Lying Low

LYING LOW: According to a popular belief, Kerza is a planet known to be haunted by         ghosts, where explorers have seen apparitions appearing near twilight, several freaky high pitched noises have been heard, useful commodities like Merlyn’s all purpose anti-anti-sweat deodorants and Ramkin’s handy snot remover ( with the prodder in neon light) have tended to disappear. People had believed all sorts of things happening there and the place thereby got the name ‘Death’s Lair’. Every now and then it receive a two minute spot on Multiversal News Channel ( that boasts at least one reporter on each habitable planet and a black hole to store in the prodigious and copious amount of daily shit that it gathers) and rumor mongers and tourist guides slavered on the opportunity that serendipity presented them with shiploads of trying-to-be-happy-on-a-vacation-trip-with-the-amount-of-money-that-I-am-spending tourists who tried to find Krapla’s divine philosophy by subtly squinting their eyes and trying to understand the  illuminating and high-browed nuances in  the orientation and undulation of a Yaka’s droppings. Apparently the expectation being that high, there was no such ghost………….

He gazed as far as he could see. Nothing. He scratched his ass.

That is not going to find me a host to sink my teeth in. So much for being a reporter live in action for ‘Lying Low’. This place really sucked.

All he could see was blue sand dunes all around whose particulates had a tendency to seep in most awkward places in the body making you feel there is no paramount ecstasy than scratching the concerned co-ordinate with razor sharp fingernails.

Anyways, he was tipped that he would find a ghost here. As far as his experience went (which was extensive) his source genuinely believed that there was some ghost down here near the tombs of Shrieking Witches.

The tombs turned out to be a shack adorned with black roses, dead rotten meat and fierce looking voodoo dolls.

His skin was seared, that was to be expected. This electric blue light (and the ones that went unseen) is killing me.

It was a hyperbole, you see, as he was already undead.

Kerza was a planet so caught up in mathematical impossibility that it revolved on some bizarre path around a nebula that was so intense that the blue light was the largest frequency it could allow for.

And of course humans weren’t allowed as it was potentially dangerous for their lives; even their swankiest space costume wouldn’t be able to subdue the nebulae’s aura before they were rendered inoperable. Besides this place was throbbing with Gorgons and Zombies, humans would think twice before setting out a camp here.

He should have smuggled in his False-Color Image Viewer, he hated this stupid monotonous one-colored world. But the local authorities here believed that for a truly rich and surreal experience you embrace and bask in the glory of blue, so image viewers were something to shirk away from. And they went one step further and made it a law.

He yawned. He has been here since morning.

He gazed at his surroundings. He gasped with shock, when something florescent green caught his eyes. And it came as a double whammy to his general sense of world view around nebula when, with his laser sharp eyes, he gauged the thing to be a fat, nutrition rich scorpion. But that was not the only thing around here during this slot of time.

 The setting sun was bringing about a change on the ground. Out of their burrows came all sorts of desert animals this planet had to offer. And maybe he wasn’t exactly concentrating. There were Kerzan Cacti around here. 

He arched his eyebrow in befuddlement. How was it possible that his eyes couldn’t discern them before? Even in black and white world it was possible to observe grey, how come he not see the cacti before in different shade of blue? He scratched his head. Seeing them in all reds and yellow inspite of the blue, he considered for a brief moment that the nebula had gone dysfunctional.

 But then the light bulb clicked-it was just atomic absorption. The atoms of their bodies absorbed the high frequency waves, entering higher excitation state for a brief moment before coming down to meta-stable state shooting out electromagnetic waves with lower frequency and energy- that included the greens and the blues. And the reflected light is what we perceive as color. But he was still confused regarding the invisibility. If he went as far as to say that the reflected rays were ultraviolet, hence invisible- but why the plants and animals would change their meta-stable state immediately? For a given set of incident frequency, it gives out a set of reflected rays. Decreasing intensity in the evening had no role to play regarding the change it color. It baffled him.

Still he was overwhelmed by a sense of beauty (and hunger, the creatures looked juicy!) that the place had transformed into. From a dead land with a grotesque shack it had transformed into a throbbing life-supporter, teeming with all types of multihued creatures (still with a grotesque shack in the background). The authorities were right to disband the False-Color Imager. This was far more beautiful. He gazed around at the picturesque scenery that presented before his eyes, the night life had begun…

      He was so engrossed sucking blood out of the fat scorpion-like creature, that he did not hear the spine-chilling shriek. He had sunk his canines in its underbelly and slurped its life juice through two tusks like teeth having suction points.

