world," she replied as the lights faded as if it was done on cue. "The doorway is closed to one who is not willing to open it, to one who shuns their existence." "Ghosts?" "Hardly," she replied, closing her eyes. "There is much more ... much much more." "Tell me." "The gate to the etherial world, through you, is partially open. You have seen some of the embodiments of the unknown." She paused as if for dramatic effect, "There is so much that you do not know and cannot understand. That is what you must learn to believe. You must forget all that you have been taught and learn anew." "Tell me about the Stalker." Her eyes clamped wide open, "You SAW him?!" "Ah ... yes. What's wrong?!" "Has he tempted your soul?" she asked. "No ... I would have sensed it in the air. But, he has killed." "Yes." I answered. "Strange that he sensed you so soon," she thought. "He knew." "Knew what?" "You're a mind trekker." I sat back, uneasy. "What's a mind trekker?" "One who traverses freely in the etherial world." "What is this etherial world that you keep mentioning?" "The etherial world is many things. Some call it dreams, some call it death ... to others it is heaven, to some it is hell." "And I can 'walk' through this ... dimension?" "Your powers are still afresh. With time, you will learn the extent of them," she said, closing her eyes again. "But, you may not have the time. The Stalker may sense the threat you pose." "So ... what do I do?" "Even I do not know yet the answer to the question you pose," Shanna said in a flowing voice. "The spirits don't tell me all the secrets." I waited, wondering if I should leave now, or push my luck. "I am drained," she sighed, slumping in her chair and closing her eyes. "Go, and be wary." I got up and left the room. I looked back as I exited the door, and saw that she was gone. I drove home. I don't remember the drive. One moment, I was sitting in the car, parked next to the psychic place; the next moment, I was in the car, parked in my driveway. "What's up, Steve?" Matt asked as I entered the apartment. "Not much." I replied. "You look tense." "I'm fine!" I yelled, sitting on the steps, combing my fingers through my hair. "Um ... I'll be leaving." Matt mentioned as he grabbed his coat and left out the door. "I'm losing it. That's it," I muttered to myself. "I'm really losing it." There was a knock at the door. "Forget your keys?" I asked as I opened the door. "Excuse me?" Cindy asked. "Nothing," I muttered. "Want to come in?" "Sure." Cindy entered the room and looked around the apartment. "Still haven't finished moving in?" she asked. "What do you mean?" "No furniture." she replied, motioning to where she believed a couch should be. "Oh. Well, the truck broke down yesterday. My ex-roommates agreed in keeping the couch for a few days until I got the truck fixed." I replied. "You look tense." she replied, walking up to me. "That noticeable?" I asked. She nodded her head. "You know," I muttered, attempting to smile. "I could sure use a hug." She smiled and extended her arms around me. There was something about her energy, her contact, that made anything that was bothering me seem incidental. "Feel better?" she asked with a slight smile. "Yes," I answered. "Thanx." "Any time," she said, centering her attention on the stairs. "Is Matt here?" "No, you just missed him." "Oh well, it can wait." "Sorry that I couldn't be any help." "You have nothing to be sorry about," she mentioned as she headed for the door. "Bye." "Bye." I walked upstairs, feeling unusually drained. It was probably due to holding in all that tension. By now, the police are probably trying to cover up the murder. "Maybe I should try that dream thing." I muttered. I pushed all of the papers off of the bed, got undressed, and went to bed. I was still quite awake, so I took a couple sleeping pills ... my ticket to entering the etherial realm. I woke up in my bed. It was 10pm, and nothing happened. I still felt a bit groggy from oversleeping. Slowly I got up, stumbled through my room, and opened my door. Before me was a long drop. I looked down, shaking my head, straining my eyes to see the bottom. There was none. "How can this be?!" I asked myself. Soon after asking the question, I knew the answer. As strange as things may seem, somehow I did it. I re-entered the etherial realm ... or, rather, some twisted part of it. I leaned out the door, looking up. Nothing was holding this room up, at least nothing that I could see. In fact, nothing was anywhere near this room. It seemed as if my room just held there in the air, defying the gravity which held steadfast on my being. I grabbed a piece of crumpled paper and dropped it. The paper dropped, falling farther and farther down into the nothingness below, until it was a speck and then nothing. I was trapped in this room until the sleeping pills wore off. "Steven." a voice replied. I turned around and my heart jumped to my throat. "Ah ... you remember your pal, I see," he laughed, holding out his knife. "Well, let's see just how sharp you REALLY are!" [CONTINUED...] =============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) I really like the prolog section about dreams - right up my particular alley, or at least my characters'! I enjoy dialogue most when you get to see inside the characters' minds while they're reacting out loud to each other. You know - sometimes people THINK something MUCH different than what they actually say... It's startin' out interesting - keep it coming! Firefly I'm glad you liked the intro. I decided to add that to the story to give a brief introduction to the series. In truth, this series is more in novel format rather than story format. Duke Da Duck ----- Ken (may I call you Ken)--- RE:Mind Trekker intro and issue 1 First off, I love your narrative style. It strikes me as very realistic and makes me feel very comfortable with the story and the characters. Secondly, not to boost your ego or anything, but if the intro hadn't caught me the first issue would have. I think the idea so far is very intriuging, and I can't wait to read more. Dreams have always been a special interest of mine. I've been researching theory for the last three and a half years, and exploring my own. Honestly, as of now, I can't find a flaw, except perhaps that it felt too short. In other words, send some more when you get the chance. Good luck. Looking forward to hearing from you soon. Stardreamer Stardreamer, First, you may call me Ken. The handle, Duke Da Duck, is a long story. But I go by either name. I'm glad you like the series thus far. I hope with this post, your interest peaks. Being based is a "realistic" world, I try to incorperate as much realism as possible. As for the length, originally, these episodes were posted on a mailing list that limited story lengths to 200 lines. Instead of dragging on and on about the realm and doing in depth character development, I took the option of quickly jumping into some action (starting with this issue). You must understand, there were few Metaworld* writers (the "world" this story evolves in) and at the time, the concept of Metaworld (realistic superheros) was new. The writers had to create everything (not just villians and heros, but the concept of Metaworld as well). Of course, since Metaworld is set in a near future Earth, that helped the writer's a bit! :) Duke Da Duck * Metaworld is a trademark of the Superguy mailing list (SUPERGUY@UCF1VM). _____ So, those few who read the series before, any comments about the changes? The changes will be most noticable in issue #3 ... which wasn't included in the original series. Maybe, I'll start working on issues 9-? during Spring Break... If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! ================================================================================ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ================================================================================ ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 12 Mar 1992 16:13:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind trekker #2 (part two) MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 2b "Tapping The Mind" part 2 The vivid picture of the barmaid flooded my mind. The gurgling, the blood, the glazed eyes. "So, where have you been?" the Stalker asked. I remained silent; my eyes trained on the knife. "Awww ... not so eager to play, are we?" My mind was still trying to access the situation. "You know, you could always wake up." the Stalker mentioned, "But you can't, can you?" He stepped closer as the shadows seeped through the cracks and weaved toward his feet and slithering onto his body, folding over him and clinging onto him like wet clothes. Startled, I stepped back. "No, you probably would have done it by now," he softly droned, as he looked toward my bed. "Yeah, you're out like a light." I turned to see myself lying on the bed. "You don't get it, do you?!" the Stalker mocked, grabbing a lamp and smashing it against the wall. "You're not real!!" I stood still, as everything seemed to move at a rapid pace. He smiled with a six year old grin. "At least not in the sense that your room, bed, and body shell are real." "So, what am I?" "A neuronic embodiment of yourself," the Stalker answered. "A spirit, if you will." "And you?" "Oh, I'm real!" he laughed, standing erect. "As real as this BED-" The Stalker grabbed the bed and shook it violently. "-as REAL as this ROOM-" Quickly, the Stalker smashed his fist through the wall. "-as real ... as your body shell!" The Stalker thrusted his knife toward the shell's heart. "NO!" I yelled, grabbing his arm. "You can't resist!" he laughed. "I am STRONGER!" He threw me back like a raggedy doll. "I've been doing this LONGER that you have!" The Stalker said, raising his knife. "*I* am DEATH!" Quickly, I jumped for my shell, in an effort to save it, and fell right through. I jolted awake. It was daylight, and I was alive. The headache started again, just like last time I was jolted awake. "A hell of a trip." I murmured, looking to the wall. The hole was still there. "What a trip." I muttered, staring at the hole. I slowly got out of bed and stretched. "Time to make the doughnuts." I smirked, repeating a line from a commercial that somehow stuck in my head. Thinking of that morning cup of coffee that I usually start my day with, I started walking down the stairs. As I approached the bottom, my foot lost it's hold, and I fell. Reacting quickly, I reached for the railing. Missed. I plummeted to the ground. "Ouch." I cried out, getting up. I looked to see if anything was broken. To my surprise, my feet weren't there. I stared as I lifted my right foot, watching it slowly emerge from the step. "What the-" I started, as I placed the foot back on the step. Slowly, I raised my other foot. "But how?" I asked, looking up the stairs, "unless-" I dashed up the stairs and threw open the door. My body was still in the bed. I did not wake up, as I thought I did. "So, what happened?" I asked myself as I sat on the edge of the bed. "I jumped in, and ..." I looked to my body, still lying there. "Am I ... dead?" I asked. With that thought, I stared at myself, lying there. I phased my hand into my warm body. Quickly, I pulled it out. Speaking a silent prayer, I jumped into my body. It was pitch dark and I didn't know where I was this time. It certainly wasn't my room. That's for sure. In the distance, I saw a light. "A light!" I replied, running to it. To my disappointment, it was just a street light. "Where the hell am I?" I asked. Somewhere in the distance, I heard voices. "Yo! You did't have to kill him." "He was gettin' to me, man!" "Damn, ten bucks?!!" I turned to see three men looking at a body on the ground. One of them, a Chicano, was leafing through the man's wallet. "Shee ... if I knew dat, I would have nailed that chump on thirty second street." "Well, he's got a Diner's Card." the fat one chuckled. "Fuck that!" the Chicano cursed, tossing the wallet to the ground. I slowly hid myself in the shadows and approached closer. "Yo, what we do wit' the body." "Dump him!" the thin one, who was obviously the leader, ordered. "YOU dump him, I ain' touchin' no corpse!" "Look, we're ALL gonna be touchin him." the leader replied, pointing his gun to the other two, "Or yous gonna be joinin' him." The two looked at each other and then each grabbed a leg. "One of yous grab de head!" the leader said, "Do I hafta tell yous everythin'?!" The Chicano dropped the leg, ran to the head of the dead man, and grabbed the head. In a staggering motion, the three dragged the man across the pavement. "Hey! Watch the head!" the leader shouted. "Why should we care?!! The sucker's dead!" the fat one huffed. "We want it ta look like an accident." the leader explained, "That's why I hit him over the head wit this blunt object over here." "So, where we ditch 'em?" "In the river." the leader answered. "Suppose he floats." the Chicano muttered. "He won't float!" "What if he does?!" the Chicano repeated, stopping. "TRUST ME ... the corpse WON'T float, now get a move on before somebody spots us." the leader stated. They dragged the body my way. I stood still, not making a sound. The fat one looked my way. "Hey! I think I saw somethin'." The three stopped as did my heart. "Yo ... it ain't nuthin!" "Yeah, man! Yous gettin' paranoid!" the Chicano replied, "Who's gonna be at the docks at two thirty, man!" They passed me without a second glance. "Didn't they see me?" I thought for a second and slowly followed them. "HEY!" I yelled. They didn't turn around. "HEY YOU!" Nothing. They can't hear me, either. Quickly, I ran to the three, clenching my fists together. I dived at the fat one, phased right through him, and fell into the dead body. "What the-" the Chicano muttered. "What's a matter? Getting creepy feelings?" the leader mocked. "I thought I saw him move." the Chicano stated. "Listen!" the leader yelled, "He's DEAD! He ain't goin' anywhere except our little burial at sea." "Man, I thought I saw it, too." the second argued. "What are you, a bunch of morons?! Corpses don't move!!!" Suddenly, the body shook. "DAMN!" the fat one yelled, dropping the legs, "That corpse of yours is still alive!" I stared at the three who were looking right at me and panicked. My thoughts said "MOVE!", but I couldn't. The other two had me in their grasp. "Let go!" I yelled. "Sheeit! HE TALKED!" the Chicano yelled, dropping the head. "OUCH!" I shouted. "I'm gonna kill that mother!" the leader yelled, grabbing the crowbar from his back pocket. I kicked him in the groin and struggled as his grip weakened. "Get that damn corpse!" he cursed as he doubled over. I punched the Chicano one in the nose. Blood gushed everywhere as he collapsed to the floor. Watching this, the fat one turned and ran. Exhausted, I dropped to the ground. In the distance I heard sirens. "Cops!" I thought. Quickly, I got up, out of the body. I looked back. My legs were still within his. I slowly stood up, watching them separate as if through osmosis. The two men I attacked were still moaning. I turned around to see the body resting there; unmoving. I reached to his heart, watching my hand phase through him. "Over here!" a voice shouted. I quickly stood up and ran for the darkness again. I ran as hard and fast as I could. After a while, I stopped, panting. "Where am I going?" I gasped. "Home." a voice in my head replied. "But, where is it?" I asked myself as I collapsed to the ground. After some unknown amount of time, I got up. I was in my room again. I slowly looked toward my bed. My body wasn't there waiting for me. I was really awake. Glancing to the wall, I noticed that the hole wasn't there either. "Strange." I replied as I slowly headed down the stairs. I opened my front door and grabbed the morning paper. The picture on the front page caught my eye. It was him, the dead man. I stood there, unable to turn my eyes away from the newsprint. "I was there," I gasped. "I REALLY was there." =============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) My reader mail was empty (shrug), so I'll just ramble a bit about the world in which Mind Trekker comes from (the PHYSICAL world as opposed to the etherial world). Metaworld was a concept created by Lord Sabre (I spelled your name right this time! :). Since Superguy (a mailing list I was involved in) moved to a new site (UCF1VM), Sabre decided to add metaworld to the alterverses. Metaworld is a world of realistic superheros. Hearing that description, i though "oh joy!" and took his word to the letter, challenging myself in creating realistic superheros; Mind Trekker being my first attempt. My concept of realistic superheros is beyond the typical radioactive bite or gamma ray exposure. I got a few other