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In the distance, the onslaught amasses.

I stand shoulder to shoulder with my brothers, girded in the chain mail of freedom and clutching my shield of faith. Behind us lies the fabled city of Tiris Li, a shrine of beauty and hope to multitudes of generations now, it's reign quite likely at an end.

And in the distance, the onslaught begins it's march.

Some say I am a man of constant sorrow, and certainly I feel the weight of impending disaster more so than my comrades. My family has made it's home here for some four hundred years. The history, the spirit, the essence of Tiris Li is threatened by what is to come, and I dread it. The earth will run red with the blood of the pure. The stone of the city will be tainted by the vile hands of the corrupt victors. And years from now, all that will remain will be a blue trail of sorrow.

And in the distance, the onslaught approaches.

I shift my grip on the broadsword and grit my teeth. I know the end is near.

Oh Tiris Li! Such a momument you were! When God dips his pen of love in my heart, it is you he paints! And it is now that I know that there are indeed some emotions that go deeper than crying.

No longer in the distance, the onslaught arrives.

Screams rend the air and the metallic odor of blood wafts on the afternoon breeze. We fight with heart. We fight with the passion and zeal of fanatics. And for just a moment, if I didn't know any better, I would swear we were going to be victorious.

Then the onslaught overruns us.

As afternoon gives way to evening and my broken body lays expiring upon the soft earth, my last visions are of the heavens. I cannot help but wonder....on a day so bleak for my poor Tiris Li, will there be any stars?

Ghosts were not an unusual sight in Spooksville where I lived. We had a mysterious fire in the town five years ago in which hundreds of folks died at the town hall. Ever since then the town had been plagued by ghosts. Most folks like my parents did not want to leave because they had their roots in Spooksville and the ghosts hurt no one, so far that is. But our lives were lived On The Borderline of constant fear.

Old Jafareel sold items that were supposed to serve as protection. I bought a Shield of Faith from him. It was a circular badge with a cross emblem. We were going for a Boy Scout open camp and I was a bit em...scared.

"If I Didn't Know Any Better, Jafareel! Like this junk works!" I said to him. He was a wizened old man with grey hair and a stooping posture.

"Well, there ain't no Ghost In This House" said Jafareel pointing to his house where he hung several of the shields. This was a fact. Jafareel never had ghosts in his house. I was still uneasy when I got home. It seemed a rather dark night for camping.

I turned to my mom, 'Will There Be Any Stars?" I asked. She knew I was scared of venturing out that night.

"Have no fears, Daryl," she said in her tender voice. "I'll Remember You, Love, In My Prayers all night long." I tried to put on a bold face but I was mostly scared of the Midnight Rider. He was the most popular of all the ghosts that appeared often. He always rode a ghost horse and sobbed in a way that was Deeper Than Crying. He sounded eerily like the town Mayor who had died in the inferno. He rode past me one night sobbing and saying, "I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow!!" I had run away as fast as my thin legs could carry me. He often left a blue trail on the ground as he rode his horse. This the town folks called the Blue Trail Of Sorrow.

I was sitting at the desk of my literary agent and editor, Edwin Clark. The conversation was not going too nicely.

"Mr William Shakespeare, I am just saying that you need to step up your tempo a bit. Your first novel 'Shield Of Faith' rocked the entire country and set a standard."

"So did 'Ghost in the House' and 'Will There Be any Stars'!" I said "And these books were in different genres! I do not want to be cast as a Horror novel writer!"

"Mr. Shakespeare, I need to be blunt with you. The quality of your work is declining since you stopped writing Horror books and drifted to Romance."

"Have you ever written a book, Mr. Clark?" I asked

"Yes, I have actually. 'I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow' and "If I didn't Know Any Better." he responded.

"But I heard those were written by ghost writers?" I asked.

"I beg your pardon!!" said Mr. Clark looking incensed. "I wrote them myself. They were not bestsellers but they did fairly well in the market!"

"'My apologies then, Mr. Clark but my mood swings and affects my work. Take 'Deeper Than Crying'. I wrote that a year ago when I met my wife. That was fuelled by my romantic feelings and not horrific nightmares or fears. But it sold better than 'Midnight Rider' which was a horror classic!" I said.

"Mr Shakespeare, my point is that you ride on the crest of your first novel. We are not competing. I am your agent. You are a literary icon. But your niche seems to be in the Horror genre! That's my point."

"I want to write freestyle. I don't want to be typecast.'I'll Remember You, Love, In My Prayers', 'On The Borderline', and 'Blue Trail Of Sorrow' cut across all the genres. They each sold over a million copies. I want to explore all my options. I may eventually settle in a particular genre but not now."

"From 25 million copies of your first book sold, you are now happy with just a million copies, Mr. Shakespeare?"