The shriek was carried away by the rising wind, which themselves were howling. The overall effect was eerie, but so strong was his blood lust that he did not deem it practical to waste his energies towards what would otherwise be seen as a life threatening situation.

A demented laugh pierced his ears. The witches of the shack had started to scream…

He clenched his fist, blood spurting out from his right palm. The pain was enough to bring him back to his senses. The professional in him took over the primal and he let go of the scorpion, though glancing wistfully at it, before throwing it down and crushing it with the sole of his boot.

By this time, his skin was soot black, due to constant frying and sizzling.

 So much for Vampire pride.

Goddamnit, he should have worn heavy gear. It would take aeons before the new scale would develop. But he got rid of such depressing thoughts and tried to concentrate his freshly gained energy into assessing the present situation.

The sound seemed to be coming from due north. What might have made a normal alienoid pee its pants, didn’t even manage to rumble him. He wasn’t afraid. Of course he wasn’t, he was the biggest predator out here. The male voice was coming from due south while the female one from north. He closed his eyes and sniffed. A sniff-image was projected on his mind’s screen.

He was hit by a strong waft of sweet aroma.

 Oh that neckline! The sweetest taste! The softest skin! The easiest target!

You never wager a bet with a Vampire when he had smelled a human.

He now understood why Vampires were kept from coming here (he did came on a borrowed identity- in the passport his profession was outlined as being a retired zombie who was recuperating his soul from the sins past committed and striving for a healthy and spiritual life). They would have stifled the tourism boom in a jiffy. He smiled.

He inched forward due north, his stride purposeful, and his nose the compass.

The Male ghost hollered. He turned his attention to south, but the woman seemed more enticing. But he controlled his sense. He wanted to test a theory. He walked towards the male. The female began to laugh instantly.

 Ha! So they were saving each other’s ass.

Fun, so much fun, while playing with desperate humans- he felt aroused. Adrenaline (CAST AWAY- “or something of that sort, because scientists have never got an opportunity to post mortem a dead vampire, because there aren’t any dead vampires”- Ref 29, E-055) rushed through his mind and he prepared himself for the stride.

He heard the woman’s laughter going distant. She had sensed danger, now she was running away from him. So a witch was running away from the eternal wizard.

At what might have been terrible G-Force that would have broken a normal humanoid’s bones, he raced forward overtaking the voice in an instant.

He swore on name of all the One billion and one Gods that he heard an unprintable word coming out from the Laughing Woman’s mouth.( Of course, Vampires’ ears could hear at a distance.)

Trying unsuccessfully to bank her speed, the witch was hurtling straight at the Vampire, who though encumbered by no incoming visual, but aided by the sound and the smell, was waiting with open arms.

“You are stifling the straw, get your ass off”, he snapped angrily. The male immediately acquiesced.  He started slurping the red blood squash. They were sitting in the drawing room, watching T.V.

He knew he had hit upon a lottery. For once his blood donation trick worked. He had asked them point-blank, with lady still in his grasp, that either be a responsible citizen of universe and donate the needy ones blood or face their Lenders.

So here he was, with two straws in his hands, each connected with the hands of his human captives and watching ‘Bones in my Grave’ with them.

“Honey?” The wife asked meekly, not wanting to disturb the guest.

“Yes?”

“Mrs. Sharma of the Haunted Flat had coaxed Mr. Sharma to try this particular gig-”, pointing her index finger at the T.V., “the tourists were totally freaked out. They gave up everything to cull the ghost-including a very costly diamond necklace.”

The man did not reply, his coarse white skin dull and unmoving. Both of them had removed their invisibility costumes.

“Honey, are you listening?”

 It took him ages to reply. “Yes, I am.”

“I want to have a diamond necklace.”

“We can’t afford it.”

Millions of men have succumbed to the barrage of grossly insulting and ego-undermining jeers from their respective partners due to that tactless and improper framing of four words. Mr. Pike was no different.

Though, as he was the most tactless of all, he hit out a volley of his own angry arguments about financial crisis and the rising desires of his wife. The wife countered by giving instances of neighbors with better prospects.

Dash, our very own Vampire reporter, was deeply disturbed by this back and forth hankering. He decided to be the interlocutor, and he did so by baring his canines.

Arguments immediately subsided.

From deep calm he became all feral, pointing out to his hosts that he was the one calling the shots. “It’s time you start talking about family history.”

At this point of time readers first must be acclimatized with what did a reporter at Lying Low exactly did. So let me switch to narrative mode.