superheros in mind, but I want to dabble with this one a bit. So far, Metaworld is about 5 months old, and as of yet there are only 5 series (Warhammer being the newest of the far. I feel stupid in saying that I haven't read it yet ... sorry). Anyways, the series are (in order that they were created) Crystal, Mind Trekker, The Swamp (I think), The Mercenary (a miniseries I never gotten around to finishing ... shame on me), and Warhammer. [HYPE ALERT!] I'm hoping in the future to start a miniseries called The Cage that will introduce MORE superheros and villians, giving me (and any other writers that may use the villians after I'm through developing them) more characters to play with. So far we've been limited with a totally new world with no superheros and no villians. So, rather than always slowly introducing villians and such, I'm gonna create a miniseries that will accomplish this. More news on this when it's closer to completion. If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future issue of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Questions ================================================================================ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ================================================================================ ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 18 Mar 1992 17:08:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #3 The following episode contains language which may be considered offensive. MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 3 "Questions" "It was, they said, the hottest summer in thirty years ... A rather grisly murder occurred in an abandoned building on Avenue C; the body was mutilated and drained of all its blood." -- Patrick McGrath "The Angel" "The apartment smelled of sex. That's what really turned my stomach," the inspector thought as he entered the room. "He fucked her before he did her in," a cop coldly replied. The inspector ignored the comment, glancing at the apartment. "Probably killed her during her orgasm," the cop commented. "That's the way I'd want to go." "Sergeant!" the inspector yelled. "Yes, sir?" the sergeant said, walking over to the inspector. "Get this damn rookie out of my face before I beat the living crap out of him!" the inspector cursed under his breath. "Gladly," the sergeant said, escorting the rookie out. "Just make sure that nobody gets in." The rookie glanced back at the scene as the sergeant shut the door. "You gotta excuse him, somehow these guys sneak in the force," the sergeant apologized. "And some get promoted," the inspector mumbled to himself. "Pardon?" "Nothing." "Anyways, I'm Sergeant Franks of the Hartford police," the sergeant introduced, extending his hand. "I'm Inspector Gates," the inspector replied with a fake smile. "So, what do you have?" "Well, we dusted for prints," Sergeant Franks started, as he lowered his hand, "But, we found nothing." "I'm not surprised. With the amount of people that were here, any evidence could have been destroyed." "Look!" Franks interrupted. "I run a good, tight force!" "I'm sure you do," Gates replied, looking around. "I see our killer smokes," Gates stated, glancing at a cigar. "Oh, that's mine," the sergeant smiled, grabbing it from the bookcase. "I was looking for this." "Brilliance in action," Gates muttered. "We found this knife," a cop replied, holding it by the handle. "Geesh! Did you ever hear about handling evidence with a blasted handkerchief?!" Gates shouted. "Sorry," the cop muttered, taking a handkerchief and putting it around the knife. "Nevermind!" Gates complained, grabbing the knife and looking at it. "Do you think it's significant?" the cop asked. "The woman was killed with this, you tell me," Gates sarcastically said. "Well, I guess so," the cop muttered, obviously thinking hard about it. "Idiots!" Gates thought to himself as he turned toward Sergeant Franks. "Can we get the rest of these men out of here before they destroy any more evidence?" Gates asked. "Alright, you heard the man!" Franks said aloud, motioning the men out. "Excuse me," the rookie replied. "What is it?!" Gates asked, quite annoyed. "A Howard Stern wants to come in." "Inspector Stern? Let him in." The rookie grinned and left. "He looks like a damn monkey," Gates thought, wondering if the rookie was Darwin's missing link. "So, what do we have here?" Stern asked. "A bunch of incompetent buffoons," Gates muttered. "I mean, about this murder." "That's what I'm telling you!" Gates explained. "They traced across every piece of evidence that there could be, picking up the damn murder weapon with their hands-" "So, every bit of evidence was destroyed?" "Not quite everything," Gates commented. "We know that a man slept with her, possibly the murderer." "Why do you say 'possibly'?" "The wound," Gates answered, walking to the body. "Look." "So," Stern commented, "it's just a stab wound." "You don't see it, do you?" "Explain it to me," Stern replied. "The knife has a really long blade, blood reaching all the way to the handle." Gates started, lifting the body, "The knife pierced the body and into the mattress. This would have taken quite a bit of force, and at that angle, it would have been practically impossible to do it from within the bed. So, the only way she could have been killed was if the murderer stood next to her." "So, he stood next to her to kill her." "Why would he stand next to her and kill her when he could have just turned over in bed and kill her?" Gates asked. "I mean, getting up, he might risk waking her up." "So, your saying that the person who slept with her didn't necessarily kill her?" "Correct," Gates agreed. "So, why didn't the murderer kill the man sleeping next to her?" "I don't know," Gates replied, covering the body. ################################################################################ _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Welcome, dear reader, to the editor's section. Here, I will respond to questions and comments posted by you, the reader, about this series: -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Well heck, *I* like it! But I've always been a sucker for the surreal. BTW -- The powers involved have me curious. Are they magickal? Psychic? Transdimensional? Are they accidental, bestowed, or genetic? I'm not fishing for answers, here -- I figure future issues will tell me -- but my curiosity should betray my interest. Critical Comment: I'd be happier (as a reader) if messages from you to us be sent in seperate posts -- I'm hoping most people don't use Teasers et al in Metaworld. This is just a suggestion, of course. Metauniverally yours, Sabre Well, Sabre, I have no plans to include "teasers" into my stories. As for the powers, I'm sure your answers will come in the following issue. - Ken "Duke Da Duck" Cooney -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Answers ################################################################################ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ################################################################################ ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 24 Mar 1992 10:04:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #4 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 4 "Answers" "You might even be able to recall all of it under the proper cerebral stimulation, but mostly you don't care. You let go. Even if you watch some emotional scene between strangers and even if your interested; still, if it's of no great concern to you -- you let it go -- you forget." -- Issac Asimov "Foundation And Earth" After a long drive, I arrived at the psychic place. I looked at the place in amazement. It was boarded up, and it look like it had aged for a few years. In the distance, I saw Shanna. She looked at me, turned around, and started walking away. "WAIT!" I yelled, running after her. She continued walking. After a brisk run, I finally caught up with her. "I gotta talk with you," I said, panting. "I know, but I must go." "GO?! Where?! Why?!" I asked. She continued walking at a faster pace. "LISTEN!" I yelled, grabbing her arm. "We will meet me at the lion's head at dusk." she said, removing my hand. "WHAT?!" She continued walking, turning around the corner. I rushed around the block and looked, but she was no where to be seen. "DAMN!" I cursed. Inspector Gates sat at his desk, sipping his cup of coffee. "I still don't know how you do it?" Stern mentioned. Gates cringed as he quickly pulled the burning hot coffee from his lips, spilling some on his trousers. "Blast it!" he cursed. "Try putting some cream in it," Stern commented. "I like it black," Gates muttered. "Um ... what was it that you said?" "I was just wondering how you did it." "Drink black coffee???" "NO, solve these damn cases," Stern replied. "I mean, your desk is such a mess, but you STILL find the evidence." "If there is evidence to find," Gates added. "Still irritated about yesterday?" "Irritated is HARDLY the word for it." Gates took a long sip from his coffee and swallowed it. "Excuse me." The two turned to see a man at the door. "What is it?" Stern asked. "I was assigned to this case," he stated, walking toward them. "You look a little young for this line of work," Gates commented. "Well, not everyone is an old fart," Stern smiled. "I'm Howard Stern and this senile old man is Bob Gates." "Senile?!" Gates hissed. "I'd like to let you know that I've solved a lot of cases since assigned to this desk!" "I'm Thomas Wilson," the man interrupted. "Inspector Wilson," Stern greeted, extending his hand. "No, I'm a psychic," Wilson corrected. "He's a quack!" Gates cursed. "What's this damn world coming to!" "I'm quite professional. If you check my records-" "Professional?" Gates sarcastically replied. "IF YOU CHECK MY RECORDS," Wilson repeated, "you will see that I helped solve twenty cases so far." "Lucky," Gates muttered. "Bob, we might need his help," Stern commented. "I mean, the police nearly destroyed the evidence." "Oh, alright, but stay out of my way, okay?!" Gates sighed. "Sure thing," Wilson replied, not looking forward to this either. I must have driven around the city for hours. "The lion's head ... the lion's head," I mumbled to myself. "A zoo?! Does she mean a zoo?!" I stopped the car at a red light and sat there, waiting for it to change. "No, it can't be," I muttered to myself. "There's no zoo around here." The light changed and I continued driving, not really caring where I went. "THE lion's head," I repeated. "Maybe a club?" Something caught the corner of my eye. Quickly, I slammed on the brake. Slowly, I backed up the car. Off in the distance, within the cemetery I saw a tomb ... and above it, a lion's head. The sky grew dark as thunder clouds drifted overhead. I cautiously got out of the car and headed to the entrance. The wind picked up a little, sending a chill up my spine. I pushed the gate open and walked toward the tomb. The wind blew the leaves in my face, reminding it of some obscure B rated flick. I stood in front of the tomb, and pushed the tomb door. Inside, I saw a dim candlelit room. Kneeling on the floor was Shanna. "What's the deal?" I asked, walking inside. "Why are you meeting me here, and what happened to your place?" "That old place has been boarded up for years," she explained. "But yesterday-" "All you saw was what I wanted you to see. A post hypnotic suggestion, if you will." "And today when I saw you-" "The same thing." I stood there, listening to the rasping wind. "Was it all an illusion?" "No," she replied. "Your powers, your dreams ... they're all real." "And the Stalker?" "He's real, too." "He tried to kill me ... or what he called my BODY SHELL?" "No. He just tried to scare you," she answered, turning her attention toward me. "What you must understand is that a person is made up of two parts: The flesh and the soul. The flesh being the body shell which confines us all and the soul which knows no bounds; which is only shackled by our imaginations." "And, of course, time," she added. "You see, the mind is very powerful. For those who have the gift, they can freely enter the Etherial World. Most children have that ability, but, as they grow older, their innocence and beliefs are tainted and they lose that ability. The ability of sight without seeing." "So, the dreams-" "-are one of the doorways to the Etherial World," she continued. "Most people forget their dreams. Their subconscious does this to protect them from what they experience. Others remember bits and pieces, or they may remember the dream only if they are jolted from the Etherial World. "Only a select few have the ability to traverse the realm. Mind Trekkers." "And the Stalker?" I asked. "That's a longer story ... and time is short." I wanted to know more about the Stalker, but I figured if she knew so much about me and my powers, she knows when to tell me what I need to know ... I hope. "Is it true, if you die in your dream, you die for real?" I wondered. "Yes." "So, the Stalker can kill me." "If you think you're dead, you WILL die," she answered. "But naively thinking that your immortal in your Etherial state can be your downfall." "And the Stalker's downfall?" "Perhaps." "Don't you KNOW him by now?" "He shields his mind as a method of defense, as most people do," she mentioned, apparently annoyed with my lack of knowledge. "Only a fool leaves his mind open and unguarded. "Anything that you fear, love, hate can be used against you. It's important to know thyself before knowing your enemy." I looked on, still confused. I decided to keep pursuing answers. "One time, I jumped into my body shell and I ..." I struggled for the right words, "teleported?" "Soul spanning," She explained. "At times, a Trekker can jump from one empty shell to the nearest empty one and claim it." "And the dead man?" "Was such a shell," she replied. "You will find this tactic useful in offense, defense, and rejuvenation." "Re-what?!" "A soul can last only 24 hours out of it's shell. After that, it starts losing composition until it finally fades away." "Why didn't the Stalker claim my body shell?" "He cannot," Shanna responded. "At least, not unwillingly. To claim a body shell, there is an ego battle. Your ego is strong, and the Stalker might lose. If he loses, he will become weaker." "So, I should challenge him." "Definitely not!" she bellowed as her eyes flared. "The Stalker is strong in his own rights and you'll be fighting on his turf, playing by his rules." I didn't like the sound of that and kept it in mind. =============================================================================== _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Well, I hope you enjoyed this issue which shedded some light into the powers of the Mind Trekker. Still, there are many questions that will be addressed in future episodes. I'll leave those aside for now as I'll start working on a few plots to spur more interest in the following issues. If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Grave Awakenings ================================================================================ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ================================================================================ ========================================================================= Date: Mon, 6 Apr 1992 17:58:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #6 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #6 "Skeletons In My Closet, Monsters Under My Bed" "A movement caught his eye, and he glanced across the door. There was a man standing there. He had been there all along, Cleve realized, but so still, and so perfectly a part of this room, that he had not been visible until he moved his eyes and looked Cleve's way." -- Clive Barker "In The Flesh" The air seemed much colder than I remembered the floor of the tomb ever being; the sky seemed much darker that I ever remembered seeing it. Looming in the distance was a small door. I walked up to it and looked at it. It was an ordinary wooden door with a brass doorknob. I turned the knob and opened the door. Beyond the door was a child's room. "Are you here to eat me up?" a silent voice asked. I turned my attention to a small bed. Within it was a little boy, clenching his teddy bear as if it were more vital to him than anything else in the world. "No, I'm not." I replied. "You sure?" he asked. "I'm sure," I smiled. "Tell me, do I look like a monster?" "No," he answered, still gripping his bear. "You better go. The monster might come out of the closet and eat you up." "Well, I'll close the door then, alright?" The boy remained silent, staring into the darkness beyond the closet door. I closed the door and sat down in a wooden chair