Luminaria: Tales of Earth and Oran, Love and Revenge

By K.H. Mezek

"Rey does not disdain or deny the spirit. He would like to think he embraces it. But the reality is that it fills him with fear. It's the only thing that makes him afraid. He's afraid of me. But this he would never admit."

1980's Los Angeles. All eyes are on the world premiere of Moon Wars, adapted from the hit science fiction nov

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terror House Press, LLC
• Release date: Sep 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781951897581

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Praise for Luminaria

"K.H. Mezek’s novel is one of the most unique you’ll find out there today. Don’t open it expecting a conventional story. Luminaria is in a genre of its own." — T.J. Martinell, author of The Song of Wulfgar and The Pilgrim’s Digress

"In Luminaria, K.H. Mezek introduces us to Lana, a character who pays attention to all of the beautiful details that surround the seemingly mundane scenes that play out around her, from the ‘eggs, the delicate, pure white shells shining like enormous pearls in the surrounding grime’ to the ‘back room, trance music, big screen flashing paintings. Michelangelo’s God and Adam from the Sistine Chapel. Da Vinci’s Birth of Venus. Bruegel’s Fall of the Rebel Angels. Creation and death.’ To this character, the world is revealed as a work of art, a mix of the earthly and divine as she makes her way through the holy dust of Los Angeles. Then we are introduced to Hannah. We come to learn that Hannah is married to a guy named Slick and that she wants more out of life than just being his wife. This postmodern tale of an anti-hero centers around Hannah’s search for meaning in life, and this is what causes her to contemplate the eggs, pregnancy, marriage, sex, self-harm, aliens, longing, death, and fireflies. Reminiscent of Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49, Hannah searches through a world that doesn’t make sense, on a journey to read the tarot of the world, creating some semblance of order out of all of this chaos. Then we meet Natasha. And Lilly. And Adonai. Erolin. Farida. Jessica. Ith Daktar San. Mavis. Each of these unique characters forms the center of their own universe, their own place in the universe where space-time shifts, each its own shining Luminaria." — Leslie D. Soule, author of Fallenwood and My Mentor, Death

Also by K.H. Mezek

Key of Mystery

Book of Angels

Cave of Secrets

Copyright © 2021 Karen Hunt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means (whether electronic or mechanical), including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-951897-57-4

EDITOR

Matt Forney (mattforney.com)

LAYOUT AND COVER DESIGN

Matt Lawrence (mattlawrence.net)

Excerpts of this book were published, in somewhat different form, by Terror House Magazine. The author would like to thank Terror House for their support.

TERROR HOUSE PRESS, LLC

terrorhousepress.com

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Come to Me — Lana

Chapter 2: The Proposition — Hannah

Chapter 3: Killer Gene — Natasha

Chapter 4: Wrong Turn — Lilly

Chapter 5: How it Happened — Adonai

Chapter 6: The Vishku Way — Erolin

Chapter 7: Undercover — Farida

Chapter 8: Lights, Camera, Action — Jessica

Chapter 9: Balancing Act — Ith Daktar San

Chapter 10: Upside Down — Mavis

"’Follow the path to the Blue Moon, all you mindless sheep.

Meanwhile, I will not die, but vow to return and free Oran from bondage.’"

So spoke Stryker Gunn in bold defiance of his sentence.

Silently, the crowds watched as Gunn was transported up into the sky.

Banished to endless torment on the Red Moon."

— Moon Wars by Lance Rey

Chapter 1: Come to Me — Lana

There aren’t any fireflies in Los Angeles. Everyone knows that.

But I saw them that night at the café. And, okay, I might have been a bit, you know, fucked up, but I’m telling you, I saw them.

I think it had something to do with Lance Rey.

Okay, it had everything to do with Lance Rey.

I first met him at Bill’s Body Works, a car lover’s paradise down a dirty alley off Pico Boulevard.

My nephew Joey was the reason for the encounter.

Before all of this, I had a normal life. I had a decent job as a server in a fancy restaurant ($200 a night in tips), a great apartment overlooking the wealthy side of Rancho Park, and every year I went on a two-week vacation to Mexico. Might not have been the height of excitement but it suited me just fine.

And then I walked into Bill’s Body Works.

I’d worked late the night before and Jules had cruelly telephoned at 8AM, pleading with me to watch Joey Jr. for just an hour. Really, just an hour; it was a promise.

Please, Lana. Big Joe’s taking Ben and Sarah to soccer, so it’ll just be Joey. Piece of cake, right? He’ll be sweet.