"Thank you, Clark. High sales is good but I want to to reach everyone. I want to talk about love like the 'Marshall Matt Dillion and Sunshine Babe Series'. My wife likes romantic books. But you just gave me an idea for another romantic novel. I will call it, 'When God Dips His Pen Of Love In My Heart'".

One day on Halloween night a magical mystery tour guide had arrived. I felt something in my spirit he was about six feet away on the long and winding road. Music! Music! Music! he called. A blackbird flew on his shoulder. Run for your life my mind said. Then I looked up. He was the Monster Mash, Eyes without a face. If only I had a brain I thought I might run away. Then his blood started streaming down my face. He had struck. He started to strike a little boys neck. It was a ghost. He killed the little boy just as violent as it could be but then all of a sudden I felt something grab my neck he was going for me! He was holding my neck I started to turn blue he punched me in my face. He hung me on a tree used me as a dartboard and drowned me under the stream. The ghost has struck again. If only I had run away. I was dead. I knew it he lifted me up put a knife in my side and only water came out. Byebye me on that haloween night that was such a fright.

“Okay, Midnight Rider,” Bucky began, tightening his harness, “We’re almost on the borderline. I’ve got my super-charged Shield of Faith and the Hallowed Sword of Gruznorg IV with me, so we can’t lose!”

“Will there be any stars?”

“What?”

“Will there be any stars? I can’t enjoy my Lucky Charms if I don’t have any of those nice marshmallowy stars in it.”

Bucky stared incredulously at Midnight Rider, who only looked back at him somberly. Hundreds of feet below, the New Mexico landscape fled by in a blur.

“If I didn’t know any better,” said Bucky, gazing ahead to the moonlit horizon, “I’d say you’re more preoccupied with breakfast than you are in this deadly mission.”

“I am a man of constant sorrow,” said Midnight Rider solemnly, crossing his arms against his spandex-wrapped chest, “sometimes it’s the little things that pick you up. Like happy, marshmallowy, stars in your bowl –“

“TARGET AHEAD!” cracked the helicopter’s PA system.

“We’ll chat cereal later,” grumbled Bucky, as the ominous silhouette of the Black Forest Mesas appeared. The next instant, the duo leapt from the chopper, and parachuted deep into enemy territory.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

“Sir, sensors are picking up two paratroopers advancing on our compound,” announced a monitor. “Shall I activate the red alert?”

Lord Gallenfrock leaned over and seethed at the two blips on the screen. “Probably Midnight Rider and his sidekick Bucky,” he grumbled. “No…don’t alarm the troops. I’ll take care of this myself. Before long, you can expect at least one more ghost in this house.”

After Lord Gallenfrock left the ready room with his Enchanted Baseball Bat of Mega-Hurt, the monitor leaned over to his colleague and gushed. “I LOVE it when he talks that way, it’s even deeper than crying!”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

No sooner than Midnight Rider and Bucky hit the main mesa, then all hell broke loose.

“I’ll…. remember… your …love ….in…my….PRAYERS!” screamed Lord Gallenfrock, with every swing of his bat against Midnight Rider’s helmet. The deluge of heavy smacks caused the man to see sweet, happy, marshmallowy stars.

Bucky attempted to hit the villain with a swinging side-kick, just as he’d seen Chuck Norris do it on so many reruns of “Walker, Texas Ranger”. But the youth only missed and went teetering over a cliff.

“Bucky!” screamed Midnight Rider.

“Oh cripes!” screamed Lord Gallenfrock.

“You kids keep it down,” yelled a neighbor lady, “The Bachelor season finale’s on!!”

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

That following morning, at the hospital, Bucky awoke to the smiling faces of Midnight Rider and Lord Gallenfrock.

“My word, what are you two both so happy about?”

“Well,” began Midnight Rider, “that you’re alive, for starters. And also, the hospital cafeteria has Lucky Charms!”

“We are now friends,” continued Lord Gallenfrock, patting Midnight Rider on his bandage-wrapped head. “It was silly for us to continue our games of espionage and deceit. Especially since tomorrow’s a school day.”

Bucky grinned. “I’m so glad you two have ended what I’ve always considered a long, dour, blue trail of sorrow. You know, when God dips his pen of love in my heart, there’s no way he’s gonna run out of ink.”

“Actually, I send emails now,” retorted a thunderous voice from above.

“Wanna shoot some hoops after you’re released?” said Lord Gallenfrock, looking strangely normal without his cape and horned helmet.

“Indeed,” said Bucky, rising to his feet. “I still keep the ol’ ball tucked right here in my back pocket.”

“Hmmm, that would explain the issue with the bedpan,” mused a nurse.

In the gale of laughter that followed, no one noticed old Mrs. Jergens stealing the Lucky Charms.

“You might want to rethink your actions,” warned the thunderous voice.