beside him. "I wish my dad was here," he continued. "He'd fight the monster." "Where is your dad?" "He went away. That's what mommy said. He went away." The boy loosened his grip on his bear so that he was hugging it. "Well, you should sleep." I commented. "If I sleep, the monster will eat me." "No he won't," I replied, taking off my necklace. "Wear this." "What's that?" he asked, curious. "It's a magic necklace. It prevents monsters from eating you in your sleep." I answered with a grin as I handing it to him. "Really?" he asked, anxiously. "Yeah. I don't need it anymore," I muttered, looking at the necklace. "I can fight the monsters on my own without it, now." The boy took the necklace, looked at it closely, and put it on. "Now get some sleep." "Okay," he said. "By the way, I'm Timmy." "I know," I smiled. "You can call me the sandman." I know it sounded a little corny, but I couldn't explain to Timmy who I really was when I hardly grasped the concepts that I knew myself. "Can you tell me a story, Mr. Sandman?" "Well, I'm not really good at telling stories-" "Please!" "Alright," I said, sitting back and closing my eyes. "Once upon a time there was a castle made of diamonds-" There was a banging at the closet door. "It's him!" Timmy gasped, hiding under his sheets. I stared at the door, uncertain what it was. "I'll see what it is." I said, walking to the door. "No! Don't open it!" "Don't worry, I can handle this. It's probably nothing." I answered, opening the door. I was wrong. "Hi, Steve. The boogie man has come to take junior away." the Stalker grinned, looking in. "You know ..." the Stalker added, "You should have listened to the kid." I stood there in front of the Stalker. Somehow my mind could not register the danger that stood before me. "Think damn it, think!" I thought to myself. "Aren't you going to let me in?" the Stalker grinned, "I've come to see the boy." "Leave Timmy out of this!" I demanded. "Ah, so forceful, aren't we?" he laughed, taking off his black cloak. The cloak flew in the air, smothering my sight. Nay, it was engulfing the whole room, and me in it. I staggered to the wall, my knee bumping into a desk. "Damn! I'm gonna feel that when I get out!" I cursed as my fingers felt up and down the wall for a light switch. I flicked the switch. "Damn, nothing," I muttered, still stumbling in the dark. "Timmy?" Silence. Inside of me, I felt an anger building. "DAMN LIGHT!" A dim, blue glow filled the room. I looked around, looking for the light source, when I realized that it was I. "Timmy?" I asked, looking toward the bed. The bed was empty. I looked around, grabbed a nearby baseball bat and held it firmly in my hands. "LIGHT!" I repeated aloud. The dim glow transferred itself onto the bat. "It's time for the hunter to become the hunted." I replied, walking to the closet. I looked inside the closet, pushing aside some shirts and pants. "Nothing." I muttered, tapping the wall lightly with my fist, "Hollow." I held the bat back and swung as hard as I could, smashing a small portion of the wall. I pushed at some of the pieces that still clung to the wall and looked inside. Bringing the bat closer, I noticed that beyond the wall was a hallway. "I thought so." I said, bashing at the wall, making the hole bigger. I side stepped through the hole in the wall and looked further. "Timmy?!" I asked. "Timmytimmytimmytimmy-" The voice bounced off of the walls. "Timmy!" I yelled. "TimmytimmytimmytimmystevenstevenstevenSTEVEN!" "You better not hurt him!" I yelled, running down the hall. "The boy dies tonight tonighttonighttonight!" the voice barked back. I stopped at the end of the hall, where it split in two directions. On the wall were the words "CHOOSE" was scrawled in blood. I looked dow n both paths. "Which one?" I asked myself, closing my eyes. I looked down both paths again, and spotted something in the right path. Quickly, I rushed down the right corridor and looked at what was lying on the floor. It was a teddy bear -- Timmy's teddy bear. I reached down to pick it up when a hairy hand smashed through the floor, and firmly clenched my neck. "The bat." I choked, trying to find some strength. The hand pulled back through the floor, taking me with it. Stern returned with Wilson following right behind him. "You tell him?" Gates asked. "Every bit." Stern replied, turning to Wilson. "Well, YOU'RE the expert, what do we do?" Gates asked in a demanding voice. "I suggest we check out the grave." Wilson mentioned, "If I'm right, Miller's body isn't there." "Of course she's there! She's dead!" Gates rebutted. "It was a closed coffin funeral. The could have lowered the coffin into the gave without the body being inside," Wilson explained, "It's an old parlor trick." "So, you're saying that these two women are the same?" Gates asked, still not grasping the facts in front of him. "Yes." Wilson agreed. "So, she escaped death." Gates muttered. "For ten years." Stern corrected. "So, whoever tried to kill her used the same M.O.?" Gates wondered. "I guess so." Stern plainly stated. "But, the first attempt should have killed her." "That's what bothers me." Stern mentioned. "Well, are we going?" Wilson asked. Gates and Stern looked at each other. "This WASN'T in my job description!" Gates complained. "Neither was dead bodies walking away." Stern mentioned. I ached. Moaning, I desperately tried to open my eyes. My right hand loosened its grip on my bat, and it fell onto the floor. "Well, it looks that you've found me!" the Stalker chuckled. I gasped for air, reaching for the hand, trying to loosen its grip. "Ah ... not so talkative now I see!" the Stalker laughed, "It looks like my sparring partner is keeping you busy." I looked at the source of the hand, barely picking out features of the face and body of its owner. "Slayer, put the nice man down!" the Stalker replied. With a strong thrust, Slayer flung me through the air and into a wooden wall. I heard a few bones crack. For the moment, my body was numb. The glow from the bat that was well beyond my reach shadowed upon Slayer's muscles, face, and long hair. It was then that I realized that Slayer was not a man, or if he was, he was disfigured. His enormously long, muscular arms reached to the ground. His face was more like a cross between a wolf and a man. His chest was huge, almost bulging to the point of exploding. His legs were about the size of my waist, and his feet had only four toes on each foot. Slayer looked at me with his searing red eyes. It seemed that steam was coming from his bull-like nose, and perhaps it was. "Put him out of his misery." the Stalker ordered, grabbing Timmy by the hand. "What are you going to do to the boy?!" I yelled, spitting blood, "You gonna kill him?!" "Oh no ... I have need for such a youthful body." the Stalker laughed, leading Timmy down into the darkness. Slayer watched the two go, and then focused his attention upon me. With an ice cold stare, he slowly walked toward me. "If you die in a dream, you die for real." I muttered, closing my eyes. Slayer stopped a foot from me, clenched his fists, and raised them. "BAT!" I cried aloud. The bat picked itself up from the floor and flew toward me as if possessed, and slammed head first into Slayer's back. A few cracks were heard as Slayer fell beside me. Fueled by the pain, I grabbed the bat and whacked Slayer in the head. Slayer screamed, swinging at me and barely missing. Tightly, I held the bat with both hands, I swung at his head. A loud cracking sound echoed through the room. I stood in silence, holding the broken bat, looking down at the beast that now lied in front of me. Blood slowly drooled from his mouth and nose. "Dead, I hope." I muttered, straining to get up, feeling a sharp pain. A loud bell blasted in the air. "NOT NOW!" I howled. I got up with a quick jolt. Once again, I was in my room. I looked to the left of my bed, and hit the alarm. Six O'clock. My head ached, my body ached. Heck, I was really worse for wear. Groaning, I got up. It was then that I noticed the broken piece of bat by the side of my bed. "I ... brought it back?" I asked myself. "I wonder if that means ..." Without a second's thought, I rushed to the closet, grabbed an aluminum bat that was lying in the corner of my closet, and headed back for my bed. "This time, it's MY turn!" I hissed, closing my eyes. This time, I was determined to return with Timmy, or not at all! ################################################################################ _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Well, as of yet, no posts about the series (I almost miss the 50 posts a day ... almost :). Anyway, sorry for the delay, I got this silly thing called college to worry about now. So, if you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, please drop me a line at: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! Just a quick note, I am currently not subscribed to Vampyres, so I can't pick up any messages posted there. NEXT ISSUE: Stalking The Stalker ################################################################################ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ################################################################################ ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 8 Apr 1992 15:52:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #7 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #7 "Stalking the Stalker" "He had followed a dream, and it brought him here to die." -- Marion Zimmer Bradley "The Spell Sword" Pitch dark. "LIGHT!" I called out. The aluminum bat glowed dimly. I was in Timmy's room. I walked to the closet and through the hole in the wall. At the end of the hall, I saw a shadow disappear around the right corner. Cautiously, I walked up to the end of the corridor, and looked down the right path. It was dark, so dark my bat's light didn't penetrate it. Suddenly, I a pair of red eyes appeared in the darkness in front of me. I fiercely swung below the eyes, hitting only air. "You swing first and ask questions later, I see." the voice replied. I stepped back, holding my bat outward. "Forgive me. You need your sight, I suspect." the voice noted, as the darkness collapsed into a dark blue cloak. A face then emerged from the opening in the upper corner of the cloak -- a woman's face. Then slender but strong arms and legs emerged from the cloak. The cloak rolled itself around the midsection of her body, flowing in the air as if it was a life of its own. "I am the Guardian." she introduced, "One of many who watch over children as they sleep." "If so, where were you earlier?!" I asked. "Your presence prevented me from entering. Unlike you, I can not cross into another's dream. Your presence put a Etherial barrier around here." "Timmy!" I realized. "The boy is alright for the time being, but not for long. We must hurry if we want to save him." the Guardian said as she drifted down the hall. "How do you know where Timmy is?" "I feel a link, a bond between us." she said as she floated down the hole in the floor. She looked up from the lower floor. "Forgive me, I forget-" "That's alright. I think I'm getting a hang of this dream stuff." I said as I jumped down to the lower floor. My feet slammed hard against the concrete floor, leaving cracks and indentations. I slowly got up and brushed myself off. Looking to the left, I noticed that Slayer was not there, but there was a trail of blood going down the west path. I held my bat with both hands, and walked forward. Beside me, the Guardian seemed concentrated upon another matter -- perhaps locating where Timmy was. Quickly she turned to me, "WATCH-" I was rammed in the stomach and fell to the ground. Looking up, I saw that it was Slayer. He was bleeding but not dead. I picked up my bat and slung. He caught it in mid air and shoved me against the wall. With a snicker, Slayer rammed the bat's side at my throat. I could feel my arms weakening. "G-get him o-off of me." I gasped. "I cannot. I have no solid form, and my only powers are defensive. It is forbidden for me to attack, except to protect the one I am sanctioned to watch over." I didn't gather everything she said, but from the tone of it, it didn't sound promising. "I must find the boy." she replied, disappearing down the corridor. Slayer breathed upon me, grinned, and snorted a chuckle. "I don't believe we're doing this." Gates mentioned. "Just shut up and hold the light." Stern said as he shoveled another pile of dirt. With the next thrust, the shovel hit something. "This is it." Wilson stated, brushing off the dirt with his hand. "Help me out of here." Stern said, extending his hand out to Gates. Slowly, Gates pulled Stern out of the hole. Wilson stayed inside, using the shovel as a lever. With a grunt, Wilson forced the lid open. "Empty." Stern gasped. "Just as I surmised." Wilson stated. "Now what?" Stern asked. "I guess, now we report a missing body." Gates muttered. "Might as well help me cover it." Wilson said as he reached his hand out toward Gates. Gates turned around and grabbed a shovel. Stern leaned over and helped pull Wilson out of the hole. Mustering the remaining strength I had, I kneed him in the groin. Slayer howled as he doubled over. "I thought so." I replied as I held my neck, gasping for air. In the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow move. As I looked on, Slayer swung at me, knocking me backwards to the floor. I held the bat tightly with both hands and thrusted it at his face. The shadow emerged as another beast charged at me, head first. I barely had enough time to hold my bat out when he hit me at full burst. My arms jerked up as they cracked. His head slammed into me, shoving me through the wall. With a quick arc, I swung the bat, knocking him to the side. Slayer then emerged from the hole in the wall. "What is this? Tag team wrestling?!!" I yelled, swinging upwards, connecting Slayer in the chin. At this point, his chin must have been liquid, I thought. I heard the other one stirring, and with a side thrust, slammed him in the nose. A cracking sound filled the air as the beast screeched. His eyes rolled in his head and he collapsed in front of me. "Enough already." I panted, turning to the wall that was before me, "Time for the direct approach." With a few well placed hits, the wall crumbled. In front of me, I saw the Stalker, holding the Guardian from somewhere within the cloak where her neck should be. His attention returned to me, "You look a little tired." "Hardly." I said. To be honest, the anger and adrenalin fueled me. While the Stalker was distracted, the Guardian placed her hand on his chest. "ARRGH!" he yelled, tossing her hard against the wall. "BITCH!" On the Stalker's chest was a fresh burn. The Guardian remained dazed. "I've killed Guardians before!" he shouted. I took my chance and swung with all of my might at his head. The Stalker turned to me and the bat froze in mid swing. Slowly, my arms were forced back against my will. "Cheap shots?" the Stalker commented. "I expected more from you." The bat started turning red, burning. I dropped it with a scream. "You thought you could just walk in here and play hero," the Stalker hissed as his foul breath flooded the air. "Nothing can stop me, you should know that by now." "What are you going to do to him?" I asked. "I'm going to destroy his soul," he replied with a grin. "What?!!" "This boy is practically dead! His will is weak." the Stalker explained, "I can easily take over his body shell without a struggle!" "NO!" I screamed as I violently shook, inching slowly closer, fighting against the force against me. The Stalker picked up the boy and reached his hand back, extending his claws. "I won't die!" Timmy cried, holding the necklace. "Mr. Sandman said so!" "Give me that!" the Stalker barked as he grabbed the necklace. His hand burned red then orange and then blue until it was bright white. The Stalker screamed as he let it go. The force holding me back dropped, allowing me to ready the bat for one final swing. With all my force within me, I swung at the Stalker, hitting his side. The walls vanished, the Stalker vanished. We were in Timmy's room again. "You protected me." Timmy muttered, looking at me with his big blue eyes. "No, Timmy. You protected yourself," I corrected. "You've got a long, hard road ahead of you-" I looked at Timmy to see that was already asleep. I smiled as I slowly got up from Timmy's bed. "-but you'll manage," I thought to myself. ################################################################################ _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Mail mail mail! I got mail! Ahem, pardon me. ---- Oh wonderful writer of this series.... I need chapter 5. Somehow, it never got here from the list. Could you send it to