Dimensional Abscesses

By Michell Plested, Jeffrey Hite, Chris Hite and 7 more

Not all portals take you to nice places; some times they lead you to places you never expected. Even worse, you might end up somewhere you definitely didn't want to go...and you might never get home from. Dimensional Abscesses is a collection of ten stories that explore a few of these "bad" portals.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evil Alter Ego Press
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994726612

Michell Plested

Michell Plested has been reading science fiction and fantasy since he was six years old, and writing for almost as long. He is an author, blogger, and podcaster living in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. he writes in multiple genres, spending most of his time with science fiction, fantasy, and YA adventure.He is the host of the writing podcast Get Published, (a 2009 Parsec Finalist) and the science fiction comedy podcast GalaxyBillies, which has been called 'Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy meets Beverley Hillbillies' by his listeners.

Book preview

Dimensional Abscesses

edited by

Jeffrey A. Hite

&

Michell Plested

www.evilalteregopress.wordpress.com

Evil Alter-Ego Press

www.evilalteregopress.wordpress.com

Published by Evil Alter Ego Press

869 Citadel Drive NW

Calgary, AB T3G 4B8

Canada

Dimensional Abscesses, Copyright © 2015 by Jeffrey A. Hite and Michell Plested.

Edited by Jeffrey A. Hite and Michell Plested.

Cover by Jeff Minkevics, copyright © 2015 by Jeff Minkevics.

Special thanks to Julayne Hughes for final, polishing edits.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Print version set in Cambria; titles in Cambria, byline in Cambria.

Published in Canada

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Hite, Jeffrey A.

Dimensional abscesses / Jeffrey A. Hite and Michell Plested.

Electronic monograph issued in EPUB format.

Also issued in print format - August 2015.

ISBN 978-0-9947266-1-2

Introduction

by Jeffrey Hite

What do Sliders, Dr Who, Quantum Leap, and a hole in my kitchen ceiling have to do with each other? Well, normally I would say nothing, but when you add just one more ingredient – a twitter conversation between my alter ego Michell Plested and me – you get an idea about portals to places that you may or may not want to visit. And, like the characters in the shows, sometimes all you want to do is get home.

No, really, that is how it happened. One night, shortly after Michell and I had finished our last anthology, A Method to the Madness: A Guide to the Super Evil, I remarked that we’d had some water damage and that now there was this rather large hole in my kitchen ceiling. Of course, knowing the two of us, you can probably guess what happened next.

Michell: What is right above your kitchen that leaked?

Jeff: The master bathroom. A pipe burst under our sink.

Michell: So it is like a portal to your master bathroom?

Jeff: Technically, it leads to the cabinet under the sink in our master bathroom, but yeah.

Michell: Well, that is someplace you don't really want to end up.

Jeff: You can say that again; giant dust bunnies galore.

Or something like that.

And so the idea was born, and with it a new journey.

Obviously, Michell and I have worked together before. And last time it was a very rewarding experience for me. Since he didn’t stop talking to me as soon as A Method to the Madness was published, I figured I should take that as a good thing and run with it.

This new book is, I hope, the first in a long line of books that Michell and I will get to work on. With Dimensional Abscesses, we also started our own publishing imprint that we are calling Evil Alter Ego Press. We are just getting started on this new endeavor, and while it might be a portal to a place that neither of us know, I think we are going to like it when we get there.

Now, as for Dimensional Abscesses, it has been a lot of fun to work with. First of all, how often do you get to travel to so many alternate dimensions, odd places, the past, the future, and other places that you may or may not get to know along the way, virtually for free? All I had to do was read the stories. Second, I got to come back alive, which is more than I can say for some of the characters. I count that as good thing.

Notice that I didn't say unchanged. This is because, just like the characters in these stories, the places we visit in these stories change us. That is what a good story does for you. It takes you to another place; wraps you in the story right along with the character. So when I read these stories, I laughed, and I cried, and I lived right along with the characters, and just like them, I came away changed. That is my hope for you as well.

