Horror, Humor, and Heroes 2: New Faces of Fantasy

By Jim Bernheimer

Inside are thirteen stories handpicked to entertain, amuse, and provoke from the editor who brought you the original Horror, Humor, and Heroes. This mixture of Urban and Traditional fantasy will appeal to fans of both genres.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Bernheimer
• Release date: Dec 15, 2010
• ISBN: 9781466178892

Jim Bernheimer

Thanks for visiting my profile. I'm a writer of fantasy, horror, and science fiction. Horror, Humor, and Heroes is my first published collection. Dead Eye: Pennies for the Ferryman is currently the highest rated novel on Smashwords.Visit my website at www.jimbernheimer.com.

Book preview

Horror, Humor, and Heroes

Volume II

New Faces of Fantasy

Edited by

Jim Bernheimer

Smashwords Edition

Anthology Copyright © 2010 by EJB Networking, Inc

Each individual author retains the copyright to his or her stories in this anthology.

Cover design by Fiona Hsieh.

Visit her online gallery at http://chaoslavawolf.deviantart.com

Book design by Jim Bernheimer and Ted Vinzani.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Visit the editor’s website at http://www.JimBernheimer.com

Dedication and Acknowledgements

This anthology is the product of many hours of hard work. I freely admit to underestimating how much time was actually involved in this venture when I first conceived it.

Naturally, my family always gets top billing. Kim, Laura, and Marissa—the three of you make everything I do worthwhile.

Next, there are the wonderful authors and the excellent cover artist. Thanks for seeing this through with me. I’m proud of each and every story in this anthology and am confident that it will entertain the readers. Your diligence has already made this offering a success. I’d also like to thank the folks at the Permuted Press forums for all the tips and also David Wood at Gryphonwood Press for all his support.

Finally, thanks to all the readers. You folks are who got us here in the first place.

Table of Contents

Pest Control

by J. B. Vote

Maiden Quest

by Clell Harmon

Forever Young

by Keith McComb

Boomerang

by Matthew Schocke

Fate’s Apprentice

By Brian James

The Quantum Garage Mechanic

by Ted Vinzani

Upon Crystal Shores

by Joe Ducie

The Wild Field

by Susan Nance Carhart

Scarecrow

by Anne B. Walsh and Britnee Bloschichak

Dryad

by Tom P. Arachtingi

Incarnations of Empathy

by P. R. S.

My Mace Craves Blood

by Jim Bernheimer

Hell’s Recruiter

by Heather Sinclair

Pest Control

by J. B. Vote

Mark had just entered a magical time in a young boy’s life. On the very cusp of manhood, his entire future laid out before him. Best of all, there was nothing productive he had to do until university started at the end of September. It was his last chance to have a carefree summer. For a boy who’d spent the majority of his high school existence asleep at the back of the classroom, it was the final opportunity to slack off before being dragged kicking and screaming into adulthood.

Things were going great until his mother brought the whole thing crashing down with one little request. She wanted him to get a summer job.

Despite the objections he had raised, his mother was adamant. And due to his lack of qualifications and experience, the only place that would give him an interview was a one-man pest control company.

The roads were surprisingly clear on the drive to the city, meaning that he arrived much earlier than originally planned. This turned out to be a good thing because the address he was given did not seem to exist and he was forced to drive up and down the street for fifteen minutes until he found the right building. It was a small ramshackle affair with a sagging roof squeezed into a narrow alley between two larger and newer structures.

The door creaked when he pushed it open and he stepped into a dimly lit room that smelled of old paper, garlic, and stale cigarettes. A thick layer of dust covered every surface. Sitting behind a desk was a grizzled old man that looked as if he was made up of nothing but wrinkles and scar tissue. Whadda you want?

I’m here about the job? Mark was inordinately proud of the fact that his voice didn’t crack.

You are, huh? Let me see your hand. Mark’s prospective employer seized his arm with a vice like grip and felt around for a few moments with two fingers. Alright, you seem qualified.

What do you mean? Mark stammered. It was becoming sadly apparent that he hadn’t been firm enough when he’d objected to this whole stupid job idea.

You got a pulse, you’re hired. The old man grinned widely revealing a set of tobacco stained teeth. Welcome to the worst job you’ll ever have and may god have mercy on your soul.

Great, my name is…

I’d just as soon not know, the geezer cut him off. Easier that way.

What?