me? I got chapter 6 today, but can't read it yet. Please put me out of my misery. ;) Hoping your ego wasn't boosted to much, Stardreamer P.S. My fiance is also enjoying this and bugging me for more. Help me keep him happy. He's such a grouch when he has nothing good to read. Stardreamer, Well, I received a few replies to this nature, so I resent the 5th issue. Apparently, my memory is lacking since I could have sworn that I sent issue 5 out. Oh well. Anyway, I'm glad that you and your fiance are enjoying the series. It's mail like these that keep me going. I think I speak for ALL writers out there in the field when I say that reader input is very important. By sending a message saying that you like something, it encourages the writer to continue writing the series, possibly putting out something even better. Thanks for the support! Duke Da Duck ---- Duke da Duck (or Ken Cooney), Just received your fluff....Sorry, but I'm new to the list and missed the first five issues....this one was interesting....very visual....It's kind of a twist on the Freddy Krueger idea....I like it...The teddy bear makes it "feel" more...everyone remembers when they were children and clung to something for support. A Fluff Lover, KaT Kat, Well, I, as well as others out there, enjoy a good twist every now and then. As we all know, reality isn't always the way it seems, as Steven (Mind Trekker) is learning. I'm sure that someone on the list has a back log of these, as well as the other issues. Ken Cooney (or Duke Da Duck) ---- I thought it was interesting...it kept my attention...I could follow what was happening...as if I were there... Star Star, I try to incorperate some suspense and excitement whenever I feel that the story may start to drag a bit. Apparently, I have succeeded. Duke Da Duck So, is there anything anyone out there wants to know about Steve (the Mind Trekker), Shanna, or any other characters? As always, I am open to suggestions or comments. Just drop me a line at: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Reconciliations This issue is dedicated to Issac Asimov, probably the greatest Sci-Fi writer, who died Monday 6, 1992. I can't even attempt to explain how much influence his work had on mine. His book "I, Robot" was the first book that got me into this field and got me into reading. He will be greatly missed, but never forgotten. ################################################################################ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ################################################################################ ========================================================================= Date: Mon, 13 Apr 1992 14:48:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #5 (apparently, this never got here ...?) MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE 5 "Grave Awakenings" "He was dead. There seemed little doubt about that ... He looked up from side to side, and it became clear to him that whatever part of him it was that was moving, it wasn't any part of his body." -- Douglas Adams "Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency" I stood in the darkness, watching a cold mist roll across the ground. I walked by the grave stones one by one. Slowly, I came upon one stone and stopped. My finger traced the etchings on the stone. This one died last night. "So, this is where you rest." I said, feeling a distant remorse. The earth rumbled and shook as the ground I now stood upon moved. I was caught off guard and fell to the ground. "Earthquake?" I asked, crawling backwards. The ground split, loose sand slid inside the crack. The crack grew until a hand emerged. Attached to the hand was an arm and to the arm, a body and attached to the body, a man -- a man I knew -- the body I invaded with my Etherial form. "I must find him!" he replied, pulling himself out of the ground. "Find who?" I muttered to myself. "My son." he replied, rushing off. "He ... heard me?" I asked. "What am I saying? I'm talking to a dead man and I'm wondering about him HEARING me?!!" "I'm coming Timmy!" a voice cried. "You must come out." a familiar voice replied. I awoke, lying on the cold stone floor of the same tomb I walked into last night. Above me was Shanna. "The voice-" "Was me, calling you back." "And the other?" "You know him, I sense." "Vaguely. I jumped into his body last night," I replied, getting up, feeling a bit groggy. "What happened last night?!" "The incense from the candles made you weary, inducing sleep." "Was it just a dream?" I wondered. "No, somehow I doubt it." "This man ... did he say something?" "Timmy," I muttered. "He said the name Timmy." "You must seek this Timmy out." she replied. "Where do I start?" "Start with your vision. What clues did it give you?" "I saw a cemetery ... THIS cemetery ... and a tombstone. What was the name on the stone? Johnson? Yeah, I think it was Philip Johnson." Shanna grabbed the candles and started to leave. "Where are you going?" "I'll return when you need me most. For now-" she answered, turning around, "You must look for this Philip Johnson and Timmy." I didn't bother following her. I knew that I wouldn't be able to find her if I tried. I got up off of the cold floor, dusted myself off, and headed for my car. There was a ticket placed on it sometime last night. I grabbed the ticket, grumbled to myself, and hopped into the car. "Maybe a nice hot shower will help get my brain into high gear." I replied, scratching my head. I drove off and headed for home. After a long drive, I finally arrived home. The sky was growing dark and rain started to fall. Cursing to myself for not bringing an umbrella or even a rain coat, I dashed into to outcove of my apartment. I looked down at the slightly damp paper on the welcome mat. "Why can't he just place it in the door?!" I muttered, opening the storm door. I grabbed the paper, tossing it onto the couch and dashed upstairs; looking forward to a nice, hot shower. I spend about thirty minutes in the hot water, it relaxed me a little bit. Getting out, I toweled myself dry and sat down at the chair by my computer keyboard. If truth be known, this story that I lived would make a great tale; and me being a writer, I had to resist writing about it. I switched on the computer, watched it boot up, entered the directory for the word processor, executed the file, and waited. Soon, a blank screen appeared on my monitor. At this point, I'd sit at the computer and stare at the screen. And stare. And stare. Some writers call this writers' block; I call it frustration. After sitting in front of the blank screen for some time, I decided to collapse on the spot. Maybe roaming around a bit would be the key to unlock this problem I had. So, I slept. After waking up, I held my breath, turned around, and jumped into my body shell. Stern rushed in the office, carrying a short stack of papers. Gates lurched forward a bit, nearly spilling his coffee again. "You're not going to like the sound of this." Stern announced. "What could be worse that working with a quack?" Gates asked. "Our victim, Sarah Millers, is dead." "I KNOW that!" Gates replied. "No, you don't understand," Stern explained, "Sarah Miller died twenty-two years ago." "What the-?!" "Look," Stern added, tossing the papers on top of the mounds of papers that already cluttered Gates' desk. "Miller, Sarah A. Born June 5th, 1948 died August 16th, 1970. Check the photos." Gates turned his attention to the pictures, one being a picture of the victim, the other being a woman who looked like the victim. "I checked Miller's files ... OUR Miller, that is," Stern continued, "It appears Miller was born August 17th, 1970." "Strange," Gates said. "So, someone named he kid after a dead woman." "I think it's more than that," Stern mentioned, handing Gates a news clipping. "I checked the file on that other Sarah Miller and found this." Gates glanced at news clipping. "She died in 1962, the same way!" Stern pointed out. Gates stared at Stern, quite baffled. "Coincidence?" Gates asked. "Hardly." Stern continued, "Same eye color, hair color, skin color, height, weight, birth place, birth mark, died at the same exact age-" "But how can this be?" Gates muttered, confused. "I'll, ah ... go get the psychic." Stern replied as he headed for the door. "Ah ... yeah ... ah ... you do that..." Gates muttered, eyes still on the article. I found myself at the cemetery again. I looked about and saw nothing but head stones. "Timmy." A man rushed by me, the same man that I saw dead a few days ago. I decided that this time I was not going to lose him. I followed him through the streets and alleyways. Finally, he stopped at a house. "Timmy." he said, placing his hands on the window. I walked closer, looking at the house. The man immediately turned around and grabbed me by the shirt. "Why are you following me?!!" he hissed. I gasped, trying to clear my throat. "I SAID, WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?!!" he yelled, shaking me. "I'm a spirit." I replied, trying not to confuse him with the same technical gibberish that I've been bombarded with for the past few days. "Bull!" "And so are you." The man laughed. "I'm alive!" he replied, "A little worse for wear, but I'm alive!" "No you're not ... you're a spirit." I said, walking through the window pane. "How'd you-" "I told you," I replied, walking back through. "Follow me." "OH NO ... I'll break the window!" I pushed him through the window onto the living room floor. "Hey!" he yelled. "You could have killed me!" Slowly, he got himself up, and turned around. "Hey ..." he gasped, "The window's not broken ... not a scratch." The man touched the window, pressing hard, but his hand wouldn't go through. "Ha! This is a parlor trick, right? There is a hole somewhere in this window, isn't there?!" The man started feeling the window as if he was a mime trapped in a pantomime wall. "It's no trick, you're dead," I explained. "And the sooner your mind loses the grip on tangibility, the sooner that you'll realize-" The man turned around to see a four year old walking toward him. "Timmy!" he shouted in joy as he extended his arms. Timmy ran to the man, dashing through him, and toward the tv set. "But ... how?!" the man asked, looking at his hands, "No .. no ... NO!" The man jumped through the window, shattering it into pieces. I quickly ran after him. "What happened to the window, Timmy?" a woman asked as she ran into the living room. "I donno." Timmy answered, fixated upon the tv set. I quickly jumped through the window, and looked around for him. "I lost him again." I muttered, cursing under my breath. Reluctantly, I woke up. I shook the remaining drowsiness from my head. My neck was stiff from sleeping on the computer. I bet I had indentations on my arms and face from sleeping on the keyboard. From below, I heard a bustling. I got up, still feeling groggy, and decided to look around the apartment. "Geesh! You look like scar face!" my room mate replied. "Funny Matt." I smirked, rubbing my face. "I got some groceries in the car." "So what'd you get?" "Soda. It was only eighty-eight cents for a two liter," Matt said with a smile. "So I got ten." "Well, at least we wont die of thirst." I smirked. "I got real food, too!" "As opposed to surreal food?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm. "You gonna stand there and watch me bring in the stuff or are you going to help?" "Well, the thought of watching you bring the stuff MIGHT be rather entertaining." "Yo! I could use a hand!" Nick said, struggling to push the door open. I tried to resist the urge to clap, but the better part of me gave in. "Funny, Steve." he muttered, dropping the bag on the floor and exhaling a heavy sigh. "You should work out more." I commented. "Talking about working you, did you?" Matt asked. "Yep." I lied, "And you?" "Well, I skipped this whole week." "Shame shame!" "Dude, I have a whole lot of work to do." Matt replied, trying to justify himself. There was a knock at the door. I glanced over seeing a rather shy, attractive woman with a fragile smile. I stared at her for a while. I've seen her before many times. I wondered if she knew me, if she felt as awkward at that moment as I did. "Hi, is Evan here?" she asked. "I don't know, you can check upstairs." I shrugged. She disappeared up the staircase. Matt looked at me funny. "What?" I asked. "Don't think of it." "Think of what?" I replied, acting defensive. "You know what I mean." Matt obscurely noted. "I have NO idea what you're talking about." "Whatever." he muttered, disappearing into the kitchen. To be honest, I've always wanted to talk to her in the past, but I could never get myself to do so. I could never truly express myself. Usually, I found that words fell out of my mouth like rain, long before I ever spoke them. In my mind, I'd make elaborate speeches; words that left me as soon as I made eye contact ... or at least as close as I dared go to her. Some people say that I'm a very empathetic person; which could possibly explain why the power I have has manifested itself so strongly within me. I just wish that I had the courage that I had in my dreams. "Dreams." I thought, "I could try that." With that in mind, I headed back to my room, and lied upon my bed. ################################################################################ _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) WHO IS THE STALKER? Finally, there has been enough interest in this series to bring up this question. Just who IS the Stalker? Too early to say for certain but I suspect that Wilson is the Stalker. RD Francis Any other arguments on who the Stalker may be (I'm not telling :)? Hopefully, the Stalker may add some interest to the series (and perhaps more mail?). Note that the Stalker IS a Mind Trekker, although only seen thus far in the Etherial World. Also, Shanna did say that souls deteriate after 24 hours, so obviously, someone has to be the host. But who??? If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Skeletons In My Closet, Monsters Under My Bed ################################################################################ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ################################################################################ ========================================================================= Date: Wed, 22 Apr 1992 10:13:00 EDT Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List From: Duke da Duck Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #8 (FINALLY!!!) MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #8 "Reconciliations" "Do the dead sing? Do they love? On those long nights alone, with his mother Stella Flanders at long last in her grave, it often seemed to Alden that they did both." -- Stephen King "The Reach" I waited at the cemetery. It was almost time. Beside me, a spirit emerged from his grave, just like clock work. "Timmy!" the man yelled. "Timmy's safe." I replied. The man stopped and turned my direction. "Who ARE you?" he asked. "I'm a spirit," I stated, "and so are you." "No, it can't be." the man muttered. "It can't be!" the man yelled as he started running into the night. "It CAN'T be!" "Stop!" I shouted, running after him, "PHIL!" "Leave me alone!" he replied, as he stopped and sat down, crying. "Why can't you just leave me alone?!!" I stared at him. "Are you a specter who's here to haunt the rest of my life?!! Is that what you are?! Is this hell?!" he sobbed. "What did I do to deserve this?!" The man collapsed on the ground in tears. "I'm here to help." I replied. "Help?" "Look, I can tell you're a little confused-" "A LITTLE?!!" he shouted. "Now THAT'S the understatement of the world!" "You're dead, but your soul is at unrest," I tried to explain, thinking of what Shanna would tell me at a time like this. "You've returned for a reason." The man stared at me, confused. "Timmy." I reasoned. "I never got to tell him what I wanted to," he started, as if finally some tap burst open. "I always assumed there would be another day, another tomorrow, perhaps, to tell him." Phil sat down on the ground. "Timmy was a hell of a son. Polite, kind, gifted. I saw that even when he was younger. I ... always thought ... that I'd teach him about baseball. He'd hit his first home run and I'd be proud. I'd say 'WAY TO GO, SON! YOU DID IT! ... you ... did it'. "Later, he'd go to junior high and then high school. By then he wouldn't be a little boy anymore." Philip laughed a laugh of recognition. "Yeah, he'd find that there was more to life than sports ... than baseball. He'd discover girls, or perhaps, they'd discover him." Phil stopped, silent. "It's all a dream now isn't it?" he asked, turning to me as his smile flushed away from his face. "I'm dead now, and there's nothing