This book has been a ton of fun to work on. A lot of long hours and hard work went into it by Michell and me and especially the various authors. But, in my humble opinion, it has been completely worth it, because the end product is something that I am very proud of. I hope that you enjoy Dimensional Abscesses: Stories of Places You Don't Want to Go as much as I have.

Jeff Hite

Introduction

by Michell Plested

Stories and ideas for stories come from everywhere. Anthology ideas are no different. Therefore, it should come as no surprise when I tell you that the idea for this anthology came from a conversation on Twitter between me and my #EvilAlterEgo, Jeffrey Hite.

Jeff was telling me about how a pipe burst in his upstairs bathroom, which resulted in a hole in the ceiling of his kitchen. When I asked him where the hole in his bathroom went (this was after the conversation had been going on for a while), Jeff likely rolled his eyes before responding that it went to the kitchen.

But, where does it go from the kitchen side? I asked innocently. Perhaps it leads to someplace other than your bathroom.

And from there came the idea of a portals anthology.

Initially, we talked about portals in general, but it occurred to us that not just any portals would do. For example, stories already exist where portals take you through a wardrobe to a fantastic magical realm ruled by a large, benevolent lion. Clearly a place many of us would like to travel to.

But what if the portal stories we focused on lead to places no one in their right mind would want to go to?

Jeff and I had already edited one anthology together by this point (A Method to the Madness: A Guide to the Super Evil available from Five Rivers Publishing) and it was a fun challenge. We decided maybe the world was ready for another odd anthology.

Our original title was Portal Under My Sink - and Other Stories of Magical Places You Likely Don’t Want to Go; a bit of a mouthful, I’m sure you will agree. What we settled on was shorter and encompassed more than just the fantasy genre: Dimensional Abscesses with the tagline, A Collection of Stories About Places You Don’t Want to Go.

Not satisfied with the simple challenge of producing an anthology for another press like the last one, we decided to fund this one ourselves under the brand-new imprint, Evil Alter Ego Press. This book represents an entirely new chapter in our writing/editing professional lives.

We have brought together ten stories, sometimes fun, often dark, about portals that lead to places no sane person would willingly travel to. Thank you for making the investment of your time to read our anthology.

Michell Plested

Paradise Out of Order

by Kevin Wohler

The relics in Malcolm's shop hummed with power that only he could hear. When he entered the back door each morning, he felt the items before he saw them. Even before the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling flickered on, each token buzzed to life with power.

As he did on the first of every month, Mal performed an inventory of the items on display in the shop, from books to gems to ingredients. As the only true magic shop in the city, he had a steady stream of regular customers who appreciated the value of what he sold. He also had the occasional visitor who tried to steal him blind — teen shoplifters looking for a thrill or religious zealots trying to do God's work. If only they understood the danger.

Mal walked past the counter and the cash register to the front door. He unlocked the door and pushed the button that lifted the security gate. He whispered a small incantation, then picked up a black rune stone — the real security measure — propped beside the door.

Outside, a light rain fell on the street. Foot traffic passed by at a quick clip as pedestrians moved to escape the weather. Mal watched for a moment to see if anyone would come down the steps to his door. Once a month, Crazy Mary would come in for supplies, and she'd end up hanging around most of the morning, talking about everything from aliens to Isis to John Denver. The rain would keep her home today, though. He felt thankful for the reprieve.

Mal walked through the shop, taking note of low inventory. Now and then, he'd stop to examine an item dripping with residual power. Some drew power from other nearby relics and needed constant attention. Organizing the feng shui in the shop could be a full-time job.

A box of quartz crystals was draining a set of hand-carved fetishes of their power. Mal replaced the crystals with a jar of sand, collected from the desert under the light of a full moon. Having done so, he felt the carved fetishes begin to recharge.

Before he could finish the inventory, Mal was interrupted by his first customer of the day. A young man, no more than nineteen, entered. His head, uncovered, dripped with rain. The light jacket he wore appeared to keep the water off him, but Mal thought it looked too thin for the cold October morning.

The teen shook visibly, his hand still on the door. Is this really a magic shop?