I go through assistants so quickly, it’s easier if I don’t know your name.

Oh, job must be tougher then I thought. Which made the chances of him keeping it drop precipitously. Dull and difficult were two words Mark tried to keep out of his vocabulary.

It’s not that the job is very demanding, it’s that a lot of people can’t handle it. The old man gave another toothy grin. Set some traps up yesterday night, why don’t you come along to check them with me?

I’m not really dressed for it, Mark murmured, glancing down at his Sunday best.

One of my last assistants left a set of coveralls, why don’t you see if they fit you? Best see if you have the guts to do the job right off.

He struggled into the all covering garment and followed the old man out a side door into a garage containing a rusted out hulk with a faded ‘Pest Control, Odd Jobs Only’ written on the side.

Hop in, the old man ordered as he levered himself through the driver’s side door.

Skeptical that the old van would even run, Mark slid into the passenger seat and tried to prepare himself for the horror that was gainful employment. He had no idea of what he was getting into.

The geriatric didn’t say a word as he guided the four-wheeled death trap out of the city and down a dizzying array of country roads before finally pulling to a stop next to a weathered barn.

After applying the parking brake, the old man handed a small vial to his prospective assistant. Put a bit of this on your hands and rub it in good.

What is it? he asked. Mark stepped out of the van onto the barnyard’s hard packed soil. The unfamiliar smells of hay and manure tickled his nostrils along with a hundred others. It was all new to a boy from the suburbs that had never gotten closer to livestock than the butcher shop.

Garlic oil. Come on. Normally don’t bother going after these unless I’m being paid but it’s one of the easiest ways to introduce a newbie to the business, the old man grumbled, entering the barn.

He took the bottle from the old man and dropped it into the chest pocket of his borrowed overalls. Going after what?

See for yourself, the old timer suggested with a wave towards an empty stall. His eyes fixed on the boy.

Slowly, carefully, he crept up to peer into the gloom. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, the caged creature slowly began to take shape. It had a large protruding snout, curled horns, and it was covered in matted black hair. A loud footfall caused the thing to wake up. The now snarling creature bared its fangs and glared at him with two malevolent red eyes.

Holy god, what in the hell is that thing? Mark gasped.

Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. That thing is what’s known as a chupacabra, it’s Spanish for…

I know what it’s Spanish for, he said shrilly. But it can’t be real, they just… tell me that this is some sort of joke you play on the new guy, he demanded. Tell me.

Wish I could, the old man said carefully. Wish it was all a big joke, but I can’t and it isn’t.

Shit. Mark seemed to collapse. Where do they come from?

They’re vampire goats. At least you’re asking questions, lad. That’s a good sign. Not sure of the mechanics of how they’re created.

Are there human vampires too? he demanded. The whole world seemed to spin as he waited for the old man to reply. Well?

Yes, agreed the veteran exterminator.

Shit. He took several calming breaths. That’s the job then? Supernatural creatures are why it’s so dangerous and why you go through so many assistants?

Afraid so, the old man agreed. Not the best job in the world, but the work is steady enough to make a living at it.

You expect me to help you hunt vampires and werewolves and—

I don’t go after werewolves, the old man interjected, bringing the rant to an early end.

What?

Said, I don’t go after werewolves, he enunciated slowly.

Why not? It felt a bit silly to be having this conversation.

Well, for one thing you can only really hunt them a couple nights a month and that’s when they’ve got all the advantages like super strength, regeneration, what not. Rest of the time they’re as normal as you and me, not to mention the fact that you kill one then and you just committed murder.

Oh. That actually made a surprising amount of sense a little piece of his brain, the one part that wasn’t panicking, told the rest.

And then there’s the fact that I’ve got a silver allergy. Risking my life is one thing, risking a rash is something else entirely.

A rash? Mark giggled at the sheer absurdity of worrying about a rash after finding out that nightmares are real.

Really bad one, his prospective boss agreed. Break out in hives and everything. Looked like this one might work out after all. Did you remember to rub garlic oil on your hands like I told you to?

Uh, I’m meeting a girl later, he said a bit uncomfortably and he was fairly sure that she wouldn’t like her date to reek of garlic. Why?

The other man’s wrinkly face twisted into an evil grin as he brought his hand down quickly to thump the cage. Just asking. He thumped and shook the cage a few more times. Ready?