I can do about it." I remained silent. "You know, if I could have the chance, if there really is a God, I'd ask him ... I'd ask him if I could talk to my boy once more ... to tell him ... to tell him that I love him ... that I'm okay and not to worry." "If there was only a way." I muttered. "I'm going to clean up." Gates stated to the two as he entered the men's room of the police station. "Now what?" Stern asked Wilson. "I COULD try a reading on the knife." Wilson mentioned. "Oh, what the hell, everyone ELSE put their hands all over it." Stern muttered as he went to his desk to get the knife. Stern returned with the knife in a plastic bag. Wilson grabbed the knife and closed his eyes tight. Gates returned from the men's room with dripping wet hands. "What's the quack -er psychic doing now?" Gates muttered to Stern. "He's trying to get a reading from the knife." Stern explained. Gates watched Wilson questiongly. "Dark hair ... dark eyes ... slightly tan ..." Wilson said in monotone, "strong ... blue suit ... no, uniform." "A guard?" Stern wondered. "... a blue hat ... name tag ..." "What does the name tag say?" Stern asked. "Thorne." Suddenly, Gates' face turned pale. "You, know him?" Stern muttered. "Yeah, I know him." Gates replied, turning to Stern, "He's a cop." At Timmy's house, the phone rang. "I'll get it!" Timmy yelled, running as fast as his little feet could take him, "Hello?" "Timmy?!" a voice asked. "Yeah?" "Timmy," the voice said as he cleared his throat. "It's daddy." "Daddy?" Timmy asked as if he didn't understand the word. "Yes son, it's me." "Mommy said that you're gone." "Yes, well, mommy's right. I am." "Are you ever coming back?" There was a tone of sadness in Timmy's voice. "No, I'm afraid that I cannot." Silence. "Timmy?" "Yes." Timmy's voice was cracked by tears. "Tell mommy that I'm all right. Ok? Can you do that for me?" "Yes daddy." "And Timmy ... I love you." "I love you too, daddy." "I know," the voice replied. "I know." A silent sniffle was replaced with a low hum. Slowly, timmy hung up the phone. "Who was that on the phone, dear?" his mother asked. "Daddy." he said. The woman looked at her son, quite disturbed. "I miss him." the boy cried, running to her arms, and burying his head into her dress. "I miss him too." I watched as my body shell hung up the phone. After exhaling a sigh, the shell rested on the bed. Philip's soul emerged from the shell. "Thank you." he replied, choked up. I smiled as Philip walked to the wall. He stopped and turned to me. A sense of concern filled his eyes. "Do you know what's out there waiting for me?" he asked. "No, I'm afraid not." I replied. "Well, I guess there's only one way in finding out." he muttered, trying not to seem too worried. "Listen." he continued, "If I do see the big man up there ... I'll give you a good word." "I'd appreciate it." I replied with a smile. With those words, Philip phased into the wall and disappeared. After waiting for a while, I decided to phase back into my body. I sat down at the chair by my computer keyboard. I switched on the computer, watched it boot up, entered the directory for the word processor, executed the file, and waited. Soon, a blank screen appeared on my monitor. At this point I'd sit at the computer and stare at the screen. And stare. And stare. I watched my fingers tap on the keyboard: CHAPTER I With a few words, a story unfolded. My mind was unlocked. I paused for a second as my mind went elsewhere. A pleasant thought of the past; times of an innocent age when things were much simpler. I'd tell my father about dreams that I had as a child. "My, you're some story teller, Stevie." he'd remark with a chuckle. My father always said that I had a good imagination. Perhaps, he was right. This story is dedicated to Alan St. George, a great friend from High School that I have long since lost contact with. ################################################################################ _____ _______ |\ /| ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Dear Mr. Duck, Something just came to me while I was reading the latest Mind Trekker--- folks who are trying to train children to deal with terrifying nightmares (and adults, too, for that matter) suggest that the dreamer try with all of his or her might to change the dream--anything at all, even the color of a flower or a shirt. Once you learn how to change even one thing consciously, you are supposedly on the road to wresting control of your dreams away from whatever unconsious part of your brain is terrifying you. I've tried this, even gone back to sleep to fashion a new ending to a terrifying dream. It's really hard, but it often works, and might be useful for future dream walk sequences. Kiwi Thanks for the suggestion. I may incorperate in the far future issues of this series. Duke Da Duck ---- Ken - I LOVE the mindtrekker series. It's so exciting!! And I'll say ditto to whomever it was that claimed the story was very visual. Good stuff - keep it coming!! Bluestreak Hopefully, next semester, the next chuck of issues will be out. For now, I'm going to concentrate on graduation, getting final projects and finals out of the way, and preparing myself for "the real world" ... ooooooh! Duke Da Duck ---- *WONDERFUL!* I loved every bit of it, but yes, I *do* want more info on Shanna and the gang. You've got me interested in the etherial realm. PS -- Good luck getting everything done. I'm also about to graduate, and having an interesting time of it... WinterStar--- In future issues, I will go more into Shanna as well as introducing a few more "bad guys". What's a superhero comic without them?! As a last note, for those wondering I thing SOMEONE is keeping the back issues of Mind Trekker. Anyone? Anyone? Whomever is doing so, please E-Mail me so that in the following issues I can add that information to the posts. Thanx!!! Duke Da Duck I hope that I have been successful in my attempt of relating a story about a realistic superhero. I tried to stay away from the generic gamma ray superhero who just "happens" to stumble upon a crime, thwarts it, and then magically stumbles upon another one. As a last comment, I believe that Superheros aren't those that are the vigilantes, or those that stop crimes while bullets bounce off their chest. I see superheros as those who make a difference in our lives, those that go out of their way to help others and to be there when they need them. Sorry for the delay in this issue, so far like has been hectic here. Unfortunately, due to my crammed schedule, and me pulling all nighters, this will be the last issue for this semester. In closing, I hope you enjoyed this series. This entire collaberation thus far started in October, and I have been polishing it ever since. I suppose that at this point, I will work on the next "block" of issues. The Mind Trekker series will continue when I finish up with the next "block" of stories, however long that will take. With the way my schedule looks, probably mid July (sigh). I thank all those who encouraged me, sent E-mail, and of course, all of those who were loyal and read ever story but still could not get enough! I dedicate this series to Alan St. George, a friend from High School that I have since then lost contact with. If you have any questions, comments, or thoughts about this series, drop a line to me: Bitnet: Cooney@Hartford <= Will be discontinued at end of semester Internet: KeCooney@Hartford.edu Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Blackness ################################################################################ Author's Note: This story is copyrighted 1991,1992 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. This story cannot be reprinted, in a collection or otherwise, in whole or in part, without the writer's permission. I claim the sole rights to the characters and contents within. ################################################################################ ========================================================================= Date: Mon, 12 May 1997 20:09:54 EDT From: dukeduck@juno.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@eyrie.org Subject: MW: Mind Trekker (Recap) MIND TREKKER RECAP By Ken Cooney - A Metaworld series- What is Metaworld? Well, Metaworld is one of the many altiverses of Superguy. It was created in October 2, 1991. It was created with one idea in mind; the thought of having realistic superheros in a realistic world. The FAQ about it is in archive 0129. No characters would be blasted by gamma radiation unless of course they died of radiation sickness. There isn't some X gene that causes people to become mutants at puberty. This is set on Earth, not krypton, Beta IV, or any other world. And it's set in our version of Earth, be it past, present, or future. No one has spandex suits. People have normal names and normal lives except for having some sort of gift that makes them unique and somehow changes their life. I don't think the characters in the Metaworld universe will ever interact in any other universe/alternate reality nor do I think it was ever intended to do so was when it was first devised over five years ago. We're talking about serious stories in a serious world. A brief commentary from the writer: Five years ago when the Metaworld idea just came to be, the idea of realistic stuperheros intrigued me. I tried to think of a way of creating a realistic superhero. After much thought a little idea slowly started inside me. The Mind Trekker. I will explain more in depth about what is Mind Trekker in the introduction that follows this brief commentary. Mind Trekker was one of the first Metaworld series. The original Mind Trekker series started way back in late 1991 and eventually consisted of eight issues at the end of it's conclusion. It was an entire storyline from start to end. After finishing those eight issues, I tried to think of where I wanted it to go from there. A couple weeks after issue eight, I graduated and lost my internet account. After too long of a sebattical, I decided to push aside all of my excuses and buckled down to finally continue this series. Lots of things have changed since college and these experiences will taint the following episodes. This series is based on Mind Trekker issues 1-8 which can be accessed from the superguy archives. No, I will NOT email back issues. We have over 200 subscribers here. Please check out the Superguy web page at http://www.eyrie.org/superguy/reference/reference.html. I recommend reviewing them because the plot thickens even further from this point on. Those who don't will probably find themselves utterly lost since events in the next issues continue from the previous issues. To help people looking for the back issues, the final revisions of the stories are in the 1992 archives. The archive numbers are: 0158 (issue 1, issue 2 part 1), 0159 (issue 2, part 2), 0161 (issue 3), 164 (issue 4), 0165 (issue 6), 0166 (issue 7), 0167 (issue 5), 0168 (issue 8). You can also use the autocollector, with the keyword "Mind Trekker". Re-Introduction for the un-initiated reader: In our minds, there are no bounds, no limits. In dreams, we break out of our fragile shells. We leave our minds unguarded, unwatched. We let the monsters run rampant within our head, unleashed in dreams. Dreams are the core of pure fear, absolute chaos, and unabridged desire. We control our dreams, or perhaps they control us, taking us on a trip of the subconscious. Where there are no rules, no norms. The world of dreams brings to mind who we are and who we can become. Sometimes, these visions interest us; sometimes, we dread them. Visions of the past replay themselves as if they were trying to solve some puzzle of the fantasy world that many of us have built around us as a wall. Questions arise, such as: What if I took another path? What if I had tried another option? Is there such thing as fate? For the latter question, I believe that fate is a weak description on what goes on when our subconscious wanders. There is a binding of the subconscious world, encompassing not only dreams but spirits, out-of-body experience, being in other people's dreams, ESP, telekinetics, and all of the many powers of the mind. It is believed that man only uses ten percent of his mind. That is not always true. Some people have the ability to expand that range and some can do so only in dreams -- and a select few can walk freely among the subconscious world. The mind trekkers. I write this series knowing, and possibly fearing, that I may somehow reveal my wall, my weaknesses, my fears, my ambitions and desires -- fearing that someone may know my true self better than I do -- fearing that my wall that I have grown accustomed to and have relied upon for so many years may crumble, taking me along for the ride. A Brief Metaworld Who's Who for the Mind Trekker series: Do not read this if you intend on digging for the old archives. This list gives away a lot of the storyline and surprises that occured during issues 1-8. There is nothing else in this post following this Who's Who listing. IF YOU WANT TO READ THE ARCHIVES, PLEASE STOP HERE! * * * * * * * * * Steven Dylan First appearance: Issue #1 A college graduate gifted with the ability of mind trekking. It's a very complicated ability so don't ask me to attempt to explain it. It's best to read the prior eight issues. In any case, he's the main character of the series and is sometimes refered as the Mind Trekker or as he calls himself in the presence of children, the Sandman. Nick First appearance: Issue #1 Steve's old roommate from college. Nick helped move Steve into his new apartment. Since graduation, Nick hasn't made an appearance in the series but seeing that Stve and Nick are good friends, Nick will probably show up again in the near future. Sarah Miller First appearance: Issue #1 A bartended Steve and Nick meet. She's killed in an apartment complex but her body mysteriously disappears from the grave. This is a continuing subplot in the series and very slowly bits and pieces are discovered, making more questions than answers. Shanna First appearance: Issue #1 A psychic and Steven's guide to the world of the Mind Trekkers. She helps him try to understand and develop his ability. Many questions surround this mysterious woman and so far, few answers have been releaved. She appears to be a very quiet woman as far as her past is concerned and gives little information to Steven in any case. Perhaps she knows best or perhaps there's something she knows that she's not telling. Who knows? The Stalker First appearance: Issue #2 Another mind trekker who uses his abilites the way he chooses to, and not necessarily for good. His true agenda hasn't yet been revealed nor his true identity. He was defeated by Steven and is probably brooding over a way to get his revenge. Matt and Cindy First appearance: Issue #3 Matt is Steve's roommate. Cindy's relationship with Matt or Steve hasn't as of yet been revealed in the story. What is know is that Steve is somewhat attracted to Cindy. These two characters will probably reappear in the series. Philip Johnson First appearance: Issue #3 A man who was killed by some thugs. Steve entered his body in his etherial form by accident and somehow animated it. Later on, Steve helped Philip's spirit find peace with himself. The thugs involved have not been captured as of yet. Inspector Gates First appearance: Issue #3 Gates works for the New York City police and is investigating the death of Sarah Miller. Stern has been in the police business for quite some time and has seen it all, or so he thinks. This view taints his feelings when he deals with extreme cases or individuals. Sometimes his iritability gets in the way. His desk is fairly unorganized but somehow he still solves cases despite that fact. Lasttly, Gates doesn't care too much for Wilson and cares even less for incompetent people. Inspector Howard Stern (no relations) First appearance: Issue #3 Another police officer investigating the murder of Sarah Miller. He gets understandably iritable about lack of professionalism when doing business. Stern is not quite as sharp and observant as Gates is. However, he's more compassionate than most officers. The long hours of working with crimes hasn't destroyed his belief that in the end, good conquers evil. Thomas Wilson First appearance: Issue #4 A psychic involved in finding out who killed Sarah Miller. Wilson has helped police with twenty cases so far and is touchy about people who consider him a quack. Despite all of his experience, most of it has been in dealing with lost or kidnapped kids or the like. Wilson realizes at times when he's over his head. Sometimes he realizes this a little too late. Timmy Johnson First appearance: Issue #5 Philip's son. The Stalker tried to claim his body so that he had a permanent shell to house his soul. The Stalker was thwarted with the help of Steven. Slayer First appearance: Issue #6 A monster that was sent to kill Steven in his dreams. He was later killed by Steven in issue #7 after a very bloody battle. The Guardian First appearance: Issue #7 One of many spirits knowns as Guardians that help protect children in the dream world. The Guardian could not enter Timmy's dreams with Steven present because of a barrier that was somehow created by Steven. They have no solid form and cannot pick up any "solid" dreamlike objects but have other powers to balance that disability. And now ... without further ado ... issue nine of Mind Trekker. