The Case of the Crying River

THE CASE OF THE CRYING RIVER BILL BIBO JR.

The banshee’s scream cut through the quiet air of my relaxing afternoon. A porcelain collector’s plate depicting the famous sauna scene from “Four Weddings and a Jackalope” tottered on the edge of a shelf in the foyer. It was the second scream that brought it crashing down. I ran to catch it, but my clay feet were heavy and I was too late. Being a golem, I wasn’t built for speed.

Meera O’Connell, banshee and resident housekeeper, answered the telephone a half second before it rang.

“Sir, it’s for you,” she wailed, setting the receiver on the table so she could grab a broom from the kitchen. I think that’s what she said. Her thick Irish accent made it sound more like, “Sure is a furry moon”.

A suave, cleanly wrapped mummy picked up the receiver.

“Ramses here… Director Archimedes, how may we be of assistance?”

I tried to pick up the porcelain fragments, but my thick fingers proved ineffective. Meera brushed them away.

“You know I don’t do missing persons,” Ramses said. After a minute he hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and tarboosh. “Bernie, we have a case.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. “To check out a missing person.”

As we left our townhouse, a single snowflake drifted to the ground at my feet.

Whenever a crime involves mythics, the Rainbow City Police call Mythical Crime Scene Investigations. And whenever MCSI wants the best, they call us: Special Agent

Ramses II and me, Bernie Clayberg. We’d just solved the Case of the Feathered Corpse and I was hoping to have some me time to recover from the embarrassment. But crime is immortal and the law cannot wait.

We pulled into the parking lot of Delphian Grains, an Olympian Corporation farm outside of town. The crop fields stretched off far into the distance. By some trick of the light they looked to go on forever. Chief Inspector Krupke of the Metropolitan Police was already headed our way. His second, the ever-present Officer Yaztremski, was never far behind.

“Open up, Bernie. It’s showtime,” Ramses said. He proceeded to place a piece of artificially flavored parchment in my mouth.

It is commonly believed that a golem is incapable of any original thought, action, or speech. As a construct we are thought of as nothing more than a tool or any other implement. We are called into action by the placing of distinct directions written upon parchment under the tongue. Our will is given over to following those directions. Sometimes too literally.

But it’s all deception. Only Ramses, Meera, and the rabbis who gave me life know the truth. And we aren’t about to tell anyone, as it’s proven quite useful in our work.

“Ramses, what are you doing here? I thought you were taking some time off to unwind,” Krupke said. Office Yaztremski chucked a little too loudly.

“So did I, Krupke, but the Director called in a favor. They’d rather have this case solved and quickly.”

Krupke glared and Officer Yaztremski got silent real fast.

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Krupke said. A snowflake landed on his nose. He quickly brushed it off, but another took its place. “Carl, tell the boys to pack it up. Looks like we’re no longer needed here. The mummy team has this all wrapped up. Ramses, you can find the Grand Lady over in the gazebo.”

A small green hill, just above the top of the crops, sat at the junction of the grain fields and a narrow tributary of water. In a nearby pool, a dozen nymphs held each other while crying. “Bernie, wait here while I find out what’s going on,” Ramses said as the nymphs’ tears splashed my feet.

Atop the hill stood a grand gazebo built from intertwining stalks of golden corn. Behind a single desk that looked to grow out of the ground sat Demeter, CEO of Delphian Grains. Her radiant green hair was woven with leaves and grains of wheat yet flowed in the slight wind as she waved to a chair in front of her. Ramses eased his stiff frame down.

“Special Agent Ramses, thank you for coming.” Her voice was soft and gentle, yet I was sure it could command all the land around us. “It’s my daughter Persephone. She’s been abducted.”

“Were there any witnesses?” Ramses asked.

“I saw it all. She was at the pool playing with her friends when a multitude of motorcycles descended upon us. Their leader, Hades, a horrible ugly creature, grabbed my daughter.

She fought him off as best she could, but to no avail. Before help could arrive, they were gone.

“You must find my lovely Persephone and bring her back to me, or I don’t know what may happen. She’s just a child.” She broke down and laid her head in her hands.

A sudden chill emanated from her. Instantly the nearest rows of grain turned brown. A small maple leaf fell from her hair, withered, and died.

Ramses tried to question the nymphs. Between sobs, they pointed to where the abduction had taken place. Numerous tire imprints covered the soft earth. There were signs of a struggle. I found a few pieces of cloth from Persephone’s tunic and a muddied scrap torn from an abductor’s jacket. It showed a pair of bells, red and set aflame.

“Hell’s Belles,” Ramses concluded. “The toughest, meanest, cruelest motorcycle gang in Rainbow City. And all because of a simple typo when they had their jackets made. Never rely on spellcheck, Bernie.”

More snow began to fall.

“We’d best be quick about finding Persephone. Her mother’s wrath can be quite dangerous.”

Being made of magic and clay, the cold had no effect on me, but I Ramses was mainly bones held together by strips of linen. He pulled his jacket tighter as we walked back to the car. ***

We sat at the bar of The Spoke and Choke, Rainbow City’s most notorious biker bar. The place was empty except for

the human behind the bar. He came over and wiped the bar with a rag that probably did more damage than benefit.

“Are you sure you two are in the right place?” he asked. “We’re waiting for a friend,” Ramses said.

“It’s your funeral,” he said. “Until your untimely demise, is there something I can get you?”

“How about some information?” Ramses held out a photo of a young angelic Persephone.

The bartender didn’t look up and moved to the opposite end of the bar.