These were dark times, there is no denying. The universe was reeling under a vicious double cycle of financial meltdown. Robberies and murders were all time high. When the God himself had turned away from humanity, a motley bunch of stock brokers dared impossibility itself. These were the men, and women of course, who were the only ones found happy on the so called ‘Universal Happiness Assessment’ chart and had gained their wealth by playing it short on the stocks. They were lending out the money to the needy governments and poor helpless common man. They, in a manner lifted the world out of crisis that had so twisted the fabric of space and time. News media and common man were all chirpy and bubbly about these new found Messiahs. But their happiness was short lived. The bubble burst.

Of course, they defected. No one could pay at such outrageous interest rates. But they signed the documents while taking the money. They were law bound. What if the law makers themselves defected? These were indeed testing times.

But the lenders always have a way to solve a problem. They brought out a new path-breaking, ground-shattering and magnetic-pole shifting law. They took a weighting scale. On one side they played the defaulter, on other- numbers of smaller denomination of coins equaling the amount he borrowed, then they weighted. If the money side was heavier (which was, in most cases), the defector had a knife prodding his heart. If it weighted less, the defector was a life long slave. So the common man did what he was good at. He borrowed to pay the debt, which themselves were at a higher rate of interest. Well, you seem to be an intelligent reader- you could have imagined their future.

So in this gloomy period, introduced by one of the greatest defaulter of all times (The President of Earth), out came a magazine so downright essential for every house holder that it became an instant bestseller. But like every other great books, it was coded. How could you lie low in a place when the policemen can read the hideout from a book? The guy who created the magazine, also created a help line portal. First of all the website asked you your financial status (which was thoroughly verified by the other defectors, of course). Based on the amount of defection, a secret location, at some co-ordinate in the wide sprawl of universe was advised. You of course had choices, but more serious the debt, more costly and elusive the hideout (they could of course borrow money for that). It all boiled down to money.

So our young gun of a reporter was supposed to find out a new location every time, keeping in mind the demand.

Dash was explaining just that to the unbelieving couple.

“You would be paid of course,” as he remarked between a sip, “all you have to do is give us the information. We won’t burn you during our meetings with your officials as we sort out the number of people that this planet can handle without garnering a suspicious eye.”

“But it is extremely risky.” Mr. Pike said.

Dash looked straight in the eyes of Mrs. Pike, which she found a little unnerving, “Mrs. Pike, with the money we would be paying you can buy at least ten of such diamond necklaces.”

The promise of the glitter was enough to open her mouth, “Mr. Dot, I am not quite sure. If you really deliver what you are promising…”

There were some stifled out arguments from Mr. Pike’s mouth but his mouth was clenched shut by Dash. “Look here Stella, look right through the eyes. Now tell me what do you observe in the eyes of a Dash Dot?”

“Ah…”

“I understand miss, that it’s not your fault, it’s the mythology which has painted us black. Why do you think that almost everyone of the reporters that Lying Low hires is a Vampire? Because they emanate conviction.”

I won’t wager a bet that Vampires emanate conviction, but they sure do emanate pheromones, and Dash Dot was doing just that to woo Mrs. Pike. She yielded.

“Mr. Dot, have you observed the cacti out there and all other animals?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you think they are invisible during the day?”

Now Mr. Pike was furiously shaking.

“Why?”

She sighed heavily; she was giving out her greatest secret. “Because they ooze out a type of liquid which on solidifying obstructs the ultraviolet- all of it, this becomes extremely useful for them rejecting the high intensity of the nebula, curbing water transpiration. But as evening falls, the intensity of the light decreases, and the mechanical efficiency of the so formed solid also degrades, hence revealing the plant. The planet needs sunlight for growth, after all. The non-sentient beings roaming this planet apply the oozing liquid spurting from the cacti on their bodies. And we do the same. We sap it out of them and vulcanize it for its long lasting use. We all were big time defectors and we couldn’t afford you guys. So it came as a boon to us when we, wayfarers, hitch-hikers and space- wanderers continuously who were industriously trying to get rid of the tail, hit upon this planet. The officials welcomed us in but on one condition. Ghosts enhance tourism. We became ghosts. That’s our story.”

Dash smiled his crooked smile, the golden teeth glinting. So that was the whole mystery.

Mr. Pike became sullen once the secret was out.

As he picked on the straw connected to Mr. Pike, Dash remarked, “You really consider me to be a double agent?”

“Of course not,” though his tone did not suggest it.

He slurped on a few more seconds. Then he got up. “Where is the suit, I want to try it on?”

Mr. Pike pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

“But…” Mrs. Pike resisted.

“Don’t worry Mrs. Pike, I won’t damage it.” Wow, it would be lovely to be invisible.