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mind Trekker is Copyright 1991, 1992, 1997 Ken Cooney. All rights reserved. This story may be reproduced in an electronic format, and distributed via electronic means in the superguy mailing list, newsgroup and designated Superguy archives so long as no changes are made to the story in question. The story may not be printed, distributed, or published in any other media without prior written consent from the author. ========================================================================= Date: Mon, 12 May 1997 21:48:57 EDT From: dukeduck@juno.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@eyrie.org Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #9 MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #9 "The More Things Change..." "Then a terrible thing happened to me. I tried to get out of bed to go to the bathroom and found that I could not move. My arms and legs were case in cement; they were lifeless and would not move." -- Peter Straub "The Juniper Tree" Nothing but darkness and cold dampness surrounded me. A cold billowing breeze brought chills through my legs. I reached out with my hands and felt them touch cold damp granite. A chill started riding up my legs, my arms, my back. A mist started to settle around my body, feeling as cold as ice. Slowly my eyes adjusted to the black. A long corridor of some sort stretched down as far as I could see. I strained my eyes to look down both paths. A drip drip drip sounds resounded in the distance. Looking down, I was standing in a pool of water. Dark black shimmering water with white fish swimming by my feet. Each time one tapped my toes, a sharp cold pain rode up my arch and shot up my leg. A very faint small red cloud appeared by my feet and faded away. As the fish scattered, I saw a very slight glimmer of silver. A key. A key to what, I was not sure. I thought washed over my mind to bend over and pick up the key but I hesitated. Something about those fish frightened me. Another white fish approached my ankle and touched it. A fire-like tingle shot up my leg. I desperately tried to lift my legs but the coldness numbed them. I couldn't feel a thing. More fish started circling my legs, tapping, touching, slithering around my legs, through my toes. More pains knifed through my legs, each one more sharp then the last. I felt the pain fill though my body, become everything in my mind, engulfing me and swallowing me whole and I screamed and screamed and screamed. A very loud thud jostled me. I tried to focus my eyes and saw that I was sitting at the public library. Apparently, I fell asleep looking though the help wanted section of the newspaper. I reached over to pick up the book that I apparently jostled over in my sleep. I looked around and groggily got up, pushing the chair back with my feet. I haven't had a good nights rest for days. Looking around one last time to see if anyone was looking (no one was), I got up, put on my sunglasses and left the library. A few days have passed since my last encounter with the Stalker. Funny how in the past I couldn't remember my dreams. Now, I can't stop dreaming. It's as if I opened up a huge floodgate. I wonder if these powers are more a curse than a gift. The past events seem like some twisted dream. If it weren't for these abilities I have, I'd swear it was a dream. Perhaps, a nightmare. Shanna insisted that this is a gift; a gift that comes with discipline and responsibility. She made it sound like I was some sort of hero. I'm not a hero and never wanted to be one, but as Shanna pointed out to me, I should use this gift for the good of all mankind. I guess that's what a superhero is all about. I guess that's what I am in a way. Yesterday, I spent most of the day wandering about New York City thinking about it. I was going to nowhere in particular; I just needed some time to think. I stopped by a comic book store and glanced inside, looking at the Spider-Mans, the Bat Mans, the X-Mens, the Supermans, and so on. I continued walking toward my apartment, passing by a wino, nursing on a bottle of gin. The wind lifted a page from the newspaper lying on top of him and dragged it down the street. Across the street, a homeless kid asked a total stranger for change. This world definitely needs a hero. But, I'm not a hero. I've got problems of my own, I told myself. I broke up with my girlfriend ten months ago. I was confusing being lonely with being in love and have been hurt too many times to count. I have long since given up on finding someone, telling myself that it was simply not meant to be. I just wish that this was the least of my problems but alas, others loomed in my mind. So far I'm unemployed. I can't find a job in my field. My apartment's a wreck and the landlord could care less. My money was slowly dwindling and working at McDonalds actually started to look good. That's when I knew that I had hit rock bottom. I entered the apartment complex and wandered into my place, closing the door behind me. I hung my coat in the closet. The boxed reminders of my college days were still stashed away in the corner. "I'll have to look at them sometime," I muttered as I closed the door. I entered the living room and turned on the light. It flickered on and off, as usual,trying to illuminate the sty I call home. I grabbed a can of soda from the fridge and headed to my room. Popping the can open, I took a sip as I booted up my computer. After about an hour, I finished my writings and decided to get some much needed sleep. With a heavy sigh, I laid down upon my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I wondered if I would sleep or would I instead toss and turn in the bed only to awake again with my heart racing and sweat drenched clothes stuck to my skin. I tried hard to keep my eyes open. I didn't want to sleep. I didn't want to dream. Gates entered the police station and headed to the coffee machine. Once again, the fuse blew and the old coffee maker was out for repair. In its place was a newer model which made better coffee anyway. "I wonder why they just don't keep this coffee maker?" "Maybe because the station is cheap?" a voice replied. Gates turned around to see Wilson standing behind him. Weeks ago his stomach would cringe at the thought of sharing a cup of coffee with this man but somehow things have changed. Lots of things have happened between the both of them; things that he couldn't even attempt to explain. Somehow, Gates knew that despite on how well versed Wilson was in the supernatural, Wilson had no clue either. "The coffee maker blew again, huh?" Wilson replied and thanked him for the coffee. "Yeah, makes no sense why they want the old outdated coffee maker back," Gates said between a sip of hot coffee. "But then again, lately not a heck of a lot of things makes sense." "You mean the disappearance of Sarah's body?" "For a start, yes," Gates mentioned. "I did some looking into that. No one at the morgue remembers examining the body. None of the priests in the area remember conducting a ceremony. None of the cemetery workers remembered digging up the plot for her burial." Wilson looked at Gates with a sense of concern and perhaps a hint of confusion. "I looked into Thorne." Gates mentioned [see issue #8 - Ken]. "He was at another call several miles a way for hours and had several witnesses to attest to that fact," Gates stated. "I'm drawing a blank and from what I see we have nothing to go on. What we have is a tombstone with an empty coffin. We have no body. No one preformed the autopsy. It seems like no one besides the two of us even know of the murder!" "Perhaps we should return to the scene of the crime?" Wilson asked. "One step ahead of you," Gates mentioned. "I was planning on stopping by in a couple minutes..." "And figured that I could help?" Wilson added, putting words into his mouth. "Well, I was waiting for Stern... but why not?" Gates said, swallowing some of his pride. "You never know, you may see something that I don't." Sleep washed over me like a cold fog. I don't know when it hit but for one moment I saw the speckled spots on the plaster ceiling and the next moment, I was here ... wherever here was. I was standing in a grassy field littered with stones of various sizes and shapes. A cool wind brushed by me. It was a pleasant change from the previous dreams I've had. "So, Steven. We finally meet," a voice replied. I turned to see an young man wearing a white shirt, a tan jacket, black casual pants, nd work boots. He held a pipe in his hand and starting knocking the old used tobacco out of it. "Who are you?" "Always asking questions of others I see," he stated. "Well, I figured you would ask me that question. You know, I probably know you better than most people." "Strange, I don't remember ever seeing you," I remarked trying to figure out if I knew him somehow from my past. "Didn't think you would. It's been a long time since last we talked." I was confused but I suppose that in the dream world nothing makes sense. "No, this is no dream. Not exactly what one could call a dream in any case." "I'm mind trekking or something I gather," I stated. "Or something, yes," he replied as he started to pack fresh tobacco into his pipe. "I'm surprised that you forgot so much. Well, not really. You do then to lose a lot I gather." "Lost so much what?" "Maybe it's best if we took a walk," he replied, lighting the pipe with a match. He took a few puffs, covering up the match with his left hand so the light wouldn't get extinguished by the breeze. "Where am I?" I asked. "Home," he answered as he got up. "Home?" I asked. "But I was born in New York." "That's not your true home," he stated as he took a puff. I was confused but I figured that I might as well hear the guy out. Not that I had much of a choice or anything. It wasn't the first time that something didn't make sense. Ever since the first time I started having these powers things have been twisted around like some crazy comic book. "So," I started, trying to figure out what was going on. "Where's home?" "Ireland." It was pouring fairly hard this morning. Rain used to help clean the filth in the street but now it's tainted with acid rain. It's a sign of the times. "I can't see ten feet past my nose," Stern remarked. It hasn't rained that much this year. That probably means that it's going to be a harsh winter. On the sidewalks, people clung on to their raincoats and umbrellas trying to stay dry. Huge puddles of water filled the potholes in the street. A few people waited underneath a archway, waiting for a taxi. "Funny, when it rains, the taxis are hard to find," Gates stated. "I don't blame them," Stern added. "I wouldn't want to drive in this unless I had to." Wilson remained quiet in the back seat. Stern was wondering if he was resting or maybe meditating. Communicating with the spirits? Who knows. "He's an odd one, that's for certain," Stern thought. "We're here," Stern remarked. Wilson stirred and looked out the window. The place looked as cold as it he imagined it would. This was the first time he's seen this place but somehow he sensed that a lot of answered remained here. Stern somehow found a parking spot nearby, stopped the car and waiting for traffic to pass before opening the door. Gates and Wilson reluctantly left the dry car, opening the car doors to the cold pouring rain. "Come on, before we get really drenched," Gates said, entering the apartment building. A man sat behind the desk watching an old black and white tv. As the three approached he tore himself away from the tv and greeted the men. "Welcome. I'm George Netlink. Owner of the Argus Hotel. What can I do for you?" "I'm inspector sargent Franks, this is Howard Stern and Wilson. We're here to take another look into the room of the murder." "I see," George replied. "You know last time you guys were here, you mentioned if there was anything unusual about that night. I couldn't think of anything at the time but it dawned on me a few days back, how I had trouble renting out that particular room. Still do, which is why it suddenly dawned on me." "Really?" Wilson asked. "When was the last time?" "I couldn't say," he remarked, thinking. "There's been stories going around about that room from what I hear. I'm surprised it hasn't spooked out the few residents I have now." "Stories?" Stern asked. "Well, this was well before I took over as the owner. I haven't heard much about the prior owner mind you except for the fact that he's in the loony bin," George muttered, scratching the scruff of beard underneath his chin. "Rumors have it there was a murder in that room long ago." "Really?" Wilson asked, obviously intrigued by this comment. "I guess history is repeating itself," Gates commented. "Perhaps more than we know," Wilson mentioned. "I certainly hope not," George added, "It's ruining my business." George grabbed a set of keys off of the key rack. "Let me lock the front door first, I don't want any vagrants causing trouble in here." George shuffled to the front door and locked it. He then turned and headed up the stairs. "The room's up here,"George stated. Stern, Wilson and Franks followed him. "I tell ya," he added. "I was a hell of a trouble just to not get the police to put all of that do not cross tape all over the place. Luckily, I don't rent out a lot of rooms so I avoid renting out the ones down that particular hallway." George opened the door with the keys. "By the way, I'm the only one with a set of keys. I let the maids borrow the duplicates I got but they always give em back. And on top of that, I change locks every month, just to through off anyone who might try to make a duplicate," George stated. "And I just changed the locks the night before the murder so I dono how the killer got in. The windows were latched shut and the door automatically locks behind you. There's no way the door could be accidentally unlocked." "Any chance the killer was in the room before she got there?" Franks asked. "Maybe. Doubtful but it's possible," George stated thinking. "Don't think the maids check the closets all of the time." "The killer also could have a skeleton key," Gates mentioned. "Maybe a locksmith." "Thanks for opening the room for us," Stern added. "We'll take it from here. Thanks for the update, too." "Glad I could help," George replied as he headed back down the hall. "Got twenty five cents to spare?" A man with a wide toothed grin anxiously extended his palm out of his huge cloaked coat. "Please, for an old withering man." The fine dressed man whisked by in a flurry of Dockers, Bostonians, and an Anderson Little sportscoat, quickly sidestepping the bum. "Good for nothing," he mumbled. The bum closed his eyes, mumbling quietly under his breath "crushed by a bus, that's what he should be ..." A loud squealing of wheels startled the man as he flared his eyes open and turned around. Behind him, not so much more than ten yards away was a Metro bus, with Bostonian shoes tainted in crimson red. The bum look at the scene with an odd sense of distance. "Guess he should have given me twenty five cents. Could have saved his life." Casually, he wandered away. ################################################################## _____ _______ | \ / | ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) Finally, long overdue, chapter nine of the continuing series. As you may or may not know, about five years ago I lost my internet account when I graduated college. At the time there wasn't any decent internet services, and all of them were a toll call out of state. Eventually, I got an internet account. I grabbed a good portion of my stories from the archives and read them through. I attempted to write again, starting on new stuff since it didn't rely on finishing up plots left unfinished several years ago. Unfortunately, I worked too much at my current job and maybe I gave in too easily to my excuses of "not having enough time". Too many things have changed that they in themselves would entail a story no less unexpected, strange, surreal, and