“Bernie, I should tell you something,” Ramses said. “Before I joined MCSI, I did some things—long ago—that I’m not very proud of. When graverobbers broke into my tomb, they tore me from the halls of Osiris where I was reliving my happiest days while awaiting rebirth. Through their ignorance, this life was forced upon me again. Let me just say I was a little grumpy.

During that time, I fell in with a bad crowd. Hades was one of those. I haven’t seen him since. Let’s say we didn’t leave on the best of terms. I’m not sure how he’ll react to seeing me now.”

“We may have another problem,” I whispered. “I overheard one of those crying nymphs say, ‘Why does Persephone have to like bad boys so much?’ It got me thinking this may not be an abduction.”

As if on cue, the door burst open. A raucous band of demons strode into the bar like they owned the Underworld. About a dozen human demon wannabes followed, adjusting

their mechanically applied horns and flashing their surgically implanted fangs at anything that moved. At the end, breathing fire and brimstone, came Hades, their leader and spiritual guide. He was shorter than I expected, though with a taunt muscular form barely held within his leathers that warned of danger.

On his one arm was a happy and very clingy Persephone. Demeter must have given Ramses an older photograph for this young woman was neither a child nor angelic. Still the wildly tinted hair and scandalously draped tunic could not hide her Olympian features.

On Hades’ other arm was a half inch of snow. He brushed them both off and moved to the bar with his gang.

Downing a waiting draft of Labyrinth Ale Hades noticed us sitting at the opposite end. He strutted towards us, smiling. He side smashed a jar of pickled eggs with his fist along the way. The bartender groaned loudly and left to grab a fresh jar.

“Boys, look who we have here,” he said. “If it isn’t Special Agent Ramses of MCSI.” He plopped down on a barstool facing Ramses. “Did you know we used to hang together? After he was reanimated, Ramses here was a real badass, killing everyone who’d dug up his tomb and their entire families. His work at that time was beautiful, something really special. Do you know, he even designed our jackets?”

The last comment drew some angry shouts from his gang.

“And then you gave it all up. For what? To clear your conscience? To save your soul? Do you even have a soul now?”

“As much as I’d like to reminisce,” Ramses said. “I’m not here for you, Hades. I’m here for Persephone. Your mother wants you to come home. I’ve come to take you back.”

“My mother can take a flying leap off that little hill of hers. She never lets me have any fun. Do you know how boring water nymphs are? Every day it’s ‘Let’s go swimming here’ or ‘Let’s go swimming there.’ Well, I’m not a child and I’m not going back. You can give my mother this—” and spat in Ramses’ face. She moved to spit in mine, but couldn’t get enough fluid, so turned away in a huff. Ramses wiped his face and glared at me. I shrugged.

“That’s right,” Hades laughed. “Persy’s not going anywhere she doesn’t want to. Ramses, it’s been fun. Boys, show these two the door.” He and Persephone backed out of the way.

I suppose smashing a chair over my head was intended to get my attention, but I really didn’t feel anything at all. I quickly ended the fight as Ramses called headquarters. ***

“So, Persephone is back with her mother and all is right with the world,” said Director Archimedes. Ramses balanced next to me on a wooden perch in the Director’s office. Being part owl he had removed all the chairs. Though I will never understand why he tries to hide his massive wings inside a three piece business suit. It looked very uncomfortable.

“At least, for the moment,” Ramses said. “Hades is out on probation. The best we could do was to book him on

Disorderly Conduct. It turns out that Persephone is actually 18 and can legally do as she pleases. I would warrant a guess that it won’t be long before she leaves home again. And Hades is probably waiting for her. I doubt Demeter will take it well.

“Director, may I ask why the personal interest in this case?”

“The wife keeps wanting me to eat healthier. Says the last pellet I coughed up showed I need more fiber. To be perfectly honest Delphian Grains makes the best field mouse flavored granola in Rainbow City. If what you say is true, I should go stock up.”

A flurry of snowflakes fluttered by the window. “Director, you may need a warmer jacket.”

Fiction The Case of the Crying River About The Author

Bill Bibo Jr., architect by day, crazed author by night, lives and plays in Madison, WI. He always listens to the world around him. And he tries never to interrupt if it’s good.

One of his favorite successes was winning the inaugural Caldwell Vineyard Writing Contest. His short short story appears on the back label of their 2007 vintage Rocket Science wine, served at the 2011 Astronaut Hall of Fame induction ceremony. Payment was a case of amazing wine, still helping him on his way to becoming the drunken best selling author of which he’s always dreamed.

Fiction The Tenth Planet Words by Alexandra Faye Carcich

About the story

On January 5th, 2005, the tenth planet was observed by a team of astronomers looking for large outer Solar System bodies at Palomar Observatory. She takes 557 earth years to complete one orbit. Occasionally, the tenth planet’s orbit intersects and is closer to the sun than its nearest neighbor, Pluto.

My brainstorming sessions often start on wikipedia. At the bottom of the “Persephone in Popular Culture” page, in the trivia section is this tidbit: “When a 10th ‘planet’ was discovered in July 2005, a poll in New Scientist magazine picked Persephone as the public’s favourite name. Its status as a planet was later downgraded to dwarf planet together with Pluto and was given the name Eris.” There was something really charming about the ninth and tenth planets being linked in their degradation. Thank you Wikipedia and thank you to all the proof readers who helped me balance the anthropomorphism of the planets and the scientific details.

MORE TIMELESS TALES STORIES BY ALEXANDRA FAYE CARCICH:

Curious Machinations Issue 6 Psyche & Cupid

Troll Hunters Issue 7 The Snow Queen