For what? Mark asked nervously. There was something about the other man’s demeanor that he didn’t like, something that promised both pain and humiliation.

For this. The old man opened the cage. What happened next was predictable. The thing darted on the cage and latched onto the fleshy part of the boy’s hand.

Get it off me, Mark squealed. Get it off, get it off, get it off, his voice becoming shriller and more panicked as the thing bit harder and harder.

Hold still, the old man commanded. He bent down and retrieved a large stick from the floor of the barn. His first swing missed, making a meaty thunk as he impacted on Mark’s arm. He swung and missed several more times before the boy made his displeasure clear.

Stop hitting me, Mark squealed, ducking another swing.

Then hold still, the old man replied sharply, punctuating his command with another blow to the arm.

Eventually, Mark managed to calm down and hold still long enough for the old man to brain the odd creature with the makeshift club. The old man then pried the creature’s jaws open to release Mark’s hand then dumped half a bottle of iodine into the bleeding wound, smiling at the boy’s anguished groan. Pain was, and remained the best teacher in the world.

Mark didn’t say a word as he climbed into the passenger seat. The old man shot a couple nervous glances at the boy as they drove towards the next trap site. This was it. This was when he’d find out if he’d get a new assistant or if he’d need to run the ad for another week.

Am I gonna turn into a vampire now? Mark asked in a hollow voice, breaking the silence. That was the way things worked in the movies after all wasn’t it? Get bitten by a vampire and you become one, or was that how mummies worked? The boy cursed his lack of interest in horror films as he waited nervously for the old man’s answer.

Not unless you drink its blood, the other man replied, his tone betraying none of the relief he was feeling. The old man scratched his chin. Well, I think anyway. Left open was the question of how the chupacabras reproduced. One would think it would be difficult to make a goat drink blood.

What do you mean, you think? Mark growled.

Hard to tell with these things, the old man admitted. I’m no expert you know. Do know one thing.

What’s that? Mark asked sourly.

In the future, you’ll use the garlic oil. Just tell people you work with food if anyone asks, the old man advised. Or I suppose that you could tell them the truth and pretend it’s all a joke.

I think I hate you.

I get that a lot. The old man laughed, this prospect was looking better and better.

They checked another half a dozen traps before getting to the end of the line and while they were in driving, the old man had taken the opportunity to lecture a bit on the particular risks that the job entailed.

You know, Mark declared as they checked the last trap of the day. I noticed something.

What’s that? The old man asked, the boy was looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

Well, Mark said, happy that the last trap contained one of the other creatures. I noticed that you didn’t put any garlic oil on your hands earlier. He gave the cage a solid kick. The boy’s lips formed a smile, anticipating the sweet taste of revenge.

You noticed that, huh? The old man’s face was expressionless. How interesting.

Isn’t it just? Mark agreed, opening the cage. From Mark’s perspective, what happened next was quite unfortunate since the thing darted out of the cage and immediately latched onto his left ankle. Muther Fukerrg, he cursed through clenched teeth.

Put the garlic oil on my hands earlier today, the old man explained calmly. Also put it on my shoes to prevent ankle bites, that’s lesson two. He did his best to keep the smile off his face. The more time he spent around the kid, the better his prospects looked.

Get it off, get it off, get it off, Mark yelped, kicking wildly in hopes of dislodging the beast.

Do it yourself, the old man called back. Shouldn’t be any trouble for you, I already showed you how once.

After a few false starts, Mark pinned the creature between a rock and his rapidly swelling leg. Once, twice, thrice, his right foot came up and then down onto the thing’s skull with as much force as he could muster, covering his legs and feet with spattered blood and brain matter.

What did we learn today? The veteran monster hunter prompted, doing his best not to laugh at the way his apprentice was trying to scrape the blood of his ruined shoes.

We learned that I really do hate you, Mark snapped back.

No, the old man disagreed. We learned that age and treachery beats youth and treachery every time. Give the boy a few years though and he’d be great. You remember where I keep the iodine, right?

Mark spent the ride back to the office in sullen silence, more than a bit put out that the old bastard had gotten one over on him and half convinced that he was losing his grip on reality. Do I have the job? He asked, fearing the answer and not sure if he was more afraid of hearing a yes or a no.

I don’t know, the other man hedged. It’s not that you’re a bad kid. It’s just… well, I don’t know if you have what it takes to do this sort of work.