brooding as the one before you. Whatever it was that brought me back to this old playground of mine, I cannot say. One day something inside me started writing. I have not seriously written since I dropped the series. I have yet to understand why now of all times I chose to pick up this particular series and continue unfolding the story from where it had ended nearly five years ago. Whatever the case may be, I decided to start writing this series again. As in the past, I'm submitting first drafts. There's no sense mulling over the words over and over again. It's much better just to get down and dirty and write. Somehow my mind makes rhyme and reason out of everything. Unlike the past, I decided to finish writing a set of stories before submitting the next in the series. By doing this, it allowed to see the big picture and perhaps fine turn bits and pieces of the story. Still a first draft, but a more cohesive one. Hopefully, this issue and those following is up to par to my last eight. In time, I'm sure the series will improve as I find myself more comfortable with the mindset of the characters. Even now I'm starting to get a sense on how easy it could be to start writing this series again. I debated whether or not to do a miniseries or just continue the series with issue nine. I decided that it was best to just to move on and not take the easy route out. I've fallen easy prey to starting new plots and ideas and because of this, a few stories fell by the way side. This series will not become one of them! I hope there are a few people out there who read the original eight issues. Perhaps there may even a few who remember my first rough draft issues that I revamped. Dare I be so bold to say ask if the "fans" are still around? Perhaps my questions will remain unanswered but I can't help to wonder: What do they think of where I decided to pick up the story? Hopefully the old readers will find this series as appealing as they once did and some new ones will find yet another intriguing series worth reading. I'd like to take a moment to thank all those who wrote to me about the series. I still have the archives with the e-mails attached. I love them all but my personal favorite was this quote: "My fiance is also enjoying this and bugging me for more. Help me keep him happy. He's such a grouch when he has nothing good to read." I can only hope that you're still reading and found this story wandering in the mailing list. I wonder how many of my old "fans" are out there? But in any case, thanks a million for those who did write. Your feedback has helped motivate me to write better stories and make the story line more interesting. You have no idea how much inspiration we writers get from a short email message from someone that likes a story that they wrote. If you find a story or series that you like, I implore you to take a moment of your time to thank the writer. One e-mail message might be just the spark that is needed to rekindle an author's passion for writing. This issue is dedicated to all the fans who kept me going five years ago and all those writers who made the Superguy mailing list what it is today. You all know who you are!!! :) Some really really old email on bringing back the series: Yes, I'd love to see more Mind Trekker. It's been a while since there's been any Metaworld material on Superguy. -Gary One vote for more Mind Trekker! Please! Soon! :) -Rick Rechowicz Sorry for the delay guys. What do you think??? Duke Da Duck As always, I am open to suggestions or comments. Just drop me a line at: dukeduck@juno.com Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: Mind Trekker finally hits double digits with a double sized issue entitled "Reliving the Past". Miss this one and you'll regret it. See you in a couple!!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mind Trekker is Copyright 1991, 1992, 1997 Ken Cooney. All rights reserved. This story may be reproduced in an electronic format, and distributed via electronic means in the superguy mailing list, newsgroup and designated Superguy archives so long as no changes are made to the story in question. The story may not be printed, distributed, or published in any other media without prior written consent from the author. ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 20 May 1997 20:30:20 -0400 (EDT) From: dukeduck@juno.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@eyrie.org Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #10 (part 1 of 2) MIND TREKKER by Ken Cooney ISSUE #10 part 1 "Reliving the Past" "Spirit fences are not huge. Many no taller than the ornamental fences gardeners place around their flowers. The power of the fence is the power of the symbol; and here, the symbols were a chaos of killed voices." -- Jack Cady "By Reason Of Darkness" I stood in a huge field talking to a man I have never met but somehow knows me. I don't know what struck me more, the surroundings or his response to my question of where my true home was. "Ireland?" I asked. This was definitely strange. The breeze, the smells, the grass at my feet all felt so real. But then again, as the man put it, I wasn't exactly dreaming. If I wasn't, what was I doing? Somehow this felt like Ireland. Assuming that it was indeed Ireland. I wanted so much to believe that it was. It certainly looked much more appealing than my apartment and New York City. I almost wished that this was my home. "So, this is home," I said. Those words felt foreign to me. Home. This didn't feel like home. "As sure as rain," he replied, and he walked around the stones. "Some say that there is a soul for every stone, each soul that died protecting the homeland, right in this very field." "That's a lot of people," I remarked, glancing across the field. "Indeed," he replied. "Sometimes I can almost feel their presence." He stopped at a small patch of grass. "I think this is where my stone will be." I've experienced some strange things but this guy was really started to get me spooked. I felt a chill ride up my spine. I heard that whenever you feel a sharp chill that someone somewhere has stepped upon the very stop that you'll die. "This will be your resting place?" I asked. "My spiritual resting place, yes," he replied "You really expect me to believe that a stone will appear in this very spot sometime after your death?" "No," he answered, shaking his head. "But I know it like I know my own heart." Stern flicked on the lights, illuminating the room. Gates took out a notebook and started writing down some notes. Gates noted there wasn't much in this room. The bed, the dresser, the table lamp, television, the bathroom, the closet. Wilson just stood there silently, with his arms casually limp by his sides. He closed his eyes and started taking very slow small breaths. Gates noticed Wilson and closed his notebook. Wilson's head twitched. "So, let me get this straight. Nick is your friend?" he said in a voice that wasn't quite his own. Wilson chuckled. "You're a funny guy." "and verrry cute, too." "Come here, lover." "It's like listening to part of a conversation," Gates muttered under his breath. "Shhhh," Stern hushed. Wilson opened his eyes and shook his head. "Sorry," Gates mumbled. "That's ok," Wilson said rubbing his open hands all over his face. "Get anything?" Stern asked. "I'm .... confused," Wilson replied. "I started picking up on ...." Stern looked at Wilson with an inquiring look. "Two people," Wilson finished. "The guy," Gates replied. "No, no, another woman. It felt like Sarah Miller. But I don't know. How can I explain this," Wilson said as he rubbed his closed eyelids. "It was as if she was here before but it wasn't her and yet it was. I don't understand. It was very faint." "You know how the owner mentioned something about a previous murder?" Stern replied. "IS that what you're picking up?" "Maybe. Possibly. I don't know. It feels like Sarah Miller. It doesn't make sense," Wilson stated. "Unless it was her mother," Stern mentioned. "How do you figure?" Gates asked. "Let's say the Sarah Miller we know is the daughter of another Sarah Miller," Stern reasoned. "There was no record of a birth certificate for the Sarah Miller we know of. None of this makes any sense," Gates responded. "Humor me. I come from the old school remember?" Stern answered. "Perhaps the Sarah Miller we know of was adopted by someone. Back then adoption records were not as involved as they are now. Sometimes papers here lost or not passed on to public records. So, let's say she finds her hear mom. Well, she finds out she's dead. Doesn't know why or how or maybe she does. Anyway, she takes on her name." "So, you're saying that TWO Sarah Miller's were killed in this room?" Gates huffed. "I've heard stranger things," Sterns mentioned "But with all of the pieces of information we have, it makes sense. Think about it. The grave we saw had no date on it. It belonged to one of the two Sarah Millers. Since no one recalls digging the grave and the ground was fairly hard set, my guess is that it was the first Sarah Miller. In any case, this Sarah Miller mysteriously disappears. No one remembers doing an autopsy." "So, let's just go by this half baked theory," Gates remarked. "Why wasn't the guy who was with the Sarah Miller we know of killed." "Maybe the killer was hoping the maid would discover this before the guy woke up. The police would show up, arrest him. With no alibi and a tight case feel to it, no one would investigate the person. And if they did, they'd find a grave site with Sarah Miller's name on it, and the driver's license said Sarah Miller." "Ok, so that kind of makes sense in some twisted sort of way, but why? The previous death was not investigated or so it seems. Why risk having someone stumble on it?" "There must be some kind of strange twist of fate," Wilson finally spoke. "All this might be what I'm picking up with the two voices. Imagine all of the combinations of possibilities to get her to choose this hotel, this room even. And to die here just like her mother." "Sounds like somehow a small part of this was fate and another half was planned. Someone had a strange obsession with this woman," Stern responded. "These women, I should say." "If this is the assumption we're going by. Where to we go from here?" Wilson asked. Gates wandered toward the window, placing his hands firmly upon the window sill. "I say we pay Mr. Miller a little visit." "Got a quarter to spare?" A old man in a dark dusty old cloak asked the man waiting at the corner of an intersection, waiting for WALK to light up. The man digs into his pocket and drops a quarter the eager hands without looking into his eyes. "Thanks mister," he smiled. "How's the heart?" "Excuse me?" the man asked, looking at him in bewilderment. "How's your heart, sir?" the man repeated. "You had a heart attack six months ago. It seems you have recovered nicely. Even cut down on those chili dogs you love so much." "How did you-" "Oh, I can tell. It's in the eyes," he responded. "They say the eyes are the doorway to your soul. Guess that you make the zit on my nose a doorbell, huh?" The man looked at him and slowly walked up the sidewalk, away from the man. "What's the matter, Mark Bailey? Don't like me anymore?" The man stopped and turned around. "How did you know my name?" "I told you," the man said, getting slightly irritated. "But you just don't listen, do ya?" "I'm out of here," Mark hesitantly replied. "Kinda scared, aren't ya," the man replied in a matter of fact way. "You know, if I was in your shoes, I'd probably be scared, too. Heck, I'd probably be pissing in my pants just about now. I'd be frozen to the spot staring at this raving beggar who seems to be giving me such a hard time." The beggar turned his head and looked to the invisible person who was beside him, "God damn it, why won't he just leave me alone? I just don't understand it! I gave him the money he wanted! I feel like such an idiot!" "I just don't get it, either," the beggar replied, turning to Mark with eyes that seemed to look through him rather than at him. "Why did you give me the money? Felt generous? Felt sorry? Tell me what the heck was going on inside that mind of yours?" "I'm going to get the police and have them lock you up," Mark sternly replied. "There's only one problem with that Mark. You can't freaking move!" he yelled at Mark. The bumb paused, looking up. "Funny it don't look like rain..." His eyes casually returned to Mark, "but there seems to be a puddle just below your feet. Why is that Mark? Can you tell me that?" Mark tried to move from his spot. His mind screamed at him to move. Move now or he's a dead man. Sure as hell he's good as dead. Why did he work so late? Why did he decline the guard escort? Why did he give that bumb a quarter? Most importantly, why won't his legs move?! They were like tree stumps firmly planted to the ground. Oddly enough he felt no feeling below the waist. Not that it would matter much longer. Steven paused just long enough for the man to notice that he wasn't following. "So, are you going to tell me your name or do I refer to you as sir?" "Pardon my manners," the man replied. "Call me John." "John." "Yes, John will do fine for now," he thought aloud. "Okay, John. Where are we going?" "I thought I'd give you a tour and catch up on how things are going," John mentioned. "It has been a while since we've talked." "If you say so," I said as I continued to follow him. "You have to trust me on this one." We continued walking along the fields. The air started to get warmer and there was still some dew on the grass. I guess it was just beyond early morning. I wondered if this John was my new guide. I haven't seen Shanna for some time now. John lead me through the fields, occasionally resting his hands upon the stones, telling me of the stories of the dead. He talked about them as if he knew them personally, as if they were family. He told of stories that only close friends have; the little nothings of life. Johann stayed up all night waiting for the dawn to show up, searching for some inner peace. Arlene loved to cook large dinners for those she cared for. "One day she made a big feast for the fighters who returned from the large siege on one of the six provinces on Ulster and no one showed up. None of them survived the insurmountable odds and on that day her heart was forever lost." "How do you know who I am?" I asked. "I've known you since we were kids, Stephen." he chuckled. "We used to play among these rocks. Oh, how our parents yelled. They were furious." He paused, recognizing the puzzlement on my face. "Do you believe in karma?" he asked. "What comes around goes around," I replied. "Oh, there's much more than that," John answered, pausing for a brief moment as if the air above him clung onto the words he wanted to use. "Among other things, karma encompasses the belief that our current lives are influenced upon the actions we have done in previous lives." "You can't be serious." "I'm very serious," John stated. "Destiny, fate, karma are all tied together. A gift like yours just doesn't happen. It was learned over a series of lifetimes until this very moment that I am speaking to you now. You have crossed into a new state of consciousness and awareness. You have an ability that few have tapped into and lesser understand how to use it." John picked up a four leaf clover and handed it to me. "It wasn't a matter of luck or chance that you acquired these abilities," he replied. "Think about it." I woke up in my bed with a sudden jerk. My breathing was a bit quickened, my clothes clung to the sweat of my body. "Strange," I replied as I wiped the sweat from my brow. I looked at my hand and opened it. A four leaf clover was in the palm of my hand. "More than just a dream," I thought. [continued in part 2] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mind Trekker is Copyright 1991, 1992, 1997 Ken Cooney. All rights reserved. This story may be reproduced in an electronic format, and distributed via electronic means in the Superguy mailing list, newsgroup and designated Superguy archives so long as no changes are made to the story in question. The story may not be printed, distributed, or published in any other media without prior written consent from the author. ========================================================================= Date: Tue, 20 May 1997 20:30:20 -0400 (EDT) From: dukeduck@juno.