"Oh poo," snapped Mrs. Jergens, "all I want are the four-leafed clovers..."

END

okay i'm in!

♥ fun stuff!

(4) "I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow" said the inebriated hobo as he lay atop the storm grate in the centre of town, clutching his bottle of JD not so cleverly disguised in the dirty, crumpled, brown paper bag.

He looked up at me, as i stood nervously on the corner, waiting for the stoplight to turn green.

"You know, woman," he said with a half-grin that both intrigued me and made me slightly afraid, " I used to be a (8) Midnight Rider, (9) On The Borderline of the (10) Blue Trail Of Sorrow riding the L train to places you ain't never seen...."

"Oh wow, really?" I answered nervously, hoping he'd keep his distance. I was now standing downwind from the odiforus scent of the innercity vagabond's standard bodily cologne of putresence.

He continued, "Yes ma'am. But then they came," he said pointing to absolutely nothing. I squinted my eyes in an attempt to see what it was that he was indicating with his long, grimy pinky finger that had a nail so long you could dig graves with it.

"Um..... i don't see anything," I started, but he interrupted with a hostility that made me even more nervous than before as he shouted an irrelevant expletive and "There! There's a (2) Ghost In This House!"

(5) "If I Didn't Know Any Better," I said, "I'd think you were imagining things. I don't see....."

Then he interrupted again with an obnoxiously erie and long stint of laughter. "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA" he chuckled boiseterously.

Before i could say another word he said, "You wanna survive in the city woman? Then listen here...." Then he proceded to give me what i assumed was supposed to be advice with the truest of intentions from somewhere inside that drunken homely head of his.

He said, "♫♫ All the old paintings on the tomb They do the sand dance, dont'cha know? If they move too quick (Oh-Way-Oh) They're falling down like a domino....♫♫ "

"What?" I said quizzically; staring at him in bewildermint.

He continued oblivious to my interjection. "♫♫ All the bazaar man by the Nile He got the money on a bet Gold crocodiles (Oh-Way-Oh) They snap their teeth on a cigarette Foreign types with their hookah pipes sing: Way-oh-way-oh-way-ooo-aaa-ooo... Walk like an Egyptian.♫♫ "

Before i could utter another word, he pointed again with his grotesquely soiled finger at the quaint cafe across the street, and continued on with his now seemingly familiar rant. "♫♫ The blonde waitresses take their trays They spin around and they cross the floor. They've got the moves (Oh-Way-Oh) You drop your drink then they bring you more.♫♫ "

Then motioning towards the bustop he said, "♫♫ All the school kids so sick of books They like the punk and the metal band When the buzzer rings (Oh-Way-Oh) They're walking like an Egyptian. All the kids in the marketplace say: Way-oh-way-oh-way-ooo-aaa-ooo... Walk like an Egyptian.♫♫ "

"Um........... I've got the green light " I began to say, indicating that i needed to go. I was slightly amused at his knowlege of 80's punk in additon to the fact that he could recall nearly every line for someone so obvioulsy intoxicated, but i was anxious to discontinue the conversation as quickly as possible.

He began whistling as I started to cross the intersection, and then he hollered towards me amazingly on key, "♫♫ Slide your feet up the street, bend your back, Shift your arm, then you pull it back Life's hard ya know (Oh-Way-Oh) So strike a pose on a Cadillac....♫♫ " he added.

Crazy and drunk or not, he had won me over. I walked back over towards him and sang, "♫♫ If you want to find all the cops, They're hanging out in the donut shop. They sing and dance (Oh-Way-Oh) They spin their clubs, cruise down the block...♫♫ "

Hearing the very loud harmony between myself and the bum, a passing transvestite chimed into our hillariously inappropriate chorus singing along, "♫♫ All the Japanese with their Yen The party boys call the Kremlin and The Chinese know (Oh-Way-Oh) They walk the line like Egyptians...♫♫ "

The three of us finished up our spontaneous song brought on by the drunken hobo's excecively diseased but musically inclined brain, and danced on the sidewalk as we bellowed, "♫♫ All the cops in the donut shops say: Way-oh-way-oh-way-ooo-aaa-ooo... Walk like an Egyptian Walk like an Egyptian. ♫♫ I said, Way-oh-way-oh-way-ooo-aaa-ooo... Walk like an Egyptian Walk like an Egyptian....♫♫ ♫♫ "

Then we realised everyone was staring at us and slighly embarassed we quickly ended our trio and said a fast goodbye to one another. "Erm, see ya," I said to the transvestite. "By doll face," he said with a flick of his wrist.

As I began to cross the street again, the very entertaining vagrant raised his voice slightly and said to me, (7) " I'll Remember You, Love, In My Prayers."

"Yeah, okay thanks, you too," I said with a smile.

The End.♥♫♫ ♥