He could now easily wonder why they did not allow False Image Viewer- the secret would be out in no time. Plus they didn’t officially allow Vampires here.

But the fact was this location would easily come on the radar of the lenders. The council won’t think twice before rejecting this place, as there was no apparent safety measure once the secret was out. He sighed. Still he would pitch hard for this place, after all he had a stomach to fill and a body to put clothes on.

He entered the bathroom and bolted it shut. He ran his hands around, patting the hanger. But there was nothing. He slid open the window compartment, it wasn’t stomped on inside.

Mr. Pike was playing a game with him.

No sooner did he think that, he heard a whoosh fill in the bathroom.

He tried the door- it was bolted from outside. “I know what you are trying to do, okay this is just making me ANGRIER.”

He started to cough. The gas was beginning to get on him.

Wow, a high-profile Vampire gets himself caught in someone’s unkempt bathroom.

He had to get himself out of here. They weren’t worried about him trading their secrets to the lenders- they already were with the Lenders. Outside, he heard a quarrel.

“….you should have waited till he gave us money….”

“…you and your diamonds, this business is extremely risky…”

Dark thoughts began filling his mind. Lenders were known to be ruthless in their torturous techniques.

He tried to grip the handle, but he fumbled and crashed down on the ground.

Why the fuck he ever wished to try on the suit?

His mind was drowsy, his eye lids heavy.

The undead slid down to a monotonous unsleep.

Someone whacked him hard across the face. A fat man was staring down at him.

Dash flared his teeth, but instead of inching away the fat man just smiled.

“Good, very good.”

“I will pay your money, let me go,” he tried the most steely voice he could muster. He was feeling less than confident about his being the-greatest-predator image.

The context of the statement might have been valid before humans discovered other sentient beings, but now there were some extremely dangerous and well-toned aliens out there who knew thousand million ways to make you pole dance while you writhe in pain.

“It seems that we have every detail concerning your pertinent little pesky life,” the fat man chuckled. He cleared his throat and rambled about the current state of his finance, his financers, their locations, phone numbers, et cetera, et cetera.

He became pale; this must indeed herald his end. The Lenders have caught him, and the fact that he worked for Lying Low did nothing to bolster a sense of security.

“You might have seen,” the fat man continued, making a wide sweeping gesture with both his hands, “In our colony, we have variegated types of ghosts- but all of them particularly humans.”

What? Where was this man heading? 

“You seem confused Mr. Dash, but let me try to clear your doubt. I am not a lender. I am the Mayor of this place. As Mrs. Pike had already informed you that we have developed perfect suits that turned us invisible and shielded us from rays all the same. We did this, years ago. So why were we lying and not allowing human tourists- after all we have perfected their safety suits and besides they do love a scare? It was because the ghosts all around here were humans and they were less-than-ordinary actors. If they appeared before zombies of Gorgons- not one of them would have a brain larger than the size of microscopic amoeba to catch them red-handed. So we pushed them off in front of gorgons, zombies and a slew of other stupid alienoids to hone their skills. But we have waited so long and now the time has come when they could display their performance in front of fellow humans. Your being here is indeed a monumental occasion for us all. ‘Lying Low’ has in its coffers, precious gems such as you, natural born actors leeching out information from gullible people by either hook or crook.. And though you guys are factory manufactured on Orza, Vampires are hard to come by in this part of the universe. And humans love Vampires”

“What do you want?” The Vampire was all feral.

The fat man smiled.

He sensed them. A cackling, cooing and chirping lot, yup they were.

Sweat might have beaded down his head had it not been for this protective face-suit. But they didn’t allow a full body suit, damn them. He was charcoal black on the rest of his body. And he was nude of course. The Mayor always worried about the effects.

They shouldn’t have put mascara in my eyes.

But they had. But the mask hadn’t rendered his face invisible- his pale white features were enhanced by the coat on his face. The Mayor knew what he was talking about back there about the different types of suits for different purposes.

He could see his life stretch out like this to ad infinitum- he, hidden behind a rock, jumping up on the trying-to-be-happy tourists. They would be scared nuts- seeing his black and white body. Ladies would be oddly attracted by his nudity- he was also supposed to emanate pheromone in full gear. He would further impress them by his ferocity and sharp moves and ask for money (The government would take a cut from this). They would cajole with him, he would threaten to render them undead, and they would yield and give him the money.

He had already bid adieu to his Reporting days.

He sighed. He should better concentrate on this current assignment. Or else they would give a call to his Lender. And no he could not run away.

Come on Dracula, you can do it. Bring it on.