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@eyrie.org Subject: MW: Mind Trekker #10 (part 2) MIND TREKKER By Ken Cooney ISSUE #10 part 2 "Reliving the Past" I wandered into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. A tired looking man with an eight o'clock shadow looked back it me. I contemplated shaving as I rubbed the stubble on my chin. "Well, Steve. You got to get yourself out of this slump somehow." With a heavy sigh, I plugged in the electric razor and started to shave off the few days growth. Slowly, a slightly younger version of myself appeared in the mirror. Maybe it was just my perception but hey, a positive outlook doesn't hurt, right? After shaving, I washed the loose hair down the drain and slid out of my clothes, flopping them on the pile of clothes already lying in front of the sink. "I gotta do something about that," I mumbled. Thank God I never had a problem with hot water. I turned on the shower water, tested it with my hand, and hopped in. The warm water washed over me like a kind of cleansing of the soul. I just stood under the spray of water and relaxed. My mind wandered around, trying to figure out what to do today. "It's a Saturday," I told myself. "I suppose I could pick up a paper and look through the help wanted section." I sighed. Trying to lift myself from this slump was always so much of an effort. Even the day to day routines felt like such a burden. My mind started wandering through the events gone by. So much has changed. Graduation. Losing contact with my friends. "Finding a temporary job," I laughed to myself. Then my mind wandered towards Timmy, the boy I helped save. A slight smile slowly crept upon my face. "I guess I'm SOMEBODY'S hero after all." "This is the place," Gates replied, slowing down the car a few houses away from the house. This was one of the few advantages of being a plain clothes police man. You have the element of surprise on your side. "You hope so, anyway," Gates said to himself. "I don't know what to expect," Stern mentioned, opening the car door. Wilson just sat in the back seat, quiet. He was way out of this league in this one. Gates and Stern were police men, experienced in this sort of stuff. What if Mr. Miller loses it and goes ballistic? What if he starts shooting? "Want to stay?" Stern asked, sensing Wilson's dilemma. "Uh, yeah," Wilson replied. "I think I'm going to walk around actually. I need some air." "Sure thing," Stern answered. Gates was standing outside the car checking out the place from a distance. A old beat up truck sat in the driveway. Gates imagined that Mr. Miller was home but saw no signs of it except for that truck. In fact, this whole road seemed deserted. Strange for a Saturday morning. Then again, maybe everyone was sleeping in. Still, it sent a slight shiver up his spine. Wilson got out of the car and bent over to stretch his long legs. As he bent forward, he wondered if he was getting a slight case of asthma again, or was it just this tightness building up a knot inside his stomach. "Well, Stern, it's show time," Gates replied with a grin, closing the door. "Just watch your ass if he tries something nutty." Stern nodded as the two approached the house. Wilson stood by the car, watching the two approach the front door. I heard the wind blow furiously outside so I was pleasantly surprised when I went out. The sky was clear and blue. The air was warm and inviting. In short, it was a gorgeous day. I took the black sunglasses from my black jean jacket and put them on. I looked around. Even the streets didn't look as dreary as they usually did. Somehow this warmth made everything it touched warm and inviting. "Looks like things are going to change!" I said as I headed down the sidewalk. Gates stood behind Stern, with his hand on his gun. "If you see anything suspicious, go for the bushes and I'll cover with some gunfire." Stern nodded and rang the doorbell. Nothing. Stern opened the door and knocked. The door opened up and a man in jeans and a white undershirt answered the door. "Yes?" he asked. "Are you Mr. Miller?" Stern asked. "Yes I am. If you're selling anything-" "We're the police," Stern interrupted, showing his badge. "We'd like to come in and ask a few questions." "You can't come in without a warrant," Mr. Miller responded. Gates flashed a piece of paper that had the warrant to come in, question, and search the apartment if needed. Mr. Miller stepped aside and let the men in. Stern walked inside, cautiously looking around without looking too conspicuous about it. Gates followed him inside. Mr Miller looked around outside and shut the door. "You guys want any beer?" he asked, wandering to the kitchen. "Oh, you guys are probably on duty." Mr. Miller opened the fridge and stuck his head inside. "Let's see, I got Shasta lemon, orange, and cola. Uh, got some juice." "Nothing for us, thanks," Gates replied. Mr. Miller grabbed himself a Bud Light bottle from the fridge twisted the top off. "You can call me Charley. I hate all that Mr. Miller stuff. Hadda put up with that crap at school and I hate all the formalities." "Ok, Charley. We want to talk to you about the death of Sarah Miller." Stern started. "Why?" he muttered, sitting down on the Lazy Boy chair. "She died some twenty years ago. Why the hell are you guys bring it up now?" "A Sarah Miller died a short few weeks ago," Stern replied. "The world is full of Millers. If you notice, the phone book is full of them," he replied, taking another swig of his beer. "This one was a Sandy McConnel. Adopted by John and Mandy McConnel," Stern replied. "So? So she changed her name to Sarah Miller. Big deal?" "Let me spell it out to you, Charley!" Stern replied, getting a bit irritated by his apathy. "This Sarah Miller we're talking about died in the same hotel room that your Sarah Miller did some twenty years ago. You know, that's one hell of a coincidence!" "Sounds like you got a special kind of sicko," Charley huffed. "Look, I could take you downtown in a heartbeat, buddy," Stern continued. "Well, I figured out the bad cop. That must make your partner the good cop." "Nah," Gates replied. "Didn't you get the bulletin? We don't do good cop/bad cop no more. No, let's say it's the bad cop, worse cop." Gates slowly approached Charley, slowly and firmly placed his hands on the arms rests. He then shoved the chair quickly against the wall. His eyes narrowed to slits. "You see, Stern over here gets first crack at you. He tells you a pretty little bedtime story about a woman that got killed recently. And me? Well, if you don't like that story, I tell you a new one. And you know what? I really suck at telling stories. So I gotta use my hands to explain things. Get my drift?!" "I get it," Charley replied, obviously shook up by all of this. "Good," Gates replied as he slowly got up. "So, where was I?" Stern asked himself aloud. "Oh yeah. This Sarah Miller, aka Sandy McConnel died in the same room. I did some investigating and found out your Sarah Miller gave birth to a daughter. You gave it up for adoption to a couple." "Any guesses on who that couple was?" Stern replied. "I'll give you three guesses." Mr. Miller remained silent. "No guesses, huh? Well, it was John and Mandy McConnel," he answered with a smile. "Now, one can only guess that she found out who her birth mom was at some point and chances are, found out that she was dead and decided to change her name in her honor." Mr. Miller still remained silent, taking another sip from his beer. "You know what? I'm not good at filling in the holes," Stern mentioned. "I'm just guessing. My partner Gates on the other hand, is great at making holes. Funny how that works out, huh?" Mr. Miller still remained silent. "You're options are. A: Fill in some of the blanks where the holes are. or B: my partner will fill you with holes and rest assured they won't be blanks," Stern stated. "You can't do that," Charley retorted. "Don't see why not. I didn't see anything Gates, did you?" "Nope. Never been here, either." Gates answered. "The neighbors will hear the shots," Charley mentioned. "That's right," Stern stated. "Better put on the silencer." "Right," Gates replied. Stern turned around and walked away. "Guess that means it's my time to tell a story," Gates replied. "GOD, I hate telling stories." "Wait, I'll talk," Charley blurted. "What's that he said?" Stern asked. "I think it was wild walk or something," Gates replied. "I'll talk, dammit!" Charley shouted. Outside, Wilson checked his watch. "Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! What the hell are they doing in there for twenty minutes?" he muttered to himself. He paced back and forth. "I didn't hear gun shots," he thought aloud. Wilson looked up and saw a police car slowly move down the street. "Hmm, that's odd. Maybe the guys asked for backup?" The police car pulled up behind and stopped. The lone officer got up and walked toward Wilson. "You're that what's it called, aren't ya?" he asked. "Psychic. Yes," he replied, looking at the name on his uniform. Frank Thorne. That name oddly rang a bell but he didn't know why. "Where's Stern and Gates?" he asked. "Over there," he replied, turning toward Mr. Miller's house and pointing to it. "Thanks," Thorn replied, clubbing Wilson on the head with the butt of his gun. Charley took another swig from his Bud Light. "I'm going to need it. ," he thought as he finished it off. "I kept this with me for twenty some odd years but I can't hold it any longer," he started. Gates pressed the record on the hand held tape recorder. "You see, my wife was cheating on me. Some young stud or something. I didn't know for sure, but I suspected it. I never brought my suspicions to bear." Charley continued. "So, anyways, I had some connections with this friend of mine. At some point he was in a heap of trouble and I got him out of it, so he owed me." Stern started walking around the room, half listening. He picked up a photo of younger Charley Miller happily smiling, and probably drunk, standing next to what looked like the recently killed Sarah Miller. The resemblance was uncanny. "Anyay, I had her followed. At some point he overheard a conversation from this one guy that he was seeing my wife at this motel. Stroke of luck, I guess. Luck smiled on me more cos I made the locks for that hotel. I also made a skeleton key. You know, just incase the owners needed one made or other keys or what have you." "So," he continued, "I gave him the skeleton key. Told him to kill her and the guy with her. I loved her but there was no way I could deal with her seeing this guy. My heart died when my beliefs were confirmed. So, in a way she was dead in my heart before she died." "This guy was a police officer, wasn't he?" Stern casually mentioned. "Uh," Charley stumbled, losing his train of thought. "Does the name Thorne ring a bell?" Stern continued. "Ok, it was Thorne," Charley replied. "I'm gonna be dead anyway. I just hope to God he doesn't do it to me." "Continue," Gates said. "Anyway, he done it. Killed her and him. We dumped the bodies into the lake, held a funeral with an empty grave. She didn't deserve any better," Charley mumbled. "Then fated pulled a twist some ten years or so ago. In walked in Sarah Miller. It was Sandy but I was so floored that I nearly had a heart attack. I swore I thought my wife was coming back from the grave to get me." "So, anyway, I told her the part about her mom dying. She was obviously very distraught. To my surprise, she decided to change her name to Sarah Miller in honor of her mother. She wanted to get to know me which was painful. All I saw when I looked at her was her mom. I was thankful she left." "I guess fate didn't have enough to do with me," Charley muttered with a heavy sigh. "Cos Sandy turned out to be the same kind of woman as her mom. I swear I saw at the bar she was working at and she was flirting with some young guy. I mean in the open. It was something else. So, I had to end that just there." "I still had the skeleton key and as irony had it, she rented the same room as her mom has rented. So, I snuck past the owner as he was watching some tv and opened the door." Charley replied. "Guess you know the rest." Charley got up and ran his hands through his balding head. "I guess you guys better take me in." Gates bent over to turn off the tape recorder when a shot blasted through the picture window. Gates quickly fell flush to the ground. He looked up at the window and saw a nice clean bullet hole and cracks coming from it. He looked towards Charley to see his eyes wide open, mumbling about something but not a sound came out. Blood was oozing from the bullet hole in his throat. Stern was on the ground by the bookshelf, grabbing his gun. Two more shots rang out and Charley buckled and fell to the floor. Stern looked at Gates who crawled away from the window carefully trying to avoid getting cut. Gates put his back up against another Lazy Boy chair and panted. His heart was racing a mile a minute. Stern looked to see if Gates was ok. Gates just nodded. "This can only be one person," Stern thought to himself. "Thorne." I purchased a Saturday paper and proceeded down the street with it under my arm. I smiled as a couple attractive ladies in shorts walked past me. I resisted the urge to look back. "Things are starting to change," I replied with a smile. I paused to look into the comic book stop, debating about picking something up just for the heck of it. "Excuse me, sir. Do you have a quarter to spare?" ################################################### _____ _______ | \ / | ()______) | \ / | M I N D I N G T H E M A I L \ \ |__v__| \______\ ()______) I was glad to see that this series is being revived; I've heard good things about it, though I came in too late to see it the first time around (now I'll have an incentive to go look at the back issues). And MW deserves a revival. One request, though: the line you're using is so long that most of them wrap around, giving an appearance on my screen like this: > Well, Metaworld is one of the many altiverses of Superguy. It was > created > in October 2, 1991. It was created with one idea in mind; the thought of > having > realistic superheros in a realistic world. The FAQ about it is in > archive 0129. Obviously this is going to make it difficult to read. Please try to cut down your line size to the point where this isn't a problem. Craig Neumeier, LHN I'll tame my Juno email reader and make it put out 72 characters to a line (or there abouts). Hopefully that'll make it more email viewer friendly. I hope more MW stories will find their way to the mailing list. Add my vote to make it two votes for more Metaworld stories! Ken Finally, double digits! Welcome, dear reader to the double sized issue 10 of Mind Trekker. I never thought I'd see the day. :) The story line was going a bit slow at the get go but a lot is going on, so bear with me. People have asked to know more about the main characters and since it's been eons since I started writing, I decided to do so. I'm also trying to advance the plot a bit further. I also decided to have a few cliffhangers at the end of this double sized issue. I'm still trying to figure out how to get myself out of this corner I painted myself into. Suggestions are welcome, just e-mail them to the address at the end of this post. Well, I don't have much to say at the moment. I'll let the story speak for itself. Besides writing this series, I'm also frantically trying to catch up on all of the stories I have missed as well as re-read the stuff prior to my previous posts, so I'll be fairly well versed on what went on in the world of Superguy (scary, huh?). Yeah, I have a LOT of spare time on my hands. As far as writing is concerned, I'll concentrate on this series for now. Yes, you can all breathe easily ... for now. I glanced at the archives and noticed that there hasn't been a MetaWorld post since January 1st, 1996. Is someone going to start posting Metaworld stories??? Anyone? Anyone? Bueler??? This issue is dedicated to someone I know who's a true friend and is always willing to talk to me. You know who you are. As always, I am open to suggestions or comments. Just drop me a line at: dukeduck@juno.com Any posts (or fan mail) will be added in a future comics of Mind Trekker!!! NEXT ISSUE: You ain't seen nothing yet as things get really ugly really quick in "Darker Days Are Here Again"! Catch you all in a couple. (An evil smile flashes upon the author's face. With a glint in his eyes, he turns away and walks into the darkness. Somewhere, a sinister laugh echoes in the background. Somewhere a soft deep resounding voice responds "I'm back..."). --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mind Trekker is Copyright 1991, 1992, 1997 Ken Cooney. All rights reserved. This story may be reproduced in an electronic format, and distributed via electronic means in the Superguy mailing list, newsgroup and designated Superguy archives so long as no changes are made to the story in question. The story may not be printed, distributed, or published in any other media without prior written consent from the author.