The Church of Minos #3

The following takes place after The Walrus of Death, which you can purchase HERE

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Part One

-This is a first draft-


They’re out there now, living among you. They eat at the same restaurants, shop in the same stores, and their kids go to school with yours. They sit next to you in theaters, work just down the hall, go to prom, and deliver your mail. Vampires, werewolves, shape changers, and others. They are all around you, and like most of us, they just want to live their lives, raise their families, and contribute to society.

Then there are the others.

Some monsters give themselves over to what us humans believe them to be.

Monsters have this little voice inside them that tells them to kill, to feed on human flesh. It’s there in all of them. They’re born with it. It’s part of their genetic makeup. It would be like that voice that we humans have that urge us to to take another drink, to buy that useless gadget there by the register, or to go all in even when all you’re holding is a pair of Jacks.

Most of us can ignore that voice.

It’s the same with monsters. That voice is inside of them, quietly pushing at them to do all those little nasty thing that make them monsters, but most of them can tune it out and get back to mowing the lawn. Like that voice inside us, it isn’t that difficult to ignore.

Some give in to the voice because they want to be bad. They hate the human race. They think we are weak, and it offends them that despite our weakness, there are so many of us. We run things and they don’t, and that just plain pisses them off. So they want to rid the planet of us, one at a time.

That’s why I do what I do.

I keep the monsters at bay. I’ve been doing it for a great long time. Meaning I’ve gone up against my fair share and have seen most of what’s out there.

But aliens?

“Aliens?” I said.

Pat just smiled.

“Aliens.” I repeated.

“That’s what the guy said.”

There’s no such thing as aliens.

“I’ve told you before, Pat,” I said. “Aliens ain’t real.”

“What about vampires?”



“Of course.”


“Well, yeah. But aliens? Come on, Pat.”

She said nothing, just stared.

“No aliens,” I said. “I’m not wasting my time on it.”

She continued to stare.

I gestured to the door. “Just, you know, get the door open, gimmie my stuff back, and I’ll be on my way.”

It was like talking to a stone.

“I have to see someone about replacing the window in my office, Pat.”

“I’ve already done that, Norman. And I put plastic over it in the meantime.”

“Who’d you call?”

She just stared.

“When will they be out? I should be there when they arrive. It ain’t good to leave an installer alo— ” That’s when it hit me. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” She said, her smile growing larger.

“That . . . Aroma? Smells like—” I took a long sniff. “Coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. We got a pot of coffee brewing up there,” she said, nodding to the ceiling.

“Coffee?” I looked up at the ceiling. The scent was almost heavenly. It marched straight down nasal passages and set up camp. “What kind of coffee? Cop coffee?”

“My coffee.”

I felt weak in the knees and nearly swooned. Pat’s coffee was famous. She was a frugal woman, you had to be on a cop’s salary. But when it came to coffee, she splurged and bought only the best of the best. She sent away for a bag of beans once a month, beans that had passed through the digestive track of some kind of squirrel or raccoon in Southeast Asia. Which, of course, sounds disgusting on most every level, but damn if it doesn’t make one perfect cup o' joe.

I continued to look up at the ceiling as if I could see through the layers of wood, plaster, and insulation to the coffee maker upstairs. I thought I could smell the coffee, and maybe I could.

“Where’s this fella?” I said, my eyes still glued to the ceiling.

“We’ve had him cooling his heels in Interrogation Room One all morning.”

“Interrogation Room One?” I said, and laughed. I tore my eyes from the ceiling and gave her a look. “You’ve only got the one interrogation room.”

“Yes we do, Norman, that’s why it’s called Interrogation Room One.”

“Okay, let’s go see him.”

To be continued . . .

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