Mal, never one for signs or advertising, had relied on word of mouth to reach potential customers. Besides, a sign that advertised a magic shop would only attract people looking for linking rings and card tricks.

The Village Alchemist, Malcolm Ward, proprietor. With a flourish, he produced a business card as if from thin air and handed it to the young man.

When he reached for the card, the teen relinquished his hold on the door and stepped inside. The door closed behind him, shutting out the weather. Is this for real?

Is anything? asked Mal. The philosophical quip was lost on his customer. When he didn't receive a response, Mal continued. But to answer your question, yes. Real magic. Not illusions. You won't see Penn & Teller in here.

I need help. I met a guy last night who said you might be able to help me.

We don't have love potions or ground rhinoceros horn. If you want that kind of stuff, you'll have to go to Chinatown. Besides, it's all crap.

No, nothing like that. I was told you have a door.

Mal stopped. I've got a few. You just came through one. And if you're asking about what I think you're asking, you can use that same door on your way out.

You have a portal, a Paradisus portal. I need to use it.

You can't. It's… Mal paused to choose his next words carefully. It's not working.

A look of confusion crossed the young man's face. He tensed, as if every muscle in his body had seized up. He banged his fist against a display in the middle of the room. The items on the shelves danced from the impact.

Louder, the kid said, I was told it could take me to my heart's desire.

You have outdated information, said Mal. He walked to the back of the store, positioning himself behind the cash register.

Beneath the counter, he kept a variety of personal security items, the least of which was a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun. Just for emergencies. He didn't think the kid would be a problem, but he didn't like customers who were… insistent. People who wouldn’t take no for an answer tended to make poor life choices.

Sammy said you could help me, said the kid. He had followed Mal to the back of the store but kept a respectful distance.

Mal thought of all his regulars and couldn't imagine who Sammy might be. Second-hand information, no doubt. A friend of a friend. Sorry, uh...

Russell. My name's… Russell.

Look, Russell. Paradisus portals are rare enchantments. Even more rare when they have enough mojo to work. These kinds of objects need a steady stream of energy — pure energy — to keep from turning sour. That's why they usually exist only in nature. You might find one in a pristine forest or in the middle of a desert where no human has set foot in a thousand years. Sometimes they exist where several ley lines cross, using the Earth's own energy to power them. They're getting harder and harder to find.

But you have one, don't you?

"Had. Past tense. Like I said, it takes a steady stream of energy to power them. Without it, the enchantment goes bad and the portal goes…out of order."

The kid looked upset, frustrated, but more than anything he looked heartbroken. Mal expected the kid to lash out at any second and start tearing up the joint. The last thing he imagined was Russell falling to his knees and crying.

Mal rounded the counter and knelt beside him. The kid's tears were lost on his rain-soaked face, but the redness in his eyes suggested this wasn't his first breakdown of the morning.

Hang on, hang on, said Mal. He tentatively put a hand on Russell's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Whatever it is, it's going to be all right. Maybe we can find another way.

I can't. It won't. I've been looking for something for weeks now. Asking around. Russell wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat. Finally met some guy who knew a guy. He said if I gave him a thousand bucks, he could get me the answer.

Mal's stomach clenched as he thought of some scumbag preying on this kid's misfortune. A thousand bucks for bad information. He was conning you, kid.

Mal pulled Russell to his feet and helped him onto a nearby reading chair. Besides, a Paradisus portal can't solve problems. It can only take you places. Sometimes running away seems like an answer, but it rarely is.

I'm not running away, said Russell. I'm trying to save her life.

Mal didn't react right away. He had heard his share of hyperbole from desperate and — frankly — weird customers. Crazy Mary, for instance, repeatedly insisted that ancient aliens who seeded our planet were communicating through her bedside Shrine of Isis and John Denver. Something in the kid's voice, however, made him think this wasn't a lovesick teenager being all emo.

"Okay, you have my attention. Who is she?"

My fiancée, Claire. She died a few weeks ago.

Mal processed this new information, trying to