What’s that supposed to mean? Mark demanded. Indignant at the implication that he wasn’t good or smart enough to do anything he wanted to. The concept of failure was something his parents and teachers had always been careful to insulate him from.

Means that even a mentally challenged chimp would have had the sense not to rile up that thing the way you did, the old man laughed. You might have the guts, but I’m not sure you have the smarts. You just don’t have what it takes.

You take that back, Mark growled. All he could think of was making the old man eat his words. He’d show the old bastard, he’d be the best damned monster exterminator that ever lived.

Make me, the old man goaded. He almost felt guilty for doing this, almost. It was quite fortunate that his conscience had withered away after years of disuse and neglect.

Give me the job, and let me prove I have what it takes, Mark challenged. I’ll show you I can do it.

I’m sure this is a bad idea. He let out a slow breath. Why not, just understand that you’re on probation. One mistake and you’re gone. A sad fact of life in a job where one false move was often fatal.

You won’t regret this, Mark promised.

You will, was the ominous response.

Hard as it is to believe, humans can adapt to almost anything and even hunting monsters became routine after a couple weeks of doing it every day. The pair would spend most of their time hanging around the office waiting for a call. The rest of the time, they’d be on the job doing something dirty, disgusting, and dangerous.

Mark was just putting the finishing touches on his crossword when the old man walked into the room. Come on, the old man barked. We’re going.

We got a job? Mark asked in a daze, his mind still fixed on trying to find a nine-letter word for ink exam.

Field trip, the old man replied. We’re off to visit a couple of my former assistants.

The Johnny Cash CD looped three times before the old man pulled the van to a slow stop at a T-intersection. Mark quickly homed in on the large sign informing the world that a quick left turn would have them at the Hamlet brewery.

Were going to the brewery? Mark asked hopefully. Visions of malty beverage danced in his head.

No, we’re going the other way, the old man said roughly.

Other way? Mark squinted at the sign. The state mental hospital? They work there?

No, they don’t, the old man dropped the statement like a bomb and the mood in the van was well and truly dead after that point. The old man pulled the van into an open space and motioned for the boy to follow him into the large imposing edifice.

Good morning, Agnes, the old man greeted the receptionist warmly. How are you doing today? Never hurt to be polite to the people that might someday be administering his care if everything went bad.

Can’t complain, she replied. Least I’m inside and out of the sun. Here to visit?

Yep, the old man agreed. Me and the new one here. He pointed his chin at the boy.

Picking out his bed already? she cackled. Sorry, but it’s gotta be a record the way two of your employees came here one month after the other.

Just goes to show that I’m a lousy judge of character, the sexagenarian sighed.

Here you go, she said, sliding two visitors’ passes across the counter. You know the rules, keep them pinned to your clothes and above the waist at all times.

And I need to hand over my pocket knife now and you’ll give it back to me when I leave, the old man finished with a smile. He placed a slim bone handled jackknife on the counter.

That’s right, she agreed.

The old man chatted with the receptionist for a few minutes before saying his goodbyes and tracing the familiar route down the hall and to the nearest bank of elevators.

What’s the point of this visit? Mark asked as they rode the elevator up, needing something to help keep his mind away from the inane Muzak playing in the background.

A smart man learns from his mistakes, a genius learns from other people’s mistakes, his boss pronounced with Zen like serenity.

What’s that supposed to mean? Mark demanded, confused by the pseudo philosophical reply.

Means we’re here to see how intelligent you are.

The elevator let them out into a short hallway with a pair of sturdy looking doors at the other end. The old man walked up to the door and hit a button set into one side of the frame.

Look at the camera and hold up your visitors pass, the veteran monster exterminator ordered.

The door buzzed and when they opened it they were met by a white coated doctor and a couple large orderlies.

Admirable the way you come visit them, the doctor greeted them. Even their families have stopped coming. Many of them do when they realize that there isn’t much hope that their loved ones will ever be normal again.

Feel like I owe it to them, the old man said honestly. Can we see Tom first?

Of course, the doctor agreed. Right this way.

They fell into step behind him. How is he?

No change, the doctor replied. They stopped in front of a large thick door and the doctor motioned for one of the orderlies to open it. I’d rather not have you go in if you don’t mind.

That’ll be fine, the old man agreed. He turned to his new assistant. Take a look, he whispered. This is why you get to keep your job.

Mark peeked in and saw a screaming man a bit older then he was strapped to a table. Veins popped out on the unfortunate’s neck and his arms were covered in deep scratch marks.