Oh, sure. She’d get an hour gyrating to a Jane Fonda workout with a bunch of sweaty women and I’d get to chase after Joey. I wasn’t sure which one sounded worse.

Behind the near-hysteria of Jules’s voice came the high-pitched screams of children and Big Joe yelling shut up.

Just to get off the phone and escape the noise, I said I’d do it.

Now, with an hour to kill and Joey at my side, I wondered why I’d said yes, yet again, to my sister on a lazy Saturday morning when I could have been home in bed. To top it off, the bad feeling I’d had in my stomach when I woke up was getting worse. I prayed I wouldn’t throw up. Just in case, and not wanting to do it in full view of the street, I propelled Joey down the alley, yanking on his arm when he tried to jump in an oily puddle.

A Rottweiler barked behind a wire fence at the end of the alley, becoming ever more frantic as we neared, jumping up and down and clawing the fence.

Don’t touch, just say hello, I said, wondering why I even bothered since Joey never listened to a word I said.

Joey ran in front of the fence, making commando noises at the dog chasing after him. Sure enough, he was inching closer, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

I pulled him back. He screamed and kicked me in the shin.

Shit! I yelped.

Hey, son, don’t treat your mom like that, called a lazy voice.

Startled, I turned to see a man sitting on a beach chair in the dark entrance of the garage. He got up now and ambled over, holding a beer can with one hand and scratching at his belly through his greasy overall with the other. And maybe don’t use that kinda language back at your boy, if you know what I mean, he added with an amiable wink.

He’s not my… I started, but he cut me off, already on to his next topic.

And don’t you worry. Killer wouldn’t hurt a fly. Not unless you was a burglar or something bad.

He gave me a slow look up and down. And I can tell you ain’t that. Am I right?

I rolled my eyes. Come on, Joey.

Joey resisted. That your dog? he asked.

The man nodded and scratched his stomach some more. He took a swig of beer and belched loudly, eyes widening with mock surprise. Well, excuse me.

Joey laughed and imitated the belch.

Never. Having. Kids. That had always been my mantra. And now here I was.

Mingled with these noises came a Cock-o-doodle-do!

I raised an eyebrow. You have a rooster back there?

Sure do. Chickens, too. He reached down and tousled Joey’s hair. Wanna see?

Joey hooted with pleasure and I shrugged. If it would keep Joey’s interest, I’d do it. That’s how desperate I was.

Together, we followed the man into the dark interior of Bill’s Body Works, my hand firmly grasping Joey’s.

Skeleton cars littered the ground, insides torn out like body parts in a war zone. Joey oohed and ahhed, saying hi to the mechanics as if they were long-lost buddies. They said hello back and eyed me hungrily. I found myself looking back at the entrance, reassured that it wasn’t far away.

We reached the far side of the garage where a cage stood on a table. Inside sat three fat hens.

There they are, said the man, swelling with pride. Best investment I ever made. Rooster runs free out back. Keep the hens in here and let ‘em out every once in a while—wouldn’t want you to think I was mean or nothin’. Anyway, haven’t had to let the rooster at ‘em but once. They just keep layin’ them eggs. Can’t quite figure that one out, but there it is.

He looked at me. Wanna see the eggs?

I didn’t, but Joey yelled a big yes, so I followed after them, through the door and down a narrow corridor. Along the way, we passed the open door to an office and I had a quick view of the back of a bald-headed man, leaning across a desk and handing a check to a woman seated on the other side. In that split second, the man turned and stared at me, the brilliance of his aqua eyes causing my own honey-colored ones to go wide with surprise, as if an automatic reaction had been triggered and I couldn’t stop it. A wave of heat passed over me and I felt faint. I gulped in air, almost retching from the smell of gasoline, wanting to spit it out but holding back.

Desperately, I steadied myself as I walked to the end of the corridor where a dirt-smeared refrigerator stood. With a flourish, our guide, who I’d now dubbed the chicken man, opened the fridge door.

Wow, breathed Joey.

Inside were row after row of eggs, the delicate, pure white shells shining like enormous pearls in the surrounding grime. I blinked. I loved pearls. I would never look at them the same again

That’s a lot of eggs, I said, trying to orient myself back to reality.

Joey whooped. I want one!

The chicken man beamed. He reached into the fridge, selected an egg, and held it out to Joey. Careful, or it’ll crack. The yoke’s real yellow, almost red, not like those store bought eggs.

Joey reverently took the egg. Thanks, he said, so politely I was shocked.

With his egg carefully held in both his hands, Joey happily followed me out of Bill’s Body Works. The chicken man waved good-bye and sat back down in the beach chair.

Even the slightly rancid air of the alley smelled better than the stuffy garage and I gulped gratefully, feeling somewhat better.

Got the grand tour, did you?

I turned to see that the bald man had followed us out. I judged him to be in his early fifties, powerfully built and exuding robust health and self-confidence. His face, with its high, broad cheekbones, wide, slightly-flattened nose, and sensuous mouth gave him the look of a Slav. He wore a form-fitting black T-shirt and his arms and neck were covered in intricate tattoos. Russian mafia, I wondered. Something sinister.

A blackness form at the corner of my eyes. Was I going to pass out? I couldn’t do that. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly in and out, relieved when I opened them again that my vision had cleared. The man was staring at me thoughtfully.

See my egg? said Joey, carefully holding it up.

I breathed in more deeply, grateful Joey had taken the attention away from me.

And very nice, it is, said the man, smiling at Joey. Relentlessly, he turned those aqua eyes back on me. You’re not well?

I’m fine, I snapped back. Why would he say that?

Crossing his arms, he tapped thoughtfully on his cheek a couple of times before nodding, as if remembering something. Pearls, he said. You wore pearls.

Excuse me?

The night I saw you. You were wearing pearls. Very nice.

I shook my head, nausea threatening to overcome me. I’m sorry, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

He inclined his head, politely, Perhaps I am mistaken.

Come on, Joey, I said.

Joey and I made it out of the alley at last. We walked into the gym and I handed Joey over to Jules. She looked radiant and relaxed—and somehow even slimmer—in her purple and pink leotard and leggings. Completely unlike the harassed mother who’d entered the class just one hour previously. As always, I revised my previous opinion and thought maybe I might try the class myself. The resolve never lasted.

Joey reached out to hug me goodbye. As his arms wrapped around me, he squeezed a little too hard on the egg in his hand and it cracked. The insides spilled down my thigh and onto the ground in a slimy stream that, sure enough, was more red than yellow. Joey burst into tears.

What the…? Jules cried.

I couldn’t answer. Bile rose from my stomach. I really was going to throw up.

"I’ll call and explain. I have to go."

I ran back to the alley entrance and threw up against the wall, stomach heaving painfully. I took a couple of tissues from my purse and wiped my mouth and leg. Leaning against the wall, I tried to steady my breathing.

I thought of the eggs. So many of them, dead and in rows. No one could possibly eat all those eggs. What would happen to them? They were some kind of trophy for the chicken man and it creeped me out to think of it. And those chickens, kept in that tiny cage.

I imagined the rooster strutting free and then those chickens…it just wasn’t right.

My heart sank as I saw the chicken man exit the garage and wave as if we were old friends.

I saw you talking to him, he said, popping open a fresh beer, liquid spraying out.

Who? I said, feigning ignorance.

"Oh, you know, he said. We always work on his Bugatti. Classy car for a classy guy."

I stared blankly.

He shook his head, marveling at my ignorance. Sweets, you can go home and tell your boyfriend… He grinned lasciviously. You got a boyfriend?

I didn’t answer and he laughed.

"Anyhow, you can tell your friends you just had a conversation with Lance Rey, in the flesh. You know, the guy who wrote Moon Wars."

He reached a hairy arm towards me, turning it to reveal a firefly tattoo. Lookie there.

I drew away, mumbling something incoherent and searching for my keys in my handbag. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how shocked I really was to find out who I’d just met. I wasn’t the star-struck type, but Lance Rey was in a class all his own. He had millions of obsessive fans, just like the chicken man. And lots of people, even some of my friends, had firefly tattoos. In Lance Rey’s book, a mutated firefly was implanted inside select people’s brains and that’s how they traveled from one world to another.

The chicken man snorted, and shook his head in disbelief at my lack of interest. "Sweets, you do know they’re making a movie of Moon Wars. That I gotta see."

Yes, I said. I have to go.

He nodded reluctantly. Okay, then. Be safe out there, he said, saluting me with his beer.

The rooster crowed. The dog barked up a storm.

Hey Killer, the chicken man bellowed. What we gonna do today?

I made it to my car to find a parking ticket on the windshield. 50 bucks. I climbed in and leaned back with a sigh. I couldn’t stand much more of this.

It had been a mistake. A one-night stand.

Being a