Some folks aren’t bothered too much by the thought of the supernatural, the old man said softly, too low for the others to hear. And some folks are. He is. You aren’t.

Ready to see the other one? the doctor asked, he and the rest of the staff were well versed on how to conduct the tour.

Yeah, the old man agreed. Let’s go.

The doctor took them down the hall and opened another door. Peter, he said softly. You’ve got guests.

Mark looked in to find that it was almost identical to the previous room, right down to the man strapped to the bed. Although, this one seemed to be a lot more coherent then the last one.

It’s real, the man shouted. It’s all real. Vampires, werewolves, everything. You know don’t you? His eyes were wild and desperate. You were there. Tell them what you’ve seen. Tell them I’m not crazy!

Of course, the old man agreed. No problem. Uh, could we have a word in the hall, doctor?

Worst case of delusions I’ve ever seen, the doctor pronounced gravely. Nothing we try seems to shake his belief that supernatural creatures are real and living among us.

Sad, the old man agreed. I always thought he was joking when he talked about hunting monsters. When I was his age I used to pretend that I was an explorer in the Amazon looking for new specimens, had to do something to get through the day. Just figured that he just wanted a bit of excitement in his life and had a good imagination. Maybe if I hadn’t humored him…

Then he might have gotten violent, the doctor replied. They often do when you question their version of reality. It’s best not to think about what ifs.

Thank you, doctor. The old man put on his coat. Come on, boy, we’re leaving.

Mark didn’t say anything until they were safely in the van and out the front gates. What happened to him?

Two months on the job and wonder boy back there decided to tell the world about what we did. He gathered a couple reporters, a biologist from the local university, and the chief of police up for a meeting, then revealed everything.

What happened?

You remember how I said that some folks couldn’t handle learning that creepy crawlies are real?

Yeah? Mark agreed.

Well some of the folks that can don’t know when to keep their damned mouths shut, the old man barked. Fact that you haven’t said anything shows that you have a measure of sense, just thought I should show you that you made the right choice.

I didn’t think anyone would believe me, Mark confessed. And the thought that they might lock him up had also crossed his mind, nice to see that his instincts hadn’t led him astray.

They wouldn’t have, his boss confirmed. Not without evidence anyway. Now you know what happens to people that have evidence.

Yeah, Mark responded morosely. Now I know.

One more stop and then we should be able to knock off early, the old man promised. So long as we don’t get an emergency call before we lock up the office of course.

Where are we going?

To visit my last assistant, the sexagenarian rasped. The one you replaced.

Lost in thought, neither exterminator said a word the van rolled to a stop under a large willow tree on the edge of the cemetery.

Does he work here? Mark asked, hoping the boss would nod his head, knowing he wouldn’t.

No. Thought it might be nice to have an example of why you should be careful. Walk this way.

They came to a stop in front of a freshly dug grave a short time later and the old man removed his ball cap. Shudda brought flowers, he muttered. Anyway, now you know the job. It’s dangerous, the pay sucks, and you’ll be locked up if you ever tell anyone what you actually do. But I like to think we’re doing something that needs to be done."

Having paid their respects, they turned away from the tombstone and walked back to the van. Arriving they found a man in a cheap gray suit patiently waiting by the passenger door.

Detective Bern. The man pulled a badge out of his pocket and flashed it at them. My partner would like to have a word with you.

Wait in the van, the old man suggested. He walked across the street and leaned down to stick his head into the police car’s open passenger window. Jasper.

Have a seat.

The old man opened the door and slid into the patrol car. What seems to be the problem?

Thought I should tell you that I’m here to take a report on someone digging up the fresh graves and making off with the bodies, the officer explained. Just in case it has something to do with your business.

Any number of things it could be, he said thoughtfully.

And I’d rather not know what any of them are, the officer cut him off. If it’s all the same to you.

Not a problem, was there anything else?

Two more things.

Shoot.

The policeman reached into his pocket and emerged with a small laminated card. Arranged a concealed carry permit for your new victim, had a friend in the Sheriff’s department speed things up for you.

Obliged. He took the card and shoved it into his breast pocket. What was the other thing?

Wife’s been after me to invite you to dinner, Jasper replied with a grin.

Gimme a call and we’ll set something up. He opened the door and stepped out of the car. Always a pleasure, Jasper.

Take care of yourself. The policeman watched as the exterminator walked away, he really hated dealing with the supernatural. It just wasn’t natural.

What was that about? Mark asked, after they’d pulled onto the main road.

Most every police officer’s run across something odd, same goes for firemen, paramedics, and anyone that’s ever worked graveyard shift, the old man explained. Majority do their best to ignore it, a few don’t.

Why don’t they deal with it? Mark demanded.

It’s their job to enforce the law. We don’t write tickets and they don’t deal with the odder side of life, it’s how things work. He let the kid mull over everything until they were back in the office. Gonna stick around?

Yeah, for now anyway, the boy agreed. There was a certain appeal to knowing things the general public wasn’t privy to, even if he never could talk about it without being locked up for the rest of his life. Must be how spies felt, he reflected.

Then I suppose we better get you outfitted. The two important things that you’ll always want to have on you are armor and a weapon. Offense and defense.

What do you mean about defense?

The old man pulled a large cardboard box off the shelf and put it on his desk. I know a guy that makes motorcycle gear, he explained. Now for us, getting into a fight means that we’ve made a big mistake and things have gone to hell. Still, doesn’t hurt to be prepared now does it?

I suppose not, Mark agreed. He looked into the box and found that it contained a heavy reinforced leather jacket with strange runes printed on the back. What are these?

Mystic runes that just might give me a few more seconds to escape if everything goes to hell, the old man replied. I take my safety very seriously.

Don’t you mean give us a few extra seconds to escape? Mark corrected.

Sure, the old man agreed. Why not?

Mark pulled the coat out of the box and tried it on. It’s too big.

You’ll grow into it, veteran exterminator pronounced. He hoped so anyway. Pair of gloves in the right pocket, I’d wear them when you’re on the job, unless you like the idea of losing fingers. Might be a good idea to get a pair of steel toed boots to protect your feet and maybe some knee pads and shin guards from the welding store.

Let’s move onto offense. It’s the best defense after all.

The old man reached under his jacket and pulled out a heavy meat cleaver. Pick ‘em up at the Chinese market, he explained. "Dollar a dozen and

Reviews for Horror, Humor, and Heroes 2

[krau0098 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I got this book from the author directly in exchange for an honest review :-) This is a great collection of stories that vary widely but focus on mainly urban fantasy and sci-fi stories with a touch of humor. Story length varies from very short (a couple pages) to novella size (a 70 page novella).There are thirteen stories in this book, along with a preview of Bernheimer's new book "Battle Maidens". As I said the stories vary widely, most of them were really well done. "Confessions of a 'D-List' Supervillain" was the novella and was great; it is about a low rank supervillian who has to save the world from mind altering bugs who are trying to take over the world. I also liked "Cookie?" in which a toddler teams up with a supernatural force to make cookies in her Easy Bake oven that people will do anything for. Then there was "Reality Bites!" in which a vampire tries to take on an insurance company to get his death benefit, which was also good. I enjoyed "Lieutenant Armchair"; in which we get to watch soldiers struggle in an America filled with animals of more than gigantic proportions. "Charlie Horse" was another enjoyable story that dealt with zombies being used as a power source, I loved the irony in this one.Really almost every story in this book was interesting. The only one I thought was a bit weak was the first story "The Wolf's Cry" which had some awkward sounding dialogue.Bernheimer did a great job changing the tone of his writing to match the wide variety of characters in his stories. The writing was easy to read and really propelled the reader forward; in most of the stories the dialogue was witty and funny. Bernheimer writes especially good action scenes and does a good job of taking a creative idea and making it into a great short story. Most of the humor was of the ironic kind or slightly dark; I enjoyed it a lot.There are some really short stories in here, only a couple pages long. I am always interested in these types of stories because short stories are hard to write and make complete. Bernheimer did an excellent job of putting a lot into these short stories, they are very well put together, the writing is concise and no space is wasted. I was impressed with how much story he conveyed in such a small amount of space.In general I really enjoyed this collection of stories and was glad I read it. I also have Bernheimer's book "Pennies for the Ferryman" which I plan on reading shortly and I am looking forward to reading it. If you are a fan of urban fantasy, humorous sci-fi, fantasy, superheroes, short stories, zombies or just speculative fiction in general, I would pick up this book. It is a fun read and there are a lot of creative stories in here. I look forward to reading more of Bernheimer's work in the